Wellington Opera presents:
JULES MASSENET’s MANON – Opera in Five Acts
libretto by Henri Meilhac
Cast: Manon Lescaut (soprano) – Amina Edris
Le Chevalier des Grieux (tenor) – Pene Pati
Lescaut, Manon’s cousin (baritone) – Phillip Rhodes
Le Comte des Grieux, the Chevalier’s father (bass) – Wade Kernot
Guillot de Morfontaine ( tenor) – Patrick Power
Monsieur de Brétigny ( baritone) – Kieran Rayner
Poussette, an actress (soprano) – Sarah Mileham
Javotte, an actress (mezzo-soprano) – Jasmine Jessen
Rosette, an actress (mezzo-soprano) – Charlotte Secker
L’Hotelier (bass) – Brent Allcock
Guardsmen – Matt Landreth/Joshua Jamieson
Wellington Opera Chorus – director, Michael Vinten
Orchestra Wellington – conductor, Romain Dumas
Director – Sara Brodie
Set Design – Michael Zaragoza
Costume Design – Rebecca Bethan-Jones
Lighting Design – Paul O’Brien
St.James’ Theatre, Wellington
Saturday, Ist August, 2026
(until 9th August 2026)
Reviewed by Peter Mechen for “Middle C” and “Opera” (UK)
Manon is probably composer Jules Massenet’s most famous work, a five-act opera comique which premiered in Paris in 1884, and which has been a staple of the opera repertory ever since. My first encounter with this work’s name (and that of its composer!) was through a most diverting book I read during my musically formative musical years, a collection of anecdotes and quotations attributed to the legendary conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, well known as a wit and raconteur. Beecham adored French music and was famously quoted in the book as declaring – “I would give the whole of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos for Massenet’s Manon and would think that I had profited by the exchange.”
Though I’ve now fallen under the opera’s spell (my feelings affirmed by this heart-rending production), it took a long while for my explorations to reach the character of Manon (and I’ve still not heard Puccini’s near-eponymously-named Manon Lescaut, nor have I read the original Abbé Prévost novel). I wasn’t at first attracted to the character of Manon herself, an attitude coloured by the less-than-flattering judgements of various (invariably male) commentators – of course the story of Manon is told all along from a male perspective (that of her ill-fated lover, the Chevalier des Grieux), which in my youthful eyes skewed the story against her favour – she’s portrayed as beautiful and charming, but also addicted to wealth and pleasure, and aware of the effects of her beauty and sexuality as tools in manipulating others for her own ends.
Getting to know and think about Massenet’s and his librettist Henri Meilhac’s work more closely, one develops increased sympathy for her character and her actions – her instincts as a “survivalist” necessarily inform what she does throughout, but ultimately take her beyond the point of return on the road to Le Havre in the drama’s heartrending final scene. I found myself less inclined or even able to sit in judgement on her character as merely “shallow”, and by the end of this performance found myself in a kind of wholeheartedly “born-again” agreement with the production’s director Sara Brodie, who expressed in a programme note the character’s determination to “survive” in a man’s world, and realise her “truths” beyond those of the conventional “male gaze”. That final scene opened within me a watershed of sympathy for both her and the luckless des Grieux having to endure their own shared-but-divided fates on that desolate road – Manon meeting her death and des Grieux left to endless darkness and despair. I thought of poet Dylan Thomas’s words regarding the toll exacted by the life-force in one of his poems – “that blasts the roots of trees is my destroyer”.
Naturally I was looking forward to the Wellington Opera production, relishing among other things the thought of witnessing in situ two much-acclaimed voices bringing these aforementioned characters to life – soprano Amina Edris as Manon Lescaut and Pene Pati as Chevalier des Grieux – luxury casting indeed! All seemed well at the beginning, with conductor Romain Dumas getting from the Orchestra Wellington band some superbly energetic introductory flourishes, garnished by heartfelt wind-and-string tones, setting in motion and colouring the ambiences of the story. Through what seemed a distinctive setting of old-world portals of public places, in this case a hotel next to a railway station, came a group of people, vociferously demanding the attentions of the hotelier and impatiently awaiting signs of a response!
