The fact that La traviata has been historically known in Japan as Tsubaki-hime (The Camellia Princess), involves a misleading conception. The suffix -hime suggests a delicate, well-born maiden rather than the ‘strayed woman’ intended by Verdi. Vincent Boussard’s production, now on its sixth revival at the New National Theatre Tokyo, offers a nuanced departure from this porcelain image. Seen on 4 April, the revival was anchored by the magnetic soprano Carolina López Moreno and eschewed sentimentality, stripping away the wilting trope to reveal a fierce, independent protagonist.
Boussard’s aesthetic—a ‘third world’ suspended between the nineteenth century and the present—utilised a minimalist stage of mirrored floors and an omnipresent grand piano. While the starkness borders on the utilitarian, it shines a searching light on the performers, a human focus heightened by the director’s own costumes. The men appear in monotone shapes of the 1850s, while the women wear a riot of colour unconstrained by period accuracy. This prioritisation of person over pageant was most apparent during the Parisian demi-monde ball; by omitting conventional dancers and having the NNT Chorus mimic the movements of gypsies and matadors, the scene felt strangely insular. The ensemble delivered their usual commanding presence, yet their coordinated restraint successfully sharpened the focus on Violetta’s solitary, authoritative figure.
The minimalism achieved its most chilling efficacy in the final Act, where a thin veil hangs over Germont père and fils, isolating them from Violetta at centre stage. Standing literally ‘behind the scene’, the men’s voices drift from behind the gauze, rendering them blurred and distant. Whether intended or not, they appear less like mourners than conspirators waiting for her to expire. In a breathtaking break from custom, Boussard’s Violetta does not succumb to the expected collapse. Instead, in her final moments, she rises and advances to the edge of the stage—atmospherically lit by Guido Levi—with arms raised in defiance. Her final sound is not a gasp, but a bold, bittersweet laugh; this is not the death of a ‘stray’, but the liberation of a soul.
Bolivian-Albanian soprano López Moreno made a sensational Tokyo debut. Her instrument—velvety and possessed of a creamy, seamless texture—navigated the score’s demands with astonishing technique. She delivered ‘Ah, fors’è lui’ while reclining on her left side on the mirrored floor, only to snap into ‘Sempre libera’ with striking resolve. Even more remarkable was her ‘Addio, del passato’, sung while draped across the grand piano. Despite the physical challenge of singing while lying on her side, her voice resounded through the auditorium with absolute clarity, transitioning effortlessly from a rigorous, full-bodied tone to a haunting sotto voce. Moreno was no frail, tubercular courtesan, but a self-possessed force with the untamed grace of a leopard.
Alongside this formidable lead, Antonio Corianò’s Alfredo appeared to struggle with the austere demands of the staging in his house debut. Deprived of theatrical crutches on a nearly vacant floor, the chemistry between him and Moreno remained elusive. His reserve during the Act I declaration felt somewhat constrained, though he found his stride during the outburst of scorn at Flora’s party. Conversely, Roberto Frontali’s Giorgio Germont provided a masterclass in the classic portrayal of the self-righteous patriarch. A veteran of the boards, Frontali inhabited his signature role with assured poise, his dignified delivery serving as a foil to Corianò’s volatility.
In the pit, Leo Hussain led the Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra with consistently well-managed energy. His handling of the Act II finale allowed the singing full breadth to emphasise Violetta’s profound anguish, paving the way for a poignant transformation. Ultimately, this production proved that Verdi’s decision to rename the work La traviata, moving away from the floral imagery of the original novel, was truly visionary. As the house lights remained down, the silhouette of a woman standing with hands aloft in a final, rebellious peal of mirth left the audience breathless.
Natsuko Hirakura
Cast and Production Staff:
Violetta Valéry – Carolina López Moreno; Alfredo Germont – Antonio Corianò; Giorgio Germont – Roberto Frontali; Flora Bervoix – Mutsumi Taniguchi; Visconte Gastone – Kyosuke Kanayama; Barone Douphol – Hiroyuki Narita; Marchese D’Obigny – Hiroki Shimizu; Dottor Grenvil – Masumi Kubota; Annina – Eriko Hanafusa
Production and Costume Design – Vincent Boussard; Set Design – Vincent Lemaire; Lighting Design – Guido Levi; Movement Director – Helge Letonja; Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra and New National Theatre Chorus, Conductor – Leo Hussain
New National Theatre Tokyo, 4 April 2026
All photos © Rikimaru Hotta