Opera / Turandot, by Giacomo Puccini, directed by Ann Yee, conducted by Henrik Nánási. At Sydney Opera House until March 21. Reviewed by HELEN MUSA.

A century after Puccini’s Turandot premiered in Milan, nearly two years after his death, Opera Australia is presenting a new production, presumably to replace the popular version by Graeme Murphy and Kristian Fredrikson, which has been in the repertoire since 1990.

Much-touted for its combination of international talent and ventures into 21st-century digital technology, the spectacle produced less “fire and ice” than an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, recalling Davide Livermore’s 2018 Aida, which featured huge looping digital images of a black panther and a dreamlike Ethiopian woman.

At the time, I predicted that this kind of technology – breaking one of theatre’s basic rules, don’t upstage the action – would quickly be superseded. I was wrong. This staging is dominated by a so-called “avatar” of Princess Turandot: a huge image of a classical Chinese face, its eyes occasionally blazing with fire.

And there was more.

American director Ann Yee, also a noted choreographer, filled the production with dance sequences. The opening intervention, involving writhing bodies and expressions of agony, gives the plot away immediately – the frigid princess is hellbent on avenging the violation of her ancestor Princess Lou-Ling, which occurred 2000 years earlier. She doesn’t care how many men die as she poses riddles to her would-be suitors.

Nonsensical and bloodthirsty? Yes – so much so that one TV channel has issued a violence warning. But for Puccini, it was an exotic Persian tale, already dramatised by Friedrich Schiller and well suited to his fascination with oriental music.

Yee adopted a stagey, presentational style rather than any attempt at verismo, so the singers largely stood and delivered in the old-fashioned way, often looking straight at the conductor with little interaction. The prince Calaf (Young Woo Kim), reunited with his long-lost father Timur (Richard Anderson), hardly gave him a glance and was perfunctory in acknowledging the devoted slave girl Liù (Maria Teresa Leva).

Fortunately, just as the avatar became repetitive and Calaf’s quest absurd, the three courtiers – Ping, Pang, and Pong (Luke Gabbedy, John Longmuir, and Michael Petruccelli) – entered. In this updated version, they appear as P1, P2, and P3: palace backroom boys with walkie-talkies, wishing they could escape the bloodshed for the countryside. Their irreverent interlude added a welcome contrast to the bloody choral opening, splendidly performed by the OA Chorus.

Turandot is notable for its scarcity of great arias, but in this act, Liù’s affecting plea, Signore, ascolta!, Leva conveyed touching emotional nuance and actually made us care.

Soon enough, we returned to the court for the scene of the three riddles. Here we finally meet the real Turandot (Rebecca Nash) – a bit of a disappointment, given the build up of divine mystique through the avatar. Other directors wisely keep her at a distance until later, but Yee brings her forward early for her famous aria In questa reggia, relating the tale of Lou-Ling.

Turandot’s father, the Emperor (Gregory Brown), is portrayed as a world-weary yet wise ruler who, by some twist of fate, has sworn to protect his daughter’s virginity but is now thoroughly fed up. This adds a much-needed human touch that helps sustain the ritualistic riddle scene, in which Calaf triumphantly solves each question. Yet the moment was almost undone by a troupe of inexplicably tinsel-clad female attendants writhing and gesticulating.

The act’s twist comes when Turandot, stunned by Calaf’s success, declares that if she can discover his name by dawn, he will die. In a powerful curtain moment – one of the evening’s highlights – the traumatised Emperor collapses, perhaps dead.

Things improved in the second half. The avatar was finally smashed to oblivion, revealing a bare stage for the showstopper Nessun Dorma, delivered with restraint and sensitivity by Kim, whose powerful voice always commanded the space.

Here, modern, almost industrial costumes and design came into play, perhaps to address the drama’s  inconsistencies. A simple staging followed for Liù’s interrogation and death, though Yee couldn’t resist inserting the ancient princess to make a feminist statement.

Puccini died before finishing Turandot; the opera was completed from his notes by Franco Alfano. One can only speculate how Puccini and his librettists Adami and Simoni might have resolved the unconvincing final scenes, in which Calaf wins the frozen princess’s love in seconds. It’s a tall order – and this production doesn’t quite carry it off.