Here we met certain of the story’s significant characters – firstly the aged roue Guillot de Morfontaine (Patrick Power) with an entourage consisting of three young actresses, Pousette (Sarah Mileham), Javotte (Jasmine Jessen) and Rosette (Charlotte Secker), plus a friend, Monsieur de Bretigny (Kieran Rayner), all seconding the urgent demands of Guillot for service, to which the long-suffering hotelier (Brent Alcock) eventually and good-naturedly responds. All splendidly acquitted themselves, with Patrick Power’s Guillot pompous and self-important in his utterances, and Kieran Rayner’s elegantly self-contained but purposeful de Bretigny a kind of “foil”, as well as the three actresses’ voices both mellifluously blending, and coquettishly keeping their escorts’ attentions. This, of course, like the original “Carmen” of Bizet’s, is an “opera comique”, featuring passages of spoken dialogue in between recitatives and set-piece arias and ensembles – though not a “French speaker” I was amply assisted by the surtitles in being able to relish the theatrical cut and thrust of the characters’ soliloquies and sung/spoken exchanges throughout.
Lescaut (Phillip Rhodes), Manon’s cousin (here, sturdily officious and fatherly of manner) appeared with two of his associates (Matt Landreth and Joshua Jamieson), ostensibly to meet Manon and escort her to the convent as previously arranged, but also to enjoy a shared game of dice with his companions. The train arrived (complete with atmospheric puffs of smoke and steam – an update from Massenet’s original coach!), and after several passengers had disembarked with a fine degree of confused to-do, the stage was set for Manon’s arrival.
I must admit to feeling somewhat confused by my initial view of Amina Edris as Manon in this production – though her singing and acting as a suitably overawed “provincial miss” new to the city, was convincingly “young-girlish”, with shyness and exuberance set in delightful interplay, (with her opening aria Je suis encore tout étourdie (“I can’t conceal all my confusion!”) winsome and delightful!), I found it difficult to reconcile myself to the “gawky-schoolgirl” look of her unflattering attire, which for me compromised whatever feminine charm and allure she possessed, thus reducing (or recasting) the verisimilitudes of the composer’s intended “smitten” responses of the various men to her appearance – we heard, firstly, her cousin Lescaut describing her as Une belle fille (“A lovely creature”), and Charmante (“Quite enchanting!”), aa we did the old roue Guillot, who professed to be totally smitten by her appearance, asking her for Obtenir de vous un seul mot d’amour (“A single word of love from your lips!”) – he was quickly brought back into line by his three attendant actresses, who chided him for his foolishness!
Lescaut reappeared, warned Manon regarding unwanted male attention with the cautionary Soyez gentille! (“Be on your guard!”) and told her to wait for him to return from his card-games – but again, then, with Pene Pati’s appearance as des Grieux, and his fulsome response to his first sighting of Manon, I couldn’t help feeling that his words of utter besottedness – O ciel! Est-ce un rêve? (“O, heavens! – Am I dreaming?”) – didn’t accord with the “picture” I was presented from upon the stage….(as previously stated, I confess to being, at the time, nonplussed by all of this! – the fault must surely have been entirely of my own sensibility, perhaps bringing to bear a convoluted memory of my own jejune “falling in love” experiences – and as such, which I am unreservedly “owning up” to!!). Maybe, as a friend said afterwards to me, for the people together on stage their proximities would obviously overcome any untoward “concealment of beauty” and those utterances I’ve quoted had no sign of any ‘forced pretence” or artificiality by either singer concerning the acting or vocalising – the emotions were as heartfeltly expressed as one could wish for!
