Luisa Miller, Glyndebourne, review: a terrific tonic in the naughty world of country-house opera

Against the odds, Glyndebourne has reached the final new production of its comeback season, something that looked mirage-like only a few months ago. Among the first theatres to reopen back in May, it has successfully saved the best for last and here, with Verdi’s Luisa Miller, it delivers one of its most serious stagings – an uncommon tonic in the increasingly naughty world of country-house opera.

One of the four-and-a-bit operas Verdi drew from Schiller (the “bit” is a scene in La forza del destino), Luisa Miller is all too infrequently done, perhaps because it falls into the blurry patch between Macbeth and Rigoletto, and this is its first staging at Glyndebourne. But its great overture, from whose opening unison phrase so much in the opera is derived, signals vintage Verdi, and the opera’s modernity (at least for 1849) is something picked up on both by the conductor Enrique Mazzola and in Christof Loy’s production.

Working with his regular collaborators Johannes Leiacker (sets) and Ursula Renzenbrink (costumes), Loy presents – as usual – a white box filled with characters dressed mostly in black. Only the bright April flowers strewn around the sleeping Luisa hint at the original Tyrolean setting, and the bare walls are interrupted just by a small crucifix. Yet Loy, who practised physical distancing on stage long before it became necessary, tells the story with exceptional clarity, and dramatic values are high. It’s a credit to his team that Loy was able to direct things remotely from Austria, with his associate Georg Zlabinger on the ground in East Sussex.

Luisa Miller deals with Verdi’s two great preoccupations – politics and father-daughter relationships – and the plot contrasts the devoted love of the old widower Miller for his daughter Luisa with the manipulative control the dodgy Count Walter exerts over his son Rodolfo. The youngsters’ love is thwarted by plans of the scheming count, who wants his son to marry the wealthily widowed duchess Federica — and kidnap, blackmail, murder and suicide by poison are the tragic consequences.

For fear of the original Neapolitan censors, the politics are watered down into matters of social justice, but still Luisa Miller features two of Verdi’s greatest villains, not only Walter himself, the ruler who got his title by murdering his predecessor, but also his henchman Wurm, accomplice to that murder. Thanks to Loy and two excellent basses, neither is a cardboard villain. In his darkly focused singing, Evgeny Stavinsky conveys repressed anger, and Krzysztof B?czyk is not only an impressive singer but a compelling actor, a Wurm who is watchable right from the opening scene as he turns sullen when his own hopes for Luisa are dashed. Nadezhda Karyazina’s burnished contralto adds to the striking impact of her Federica, a pawn in this plot who stands out from the rest of the cast in her pink dress.

The excellent casting extends to the innocent parties. The baritone Vladislav Sulminsky conveys Miller’s essential goodness in a musically sympathetic performance. In a welcome Glyndebourne debut from the starriest cast member, the tenor Charles Castronovo is an ardent, ringing Rodolfo who brings refinement to the celebrated “Quando le sere al placido”. The soprano Mané Galoyan is glowing in the title role, projecting tender fragility and strength in a deeply moving portrayal. A word, too, for Carrie-Ann Williams’s shining performance as the peasant girl Laura.

Mazzola conducts with dramatic sweep, bringing muscular vigour yet an ear for exquisite instrumental detail to a refined London Philharmonic (playing a Covid-secure orchestral reduction by Tony Burke). Quarantined offstage, the chorus sings strongly, but to complete the stage picture they are replaced by silent extras, one of Loy’s many intelligent touches.

Until Aug 29. Tickets: 1273 812321; glyndebourne.com