Opera Australia’s The Merry Widow at The Sydney Opera House
The Merry Widow: Champagne, Art Deco and a Touch of Hugh Grant
Wednesday night is an interesting choice for the opening night of an opera in Sydney, particularly when it collides with State of Origin. My husband mentioned this several times.
He had a point. Opera Australia had assembled an orchestra, a glittering cast, enough feathers to alarm a medium-sized aviary and one of the most lavish sets imaginable. Queensland had assembled thirteen large men in maroon.
Thank heavens for intervals and mobile phones. At interval, I looked around and saw many a gentleman discreetly examining his screen.
Fortunately, The Merry Widow is exactly the sort of show capable of competing with almost anything. It is frothy and glamorous with a plot so cheerfully uncomplicated that nobody is likely to lose the thread while checking whether New South Wales has scored.
The Merry Widow – the plot
The tiny fictional country of Pontevedro is bankrupt. Its financial future rests entirely with Hanna Glawari, a beautiful widow who has inherited an enormous fortune and is now living the sort of life that has at least brought with it access to a very good dressmaker.
The Pontevedrians are desperate for Hanna to marry one of their own, so that her money doesn’t disappear into foreign hands. The obvious candidate is Count Danilo, a penniless aristocrat with whom she has history.
This immediately raises several questions. What happened to Hanna’s first husband? They were married for only five days. And would any sensible woman really hand over a fortune to an impecunious aristocrat who spends much of his time drinking at Maxim’s and associating with women called Frou-Frou, Jou-Jou, Lolo, Margot, Clo-Clo and Dodo?
Still, opera has never been especially interested in a woman sitting down with a financial adviser.
Hanna and Danilo are clearly in love, but this being operetta they cannot simply discuss it over coffee and save everyone three acts. There must be misunderstandings, affairs, false engagements, injured pride and at least one married woman caught in a compromising position.
That woman is Valencienne, the Baron’s wife, who is conducting a romance with Camille, Count de Rosillon. Hanna gallantly steps in to save her reputation, claiming Camille as her own intended husband. The Pontevedrians collectively lose their minds. Danilo is forced to confront his feelings. Everyone waltzes. It is glorious.
Graeme Murphy’s Paris
Graeme Murphy has changed the action into the Art Deco Paris of the 1920s. The production is sumptuous with gleaming geometry and elegant screens. Michael Scott-Mitchell’s sets seem to belong to a world where everyone owns a cigarette holder and has never once filled in a tax return. The Monet-inspired night garden shimmers into view like an expensive dream.
Jennifer Irwin’s costumes are equally magnificent. The men appear in elaborately braided uniforms while the women sweep about in elegant shapes that make one wonder exactly when society lost its nerve and decided activewear could be worn to lunch. Damien Cooper’s lighting wraps the whole production in a glow.
Julie Lea Goodwin as Hannah Glawari
And then there are the voices. Julie Lea Goodwin makes a superb Hanna Glawari, with a soprano that has richness and warmth. She also has the essential quality needed for the role and that is the ability to appear entirely aware that every man in the room is behaving like an idiot, while remaining too elegant to mention it.
Alexander Lewis as Danilo
Alexander Lewis is charming as Danilo. There was a distinct lack of French or Balkan accents across the production, which I know is now entirely fashionable. Still, it did occasionally make proceedings feel unexpectedly English. Lewis, in particular, gives off extremely strong Hugh Grant vibes. This is no criticism. On the contrary. His Danilo has that appealing combination of charm and emotional panic familiar to anyone who has seen a Hugh Grant film in which a wedding is approaching and somebody has misplaced the bride. He is vocally terrific and makes Danilo’s mixture of jealousy and helpless devotion enormously entertaining.
Alexandra Flood is delightful as Valencienne, bringing sparkle and vocal brilliance to a character whose main task is essentially to conduct an affair while surrounded by diplomats. John Longmuir sings Camille with great polish while David Whitney’s Baron Zeta provides much of the comic engine of the evening.
The supporting cast is uniformly strong. Iain Henderson as St Brioche, Nathan Lay as Viscount Cascada, and my favourite, Benjamin Rasheed as Njegus and the rest of the ensemble keep the comedy bubbling along without ever overwhelming the music.
Maestra Vanessa Scammell conducts with elegance and energy, allowing Lehár’s score to do what it has been doing since 1905, make an audience feel that perhaps all life’s problems could be solved by champagne, a waltz and an unusually well-cut dinner jacket.
Even the history of The Merry Widow has an improbable quality. Pontevedro was a thinly disguised nod to Montenegro, whose ruling family included sons called Danilo and Mirko. Maxim’s, meanwhile, was and remains a real Paris restaurant, although rather more elegant than the operetta’s depiction suggests.
And then there is Hitler, whose enthusiasm for The Merry Widow was so notorious that Shostakovich used one of its themes in his Leningrad Symphony to represent the German invasion.
Which is a rather extraordinary journey for an operetta whose central question is essentially, will a rich widow marry the handsome idiot she clearly adores?
The answer is hardly a secret. But with singing this good and an Art Deco Paris this seductive, the ending is almost beside the point.
Even the men checking the Origin score came back in.
Tickets via Opera Australia now playing until 18 August 2026