Nor, thankfully, were there any reservations in this regard from the beginning of Act Two onwards! In fact, it seemed as if I had woken from a dream and was regaling the appearance of the “true” Manon, as the “enchanteresse” composer and librettist had intended all along! From here, and right up until the opera’s piteous final scene Edris’s Manon for me simply blossomed in terms of her appearance, with designer Rebecca Bethan Jones’s series of stunning costumes for the heroine readily and effervescently complemented the latter’s disarmingly self-assured beauty, further buoyed along by her determination to succeed in the world of the men seeking to “possess” her – whether in Act Two with des Grieux, reading his letter On L’apelle Manon (“Her name is Manon”), or, later in the same Act, her touching, if somewhat ambivalently coloured, Adieu, notre petite table (“Farewell, our little table”) salute to the couple’s apartment, with de Brétigny in the famous Act Three Gavotte Obéissons quand leur voix appelle (“Let us obey when their voices are calling”) on the promenade of Cours-la-Reine at festival-time, or, with des Grieux in the solemn precincts of St. Sulpice Church where she persuades him to forgive her faithlessness and give up his desire to “escape” into the world of prayer and service to others, and return to their past love, in her touching N’est-ce plus ma main? (“Is this not my hand?”). Edris’s Manon “grew” her character in voice and deportment along this journey, as singularly as did other doomed operatic heroines such as Carmen, or Katerina in Shostakovich’s “Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk” at their respective journeys’ ends – Manon’s final moments with des Grieux were at once wretched and yet noble, coming to “own” her self-truths as well as expressing her love for him before expiring, her character portrayal a transfixing and compelling “moment” of radiant intensity, just as would a brilliant shooting-star flash briefly across the heavens towards oblivion.
Pene Pati, as Manon’s paramour, des Grieux, also grew his character from a degree of theatrical awkwardness at the couple’s meeting to a full-blooded, if somewhat over-wrought passion for his “enchanteresse”, one which the events of the story pushed to extremes of delight and despair, as the couple’s fortunes waxed and waned. The tenor’s complete absorption in the role was palpable at all times, both in vocal and on-stage terms – his singing of En ferment les yeux (“When I close my eyes”) to Manon when together in the lovers’ apartment in Act Two, had that quality of “living value”, of converting the tones into genuine feeling – a mark of greatness! – then, at a different stage of the story, and with a rawer, more vulnerable quality, his aria in the St Sulpice Church – Je suis seule (“I am alone”) – in which he strove to free himself from thoughts of Manon and devote himself to a life of service to others. As well, there was a treasurable fluency of physical interaction between Pati and his stage-partner (who happens to be his real-life partner as well, of course!) In an interview Pati amusingly – and touchingly – made reference to his and Armina Edris’s real-life relationship, commenting that it had its pros and cons on stage, though an advantage was that they “didn’t have to rehearse the romantic scenes!” Nevertheless, the partnership seemed to draw from a kind of mutually-generated spontaneity, a naturalness of expression for both Pati and Edris, evident in what came across from both as a no-holds-barred musical and dramatic assumption, with the occasionally strained higher note indicative of the voices’ utter commitment to their roles. We were thus made to feel the singularity of the pair’s achievement in no uncertain terms throughout.
By no means, however, was our delectation confined to the efforts of the story’s leading characters – while not, perhaps an “ensemble” opera in the sense of Mozart’s “Figaro” which I had heard splendidly presented earlier this year in Wellington, Manon nevertheless requires a number of engaging and capable soloists to bring to life various other significant characters in the drama – and here, an entirely home-grown cast gave its audience a good deal of pleasure with its array of individual talents. As mentioned, beginning the stage action was one of New Zealand opera’s most distinguished and experience singers, tenor Patrick Power, as Guillot de Morfontaine, a roue (a French term for “a debauched, lecherous or immoral man”, usually of advanced years), one accustomed to announcing his presence (and his “entitlements”) from a position of wealth, here a robustly-voiced and double-sided figure of both comic fun and more insidious, vengeful intent, one whose rebuffal by Manon on various occasions in the story eventually brought about her downfall at Guillot’s instigation.
Bringing elegance, beauty and good humour to Guillot’s entourage were three of his consorts, elegantly-attired young actresses, probably in his pay for various kinds of amusements, Poussette (soprano Sarah Mileham), Javotte (mezzo-soprano Jasmine Jesson) and Rosette (mezzo-soprano Charlotte Secker) – the three voices alternated between individual observations and concerted comments relating to whatever was happening in the story, the effect at first delightful and amusing when the three chide Guillot for attempting to solicit the young Manon’s favours at his first meeting with her! Manon envies them their beauty and elegance at first – but comes to share in their world of luxury and pleasure during subsequent scenes in the festival promenade on the Cours-la-Reine, and at the Hotel Transylvania’s gambling tables, until Guillot’s revenge on Manon and des Grieux puts a brutal and unforgiving end to their aspirations.
