Die Fledermaus Opera Holland Park 2026 ©Craig Fuller
There is a fine line between sparkling and merely fizzy. Johann Strauss's Die Fledermaus requires an intoxicating blend of elegance, comic timing and vocal brilliance if it is to bubble over with irresistible charm. Opera Holland Park's new production, directed by Liam Steel, pours the champagne generously. If the cork occasionally sticks, there is still plenty to enjoy in an evening that captures much of the operetta's irrepressible spirit.
Steel relocates Vienna's most celebrated night of mistaken identity to London's glittering Bright Young Things era of 1929, replacing imperial ballrooms with Art Deco glamour, cocktails and Noël Coward sophistication. Douglas Carter Beane's adapted book and Jeremy Sams' witty English lyrics keep the dialogue moving at a brisk pace, peppered with knowing British references that rarely outstay their welcome. While the first act takes a little time to find its comic rhythm, by the second act the production has discovered precisely the fizz Strauss demands.
Neil Irish's stylish designs perfectly evoke the decadence of the late twenties. The transformation from the Eisensteins' fashionable drawing room to Prince Orlofsky's lavish soirée is visually striking, while the third-act police station provides an ideal playground for the increasingly absurd misunderstandings. Opera Holland Park's open-air theatre seems made for this world of champagne excess, allowing Strauss's effervescent score to float effortlessly into the summer evening.
George Jackson conducts the City of London Sinfonia with infectious energy. The overture dances elegantly, the famous waltzes are allowed to breathe naturally, and the polkas sparkle with rhythmic precision. Occasionally the orchestra overwhelms the singers in the more intimate passages, but the overall musical sweep never falters, and Jackson understands that Die Fledermaus succeeds only when elegance and momentum remain perfectly balanced.
Thomas Atkins makes an engaging Gabriel von Eisenstein, relishing every ounce of the character's vanity and pomposity. Possessing a warm, flexible baritone and an instinctive comic touch, he creates a thoroughly believable philanderer whose increasingly desperate attempts to extricate himself from his own lies become ever more entertaining. His exchanges with Matthew Siveter's wonderfully deadpan Frank provide some of the evening's biggest laughs, particularly during their gloriously absurd attempts to masquerade as sophisticated French gentlemen.
Alison Langer brings both glamour and vocal authority to Rosalinde. Her ‘Csárdás’ is the undeniable musical highlight of the evening, moving effortlessly from lyrical intimacy to blazing dramatic intensity while reminding us that beneath the comedy lies a woman considerably more intelligent than the men attempting to deceive her. Langer combines elegance with wit, never allowing Rosalinde to become merely the long-suffering wife.
Rebecca Bottone almost steals the evening as Adele. Possessing impeccable comic timing and a bright, agile soprano, she delivers the Laughing Song with dazzling confidence and enviable technical security. Every entrance generates fresh laughter, while her transformation from put-upon maid to aspiring society lady is judged with delightful precision. If there is a genuine star turn in the production, it belongs to Bottone.
Julien Van Mellaerts proves an urbane and calculating Dr Falke, the architect of the entire revenge plot. His suave stage presence makes him the ideal ringmaster of the evening's increasingly elaborate deception, while his elegant baritone lends authority without ever sacrificing humour.
Clare Presland's Prince Orlofsky avoids caricature, instead presenting a languid aristocrat bored by privilege but quietly delighted by the chaos unfolding around the guests. Presland possesses a light voice but sings with effortless poise, capturing both the ennui and the mischief of Strauss's most enigmatic creation.
Xavier Hetherington is a wonderfully overblown Alfred, revelling shamelessly in every operatic cliché. His ringing tenor is deployed with glorious exaggeration, and he milks every comic opportunity without descending into parody. Monwabisi Lindi enjoys his cameo as Dr Blind, while Robert Burt's genial prison governor Frosch and Matthew Siveter's Frank ensure that the final act lands with exactly the right level of farcical mayhem.
Opera Holland Park has always excelled in presenting opera that combines musical quality with theatrical warmth, and this Die Fledermaus largely continues that tradition. The relocation to London occasionally distances the audience from the intimacy of Strauss's original, and the pacing in the opening act could be sharper. Yet these are relatively minor reservations when measured against the sheer enjoyment generated by an outstanding ensemble cast clearly relishing every ridiculous twist of the plot.
Like the finest champagne, this Die Fledermaus is best appreciated for its exuberance rather than analysed too closely. It may not produce quite the sustained effervescence of the greatest productions, but there is more than enough sparkle, vocal distinction and theatrical good humour to send the audience into the Kensington night with smiles firmly intact—and perhaps with a sudden urge to order another glass of champagne.
David Buchler, Opera Spy
