Of course, grandiosity is not out of place with Turandot, which features a princess who has her suitors beheaded, a libretto full of exaggerations (did you know China was seven million years old?), and one of Puccini’s most bombastic scores. Ping, Pang, and Pong sport absurdly-shaped headgear that would put the Teletubbies to shame. The emperor’s entrance in the second act is marked by much banner-waving and acrobatics. Ghoulish severed heads hang comically from the rafters.
The opening scene sets the tone, with diaper-clad and skull-masked attendants helping the executioner sharpen his blade (real sparks fly!). Hockney’s notes about his production decry other Turandots he had seen as “kitsch beyond belief,” but there’s nothing subtle about his staging, either. Only the chorus defies the fantastical palate, in historically-inspired black ensembles. The emperor stands out in a regal yellow. Ping, Pang, and Pong are clad in abstract patterns of red, turquoise and purple, with their painted-scroll-bedecked pavilion in the same hues. The harsh red of the opening scene gives way to the deep blue of Calaf’s jacket for the Act Three love duet. No surprises here – from the mannered gestures to the standard Alfano ending, every detail seemed calculated to appeal to the traditionalist crowd. A refurbished revival of David Hockney’s 25-year-old Turandot was just the ticket: big sound, a stage full of people, and gaudy colors. After two years of relative obscurities produced with minimal sets ( Luisa Miller in 2015 and Andrea Chénier in 2016), San Francisco audiences were ready for a grand opera to open their season.
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