Festen at The Royal Opera review: gripping adaptation of a taboo-breaking film masterpiece

Allan Clayton (Christian) in Festen, The Royal Opera - (Marc Brenner)

Thomas Vinterberg’s taboo-busting 1998 film Festen (The Celebration) centred around a 60th birthday party at which the respected head of household is gradually revealed as a monstrous child abuser. From testimonies by his son, Christian, and deceased daughter Linda (read out by her sister Helena) we learn the terrible truth. Not only did he rape his children but the traumatised girl subsequently took her life.

In its skilful unfolding of plot, not to mention the aria-like accusations and the festive atmosphere of the party before the mood turns grim, crying out for choral treatment, the story is positively operatic. And this is the triumph of Mark-Anthony Turnage and librettist Lee Hall: that they have succeeded in putting musico-dramatic flesh on a masterpiece of another genre.

At its best the transformation is both persuasive and riveting. The pacing is exemplary: a slow build-up from the pleasantries (and hostilities) of the family reunion, the revelations alternating with interludes, the denouement. The surreal, dark humour is a gift for the talents of Richard Jones, whose inspired production, designed by Miriam Buether (sets) and Nicky Gillibrand (costumes) and lit by Lucy Carter, complements and enhances the arc of dramatic tension.

John Tomlinson (Grandpa) in Festen, The Royal Opera (Marc Brenner)

A memorable climactic sequence begins with the party guests, including family members, turning on the boyfriend of Helena in a racially bigoted chant of “Baa baa black sheep”, continues with Christian’s bursting through the panels of a door (he’d been locked in the wine cellar by brother Michael and others), and culminates with a riotous conga whose heavy, jagged syncopations become increasingly menacing. Not so much a conspiracy of silence, perhaps, as an outburst of guilt-masking hysteria. The opera’s conclusion, incidentally, has adjusted the original – I think convincingly ­– ensuring that the empathetic focus is on the victims, even if the perpetrator is accepted back into a community in collective denial.

Turnage’s eclectic score straddles recent centuries. It’s a little like an artist’s palette: a splash of Copland or Weill here, Janacek or even Vaughan Williams there, huge dollops of Britten and Tippett. Yet these are affectionate hommages in the spirit of the piece – Vinterberg himself confessed to “stealing” from Bergman, Visconti and Coppola – and Turnage sews it all together with consummate skill and gratifyingly varied, colourful orchestration. Futile perhaps to lament the lack of grittiness manifested in earlier Turnage scores such as Greek, which might have been more appropriate in Festen than many of the easy-going sonorities deployed here.

Marta Fontanals-Simmons (Linda), Natalya Romaniw (Helena) in Festen (Marc Brenner)

A huge cast (twenty-five named roles plus a sizeable chorus), headed by Allan Clayton (Christian), Stéphane Degout (Michael) and Gerald Finley (Helge) and featuring other such prominent names as John Tomlinson, Susan Bickley and Natalya Romaniw, could hardly have been bettered. Superlative performances too from the Royal Opera Chorus and Orchestra under the confident, dynamic baton of Edward Gardner.

It’s possible to feel that this latest twist in Turnage’s stylistic development doesn’t fully exploit the torture and trauma of the subject matter. It’s a gripping show, however, adroitly realised and with many moments of high achievement.