A further character makes a significant appearance in the Third Act and in various subsequent scenes – this was des Grieux’s father Le Comte des Grieux, who Manon obliquely questions regarding his son’s state of mind after their separation and who answers her with respectful forbearance. The Comte’s later exchanges with his son were given all the parental and societal authority one expected by Wade Kermot’s solemnly sonorous portrayal, doubly-vexed by his son’s reckless affair with Manon, and his subsequent “volte-face” desire to enter the Church. Each of the scenes directly involving father-and-son has a splendidly archetypal sense of timeless confrontation reproduced in all art-forms across the ages – and here, the ecclesiastical solemnity of the renowned Parisian church of Saint-Sulpice was the paradigmatic opposite of the gambling rooms of the Hotel Transylvania, where, in both instances the son was censured by the father – ruefully and philosophically in the privacy of the church, and then trenchantly and censoriously in the tumultuous latter scene in which Guillot wrought his revenge on both Manon and des Grieux, accusing them both of cheating and having them arrested by the police.
Throughout the course of this passionately exuberant and ominously fateful play of events and circumstances the Wellington Opera Chorus brought to the story’s unfolding a vigorously concentrated, chameleon-like series of tableaux, both dynamic, and in places wonderfully frozen in dream-like mise-en-scene “onlooker” stasis amid the vibrant energies, as if choosing to amalgamate momentarily in a “snapshot” with our own audience’s view. Whether on the vibrant promenade of Paris’s Cours-La-Reine or within the inner sanctum of St Sulpice’s church, the voices resoundingly conveyed the singular ambiences of each location, as did the ensemble’s purposefully focused choreographed movements. And while Guillot’s dancers in the Act Three “Ballet from the Opera” made (to the latter’s intense chagrin!) little or no impression upon the by then distracted Manon, their graceful performance suitably charmed the rest of us!
The opera’s final scene depicted the hero and heroine in the grip of Guillot’s revenge – des Grieux has been released from prison at the instigation of his father, but Manon has been sentenced to deportation as befalls “women of her kind”. Des Grieux plans to rescue Manon and bribes a prison guard to free her, but it is too late, as, sick and exhausted, she dies in des Grieux’s arms on the road. Here, it transcended a popular view of opera “a show in which the heroine dies at the end…”…. a powerful “across-the-board” commitment embodied by the conviction of the performance scene seemed for me to tap into a feeling of personal loss, of genuine grief, and even of a certain heroism regarding what people did and aspired towards on stage during the telling of Manon’s story. The moment’s power and capacity to convey genuine emotion spoke volumes, reflecting the quality of production in every sense, bringing to fruition something positive about every aspect of what took place both on and around about that stage over the evening.
It was a process which began with the very first orchestral note sounded from the pit, the music springing into warm, pulsating life from Orchestra Wellington, in the hands of conductor Romain Dumas, featuring both ensemble brilliance and energy along with the warmth and character of the numerous instrumental solos depicting or supporting the characters in the story. Set designer Michael Zaragoza’s distinctive stage sets from the beginning evoked both hints of the glories of the ancien regime, symbolic “archways” (the portals) through which characters such as Manon boldly, even recklessly, strode, but also an expression of what was termed “jouissance”, with its titular character in particular searching for a singular manifestation of delight beyond everyday pleasure. And lighting designer Paul O’Brien’s evocatively-lit scenarios reproduced the essences of the characters’ different surroundings and circumstances, none more enduring in the memory than the bleakness of the road to Le Havre, on which the luckless couple met their respective fates.
At the opera’s end there occurred a momentous standing ovation, a fitting tribute to the efforts of everybody concerned, and not simply to the “star duo” achievement of the two leads – this was a solidly-rounded acclamation of a performance which satisfied on so many levels , not the least of which how it “grew into” the drama as the evening went on. It was one definitely for the ages, then, and affirmed as such with ever-renewing confidence, energy and understanding throughout by this production – a presentation for Wellington Opera to be justly proud of.