Last Updated on March 18, 2026
Katie Mitchell’s new production of Janáček’s Makropulos Case
3.0 out of 5.0 starsThe plot of Leoš Janáček’s The Makropulos Case, despite involving a centuries-old will, a host of romantic lovers and a mysterious opera star, is not meant to be confusing. Despite this, if you see Katie Mitchell’s new staging of the opera, you may want to refresh your memory of the original plot and also read up on Mitchell’s reimagining, as without them, you’ll be wondering what the hell is going on. Mitchell is famed for her feminist retellings of classic operas, and The Makropulos Case is no different; in fact, this might be her largest reworking yet. The results, however, are distinctly mixed.
Janáček’s original plot for The Makropulos Case, which he adapted from a play of the same name by his fellow Czech countryman Karel Čapek, begins in a lawyer’s office. The lawyer Kolenatý represents the Gregors in a case against the Prus family, in a dispute over a fortune that has been going on for over a century. When the mysterious opera singer Emily Marty shows up, she divulges information about the case that is oddly specific – she knows where the will is. Hidden in a forgotten cupboard in the Prus family house, she knows that this will secure Albert Gregor the fortune. What ensues from here is a hunt for the will, and mounting pressure for Emily Marty to explain her coveted knowledge. Only the enigmatic singer, however, knows the will also holds the key to everlasting life.
As conductor Jakub Hrůša knows, this opera, written late into Janáček’s life, after Jenůfa and Vixen, offers a very different musical challenge to that of his earlier works. As the Royal Opera orchestra starts its sharp descent into Janáček’s thriller, it is the cold, unflinching modernity of his score that grips the senses. The folkish folly of his earlier operas only appears in glimpses; this is a cooler, almost detached opera, confronting the human condition. Hrůša is at home here, keeping the RBO orchestra in check, despite the thrilling jagged strings and strange thumping brass sections. The precision is electrifying. But it is not a clerk’s office that this Makropulos Case opens on, but a hotel room.
Instead of focusing on Emily Marty’s relationships with men – and the desires that almost the entire cast inflict on her – Katie Mitchell’s new staging completely upends the original story by centring a minor character, Krista, as Marty’s lesbian love interest. In some ways, this decision makes sense, as Mitchell has flippantly stated: who wouldn’t be tired of men after 300 years of cruelty? This addition, plus the new imperative to understand two plots at once, certainly has its tense and thrilling moments (note: Krista hiding between two wardrobes in Marty’s dressing room), but also feels too convoluted to actually encourage the audience to be involved in the drama. The female characters, however, certainly feel more centred and fully realised, and in this production, the men are definitely more lecherous.
Peppered with Katie Mitchell’s signature ‘slow-mo’ moments, the cast does well to handle both the original music and the new overlaid plot. Sean Panikkar, singing Albert Gregor (Bertie) on opening night, gave a performance that was full of impulsive violence. His obsession with Marty drives him to assault her; meanwhile, his tenor felt frenzied yet precise. Kolenatý, too, sung by bass-baritone Henry Waddington, who eventually agrees to give Marty the documents on the condition she sleeps with him, oozes self-serving sleaze.
Ausrine Stundyte’s Emily Marty is without a doubt the true draw of this production. Expertly playing the men to her own advantage while reserving real softness and passion for Krista, she takes to this more complex Marty like a duck to water. She expertly navigates Janáček’s expanding and dilating vocal score, while balancing an act that varies between boredom and intensity. Krista too, sung by Heather Engebretson, who begins the show by trying to steal Marty’s belongings, but ends up totally falling for her, displays a superb soprano, but it is her acting that truly stands out, in a show where she only has a handful of operatic lines.
It is the ending that saves this Makropulos Case from total confusion, after an added murder in the second act swerves the production in a totally new direction. In Marty’s hotel room, the walls of the set, designed by Vicki Mortimer, truly begin to feel as if they are closing in. As Marty finally reckons with her mysterious past, her final decision not to take the elixir of life that had been forced on her hundreds of years ago becomes a haunting statement on the cruelty that has been inflicted on her. It is here that Mitchell and Janáček finally begin to understand each other. Even if she dies surrounded by men who have wronged her, finally, she gets to make her own choice.
As a slightly controversial figure, there will be some who will no doubt be drooling at the thought of Mitchell giving up on opera – particularly the distasteful audience members who insist on booing whenever the director appears on stage to take a bow. But Mitchell’s daring takes on the canon have been eye-opening, particularly her Theodora (2022) at the RBO, which opened to all-around stellar reviews. Beyond being a director of ‘important’ works, which is the label often relegated to those who actually push mediums to their limits, she can be a creator of great work. But perhaps the most feminist thing she can do is pass the baton to the next generation of female opera directors. It will be interesting to see what happens next.
The Makropulos Case,
Royal Opera House, 4–21 November 2025. Sung in Czech with English surtitles. Tickets £10–£211. Tickets are available with full details and booking at rbo.org.uk. Do not miss this new production, which promises a brilliant introduction to Janáček’s opera.
Royal Opera House
Covent Garden,
Bow Street,
London WC2E 9DD
Looking for something different? Check our review of Dead Man Walking from ENO, currently showing at the London Coliseum
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