Every year Guildhall singers dedicate twice-weekly sessions to the preparation of an opera, a tradition now in its sixteenth year, and a marvellous training ground for professionals-to-be to get to grips with the art, with the space and time to learn, far more so than productions can normally afford their singers. So last week, two performances of Poulenc’s Dialogue des Carmélites were tested to a privileged audience. “This is an opera that has not been put on enough,” said Will, a student singer I spoke to afterwards. The course covers diction, lyric-learning, acting, vocal stamina-building, story-telling skills and in this case, (faultless) French-language-learning too, explains director John Ramster to me at the end. This initiation into the opera world has become the foundation of many a successful opera singer, writes Eleanor Thorn.
This was a significantly abridged version, with every instrumental note provided by the piano, rather than orchestra, thanks to some fine playing by Linnhe Robertson, whose choice this operetta was, chosen to match the capabilities of the incoming voices. The cast featured undergraduates and a few postgraduate students too.
Written in 1956, in the aftermath of the Second World War, Dialogue is set during the French Revolution (early 1790s), focusing on an episode that had me thinking of the 26 Christian martyrs of Nagasaki, Japan. “We witness the end of the world for 16 nuns,” said Ramster. Whilst I knew that many a ‘noble’ head was lopped off, that the practice of religion was banned was a revelation to me.
Marquis (Jeremy Herron) and son (William Prasteyo) are discussing the likelihood of imminent trouble, when daughter Blanche (Daria Chudakova), frightened by a close encounter with revolutionaries, returns resolved to take refuge in a convent. There it transpires the Prioress (Niamh Kearney) is dying. She receives Blanche on the premise that rather than refuge, theirs is a house of prayer. The Prioress’ agony, seeming abandonment by God, anguish and all-encompassing fear are portrayed in a powerful performance, rendered all the more so by the minimalist scenography. The Chaplain (Owen Ravden) is an impressively high counter tenor rather than the baritone of the original score. The new Prioress (Niraali Patel) tells the nuns that prayer is their duty and martyrdom their reward. They vow to remain steadfast, even after, defrocked, they are imprisoned. A sense of foreboding is strong, with a premotion of doom and a broken figurine. Forced to work as a servant to those who once served her, Blanche, who had fled, returns to witness the nuns’ execution, and finally she too steps into line as one by one they leave the stage to the waiting guillotine, whose brutal blade falling makes us jump even once we’ve understood its inevitability.
The visual starkness of the religious habits, black with a little white, against an entirely pine-coloured stage and wings, is bare, striking and concentrates the intensity of the music. The choreography is cinematographic, the subject matter full of pathos.
One of the most psychologically demanding female roles, Blanche, whom Chudakova describes as “a woman who passes through fear in order to find inner freedom,” is charged with dramatic intensity and emotional depth and certainly for a first-time lead role, her delivery is sensitive and strong.
Finally, the words of fellow audience member Will add insight into Poulenc’s work, “Skillful at tapping into emotions, as a queer man, his capacity to be vulnerable makes him stand out […] The Guildhall is good at programming thought-provoking discussion, so vital and applicable to today”.
The Guildhall programme is for the most part free of charge with no need to reserve a seat.
Info: https://www.guildhall-programmes.co.uk/2026-05-11-intro-to-opera
