DIY Bohème

The Royal Opera’s one production that, it has always confidently been claimed, need never be replaced has been replaced. John Copley, vintage 1974, has given way to Richard Jones, in a production full of his trademark quirkinesses and mischief, though he is respectful enough of Bohème to keep his irony out of sight for the last two acts. Stewart Laing is the designer, with a separate movement director (I thought that’s what directors did) in Sarah Fahie.

Snow falls continuously before the curtain rises, but the set of Act One inevitably strikes you as a gauntlet thrown down to Copley. Flat 7b, which is the abode of the bohemians, is nothing more than roof beams, with a single chair, no bed, a tiny stove that produces plumes of smoke emitted from a tall chimney. Clothes are charity shop, with touches of the 19th century. It’s not atmospheric, so the actors have to work hard to convince one that they are cold and hungry, and this team, though they have many virtues, don’t really do that. In fact, the first 20 minutes of laddish horseplay resolutely refuses to be fun either for them or for us, though the music bubbles and frisks along in a way irresistibly reminiscent of Falstaff’s opening scene (it had never struck me so forcibly before).

Once that prime operatic bore Benoît has been disposed of, and the bohemians leave with Rodolfo staying to finish an article — presumably standing up — the music undergoes its magical change, Mimì knocks and we’re off. Unfortunately, the lighting remains the same, cold white, so the two characters holding candles seems absurd. The act’s second half must be in semi-darkness; sitting just in front of Jones, I almost turned round to tell him.