Review: CARMEN, Grand Opera House

When Georges Bizet’s Carmen premiered in Paris in 1875, the opening night audience walked in expecting a lightweight crowd-pleaser and walked out baffled by an uncomfortable, tragic turn of realism that shattered the cozy conventions of 19th-century opera. In Northern Ireland Opera’s striking new production at Belfast’s Grand Opera House, director Cameron Menzies engineers a fascinating reversal of that historical opening night. Arriving expecting a grand, reassuring hit, tonight's audience was initially reserved when met with a post-conflict, gritty backlot framed by chain-link fencing, truss structures, and sodium-yellow lighting designed by Niall McKeever. Yet by the final curtain call, the Belfast crowd completely understood the vision, fully embracing why this stripped-back version had to be told.

The subversion begins before the set is even fully revealed. An onstage folk band featuring Cheylene Murphy, Jackie Rainey, Cecily Smith Nesbitt, Kristin Wei Wong, and Elaine O'Sullivan strikes up first, instantly announcing that this will not be a traditional Carmen. Arranged by Music Director Greg Arrowsmith, who reshaped the score's recitative and instrumental layouts to transcend traditional Sevillian tropes, the music transitions smoothly into the pit with a deliberately scaled-down orchestration.

Instead of glamorous Sevillian factory workers, the cigarette girls emerge from a shipping container looking terrified, functioning less like a theatrical chorus and more like victims of human trafficking. Menzies, who also designed the costumes, anchors the production in everyday realism. The chorus and gypsies look like people you would pass on O’Connell Street or sit next to on the Luas Red Line, complete with the conductor wearing a black Adidas tracksuit. These gypsies are not romanticized figures; they represent modern, suffering outsiders. Throughout the evening, the Northern Ireland Opera Chorus acts as a desperate political force, rioting and demanding peace in ways that mirror Ireland’s contemporary socio-political landscape.

These dark social commentaries are anchored by Bizet's crucial "stage songs." The first act moves briskly despite its 95-minute runtime because numbers like the Habanera, the Seguidilla, and the explosive Act II Chanson bohème act as narrative engines keeping the momentum tight. In Menzies’ staging of that final scene, rather than relying on a romanticized knife stab, Stewart’s Don José strangles Carmen with his bare hands behind locked doors, transforming the murder into an excruciating window onto domestic abuse. As she dies, the women of the chorus enter dressed as black-widow mourners, forced to watch helplessly in a chilling reflection of escalating violence against women.

As the titular heroine, Ruby Dibble dominates the stage with formidable vocal control and magnetic dramatic authority. Opposite her, Mary McCabe is a magnificent revelation as Micaëla. Posed as an outsider of pure light within this grim landscape, McCabe delivers an exquisite Act III aria that earned the longest, warmest applause of the night. Among the supporting cast, Petra Wells (Frasquita) and Jenny Bourke (Mercédès) provide sharp character work, while Thomas Chenhall delivers a solid yet unmemorable Escamillo.

Where the production falters is in its tenor and technical execution. Noah Stewart starts strong as Don José, but when the Seguidilla hits, his vocals began to fail. He suffered noticeable vocal cracks, growing unsteady across Act II, and lost vocal projection entirely during the final act, making his duet against Dibble vocally painful to hear despite maintaining a strong physical stage presence.

Compounding these vocal struggles was the technical execution of the surtitles. While many audience members might not strictly need translations for a repertoire classic like Carmen, having production-adapted surtitles that matched this director's vision would have escalated the performance even further for a younger, broader audience. Instead, they were frequently out of sync or dropped entirely. Most egregiously, the translation omitted Carmen's critical reprise line from the Habanera, "Prends garde à toi" ("Beware!"), dropping the central warning that defines the entire story. Later, the text incongruously displayed Carmen asking to be stabbed even though José held no knife.

Despite these vocal and surtitle missteps, Menzies and Arrowsmith have crafted a vital, razor-sharp reinvention that balances Bizet's immortal melodies with a searing modern message.

 

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