Young Vic, London
English National Opera's annual Young Vic residency frees the company up to do more intimate work, and while Benedict Andrews's Monteverdi production doesn't consistently fire on all cylinders, it is as thought-provoking as anything ENO has done here. When Ulysses finally returns to Penelope, Andrews makes it very clear that the man making himself at home under her shower is not the same one she married – and to say his return is not the joyful event she imagined is quite some understatement.
The production's most striking element is Börkur Jónsson's set. Glamorous, mature Penelope waits for Ulysses to return from the battlefield in a revolving glass-walled box like a hotel suite, stylish yet soulless. It feels like a prison - though, aptly, Penelope can step outside it whenever she likes. Indeed, the singing takes place almost entirely in front of it, meaning most of Christopher Cowell's unfussy English text comes across.
It's furnished with shower, TV, kitchen worktop and hob, all plumbed in and ready to cook; early on, Diana Montague as the old retainer Ericlea whips up a little something, which Penelope hurls against the wall. This time it's shocking; several repetitions later, the idea loses its impact, and those walls are getting very smeary indeed.
Penelope is Pamela Helen Stephen, whose mezzo-soprano is not an especially rich or intriguing voice in itself, but who fits perfectly into the role Andrews assigns her. Live-action images of her alone and wakeful, playing on two screens above the stage, are a powerful starting point. But as Andrews fills up his glass box with characters, the drama gets cluttered. Some touches seem little more than symbolic red herrings; some work well and yet still feel like gimmicks, as when Telemaco zooms in on his lover's picture on an iPhone. The screen images are a constant presence, but as one character sings, and another is filmed in closeup, you get the nagging feeling that the real story is happening somewhere else.
The second part works better, partly because there is more of Ulysses, and the role of the damaged returning soldier is one to which tenor Tom Randle brings all his considerable magnetism and experience. With Ruby Hughes's Minerva an exception, not all the younger cast members seem so much at ease, and the three suitors are as silly as they are sinister. But they are buoyantly supported by an outstanding 13-player ensemble that, directed from the keyboard by Jonathan Cohen, never seems to let the music stop or start – it just flows.