Leoš Janáček’s Jenůfa, first performed in 1904, remains one of the most harrowing explorations of shame, sacrifice, and social cruelty in the operatic canon, and at the Royal Opera House, director Claus Guth and conductor Jakub Hrůša lean into its cold inevitability with dramatic intensity.
Hrůša, who takes over as the Royal Opera House’s new music director this autumn, leads the orchestra with extraordinary precision, bringing out the raw lyricism of Janáček’s score. The music does not merely accompany the action but diffuses from below, seeping into every corner of the stage, illuminating the unfolding tragedy with an unrelenting force. As a Czech conductor taking on one of the great Czech operas, Hrůša’s grasp of the music’s emotional urgency is unmistakable: there is a weight behind every phrase, a depth that grounds the piece in its stark reality.
Michael Levine’s set mirrors this bleakness with his brutalist design, where the unforgiving Czech winter is evoked anti-naturalistically through stark, modernist structures. Jenůfa, trapped in a cage, is at the mercy of those around her, while above, a figure with a colossal raven headpiece perches over her enclosure, a spectral presence shadowing Kostelnička. Like the Furies, she follows, waiting, anticipating the moment of transgression, the sin that will define Jenůfa’s fate.
And sin, in Jenůfa, is never straightforward, as morality bends under the weight of necessity. Kostelnička, in an act meant to protect her stepdaughter from shame, makes an unforgivable decision. She is neither villain nor saviour but something in between, caught in the same web of social constraints that ensnares the women in her world. Guth’s direction makes this painfully clear: agency is a luxury Jenůfa is never afforded. Others decide her future, make choices on her behalf, shape the course of her suffering. The only thing that truly belongs to her is her voice, and Corinne Winters ensures it soars.
Winters’ Jenůfa is as fragile as she is resilient, her soprano flowing effortlessly from innocence to devastation. The voice that first trembles with quiet hope in the opening act grows bolder, more defiant, until it is the only force that cannot be silenced. Nicky Spence’s Laca is equally compelling, his tenor moving between playfulness and brute force, shifting with the volatility of a man torn between love and violence. Every singer has clearly worked hard on their Czech, an effort that pays off in the authenticity of the libretto’s raw, speech-like phrasing.
While the central performances are gripping, some of the minor roles feel more like placeholders than fully fleshed-out characters. They exist to fill the dramatic space rather than shape it, their presence (and their performances) often more functional than truly felt. Janáček’s opera thrives on its deeply human conflicts, yet in this production, characters like the Mayor, his daughter, and the shepherd girl seem to hover at the edges rather than actively influencing the drama.
For all its starkness, Jenůfa does not end in utter despair. The brutal world remains, but within it, something small and uncertain emerges, a possibility of hope that feels as symbolic as the set itself, yet it is better than nothing.
Directed by Claus Guth
Cast includes: Corinne Winters, Karita Mattila, Nicky Spence, Thomas Atkins
Until: 1 February
Running time: 2 hours, 55 minutes (with two intervals)
Photo Credit: Camilla Greenwell
Reviewed by: Nicole Maria Pezza
1 March 2025