Refreshing opera

After years of disdain from all and sundry, Raymond Gubbay may yet turn out to be the saviour of People's Opera. With ENO currently hors de combat - strikes, cancellations, an unholy mess - the unstoppable entrepreneur has no near rival. His technique of large-scale spectacle, audience in the round, three casts all amplified, may not be to everyone's taste.

But he delivers in style and with advancing professionalism. Only the most desiccated purist could complain about the streamlined sound quality, light years away from the days when singers appeared to be in a silent movie, their distorted voices blasted from a Tannoy on an entirely different platform up the line. All has changed, but the prejudice endures.

This second revival of the 1998 staging of Madam Butterfly remains fresh, beautiful and bloody. The Chinese soprano Ai-Lan Zhu, in the title role, grew from girlish passivity to fiery pathos as her tragedy unfolded. She may lack that final emotional heat of a great Butterfly, but her love duet at the close of Act I had no shortage of heartbreak or agony.

As Pinkerton, Carlo Scibelli's easy high notes and suave looks smelled of wellscrubbed greed and transatlantic selfimportance. Rarely has the clash of opposing cultures had such troubling resonance. Suzuki (Ning Liang) and Sharpless (Phillip Joll) led an admirable supporting cast. The RPO, briskly conducted by Peter Robinson, impressed. Puccini's insistent swooping climaxes are slightly evened out by the amplification but this is a minor quibble.

The triumph of the production, responsively directed and skilfully drilled by David Freeman, is David Roger's floating world set, consisting of wood, water, paper lanterns and cherry blossom. At the centre stands the wooden skeleton which is Butterfly's house.

By giving a clear space in which the private drama can be enacted, the production achieves a focus too often absent in arena opera. As Butterfly's hopes drain away, so too does the magical water garden (all 15,000 gallons of it). The metaphors are as big and bold as the Albert Hall itself.

Until 8 March. Box office: 020 7838 3100.

Madam Butterfly