The Rape of Lucretia, Royal Academy Opera

★★★★☆

Benjamin Britten’s ‘The Rape of Lucretia’, first performed in 1946, remains one of the composer’s most unsettling works. Written for just eight singers and thirteen instrumentalists in the aftermath of the Second World War, the opera strips grand opera down to something painfully intimate. Based on the Roman legend of Lucretia, whose rape and suicide trigger political revolution, the work explores violence, guilt, morality and power with an honesty that still feels uncomfortable today. Royal Academy Opera’s new production, directed by Paul Carr, meets those challenges head-on with a staging that is intelligent, stripped back and emotionally fearless.

Carr avoids unnecessary realism and instead trusts Britten’s music and the performers to tell the story. The stage is mostly bare, with lighting, costumes and a few symbolic props creating atmosphere rather than literal locations. Michelle Bradbury’s costume design cleverly places the story somewhere between ancient Rome and modern social collapse. The women appear in flowing classical robes, while the men resemble dangerous bikers in leather and dark streetwear. It creates a world that feels timeless, reminding us that the abuse of power is hardly confined to history.

Jake Wiltshire’s lighting becomes one of the production’s strongest dramatic tools. Pools of shadow and blood-red tones constantly shift the emotional temperature, while a long red rope hanging across the stage quietly foreshadows violence and fate. One particularly striking image comes during the women’s sewing scene, where threads begin to wrap physically around Lucretia, suggesting her entrapment long before Tarquinius arrives.

At the centre of the production is Ella Orehek-Coddington, delivering a performance of remarkable maturity in the title role. Vocally, she combines warmth, steel and vulnerability, allowing Lucretia’s emotional collapse to emerge gradually rather than theatrically. Her final scenes are devastating precisely because they avoid exaggeration. This is a woman trying desperately to maintain dignity while her world disintegrates around her.

Oliver Heuzenroeder’s Tarquinius is magnetic and deeply unpleasant in equal measure. Rather than presenting him as a simple monster, he gives the role swagger, arrogance and dangerous charm, making the character all the more disturbing. Yihui Wang’s Male Chorus is another standout, sung with superb clarity and dramatic urgency. Madeleine Perring brings balance and compassion as the Female Chorus, while Pavel Basov’s unexpectedly tender Collatinus adds emotional depth to the opera’s final act.

In the pit, Lada Valešová leads the Royal Academy Sinfonia with precision and sensitivity. Britten’s chamber score glows with colour, from sinister woodwinds to moments of aching lyrical beauty. The small ensemble never feels limited; instead, it creates an intimacy that makes every emotional wound land harder.

This production does not soften the opera’s darkness, but it approaches it with intelligence and restraint. It is musically impressive, dramatically coherent and often deeply moving.

Image credit: Craig Fuller

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