Bohuslav Martinu is better known in reputation than performance in this country so it is not surprising that this was the first performance of Julietta to be staged in London. Richard Jones’ production was widely praised when it opened on the continent and it is here staged with all of the aplomb which we expect of his work. So far, so good. The difficulty comes with the work itself. The score allows the text to come through with clarity – for once there was hardly any need for the sur-titles – but rarely makes any profound impact. Where characters are indulging in fantasy there are long stretches of lyrical writing which are pleasant without being memorable but for too much of the rest of the work the musical line rarely lifts above the level of accompaniment to the voices.

The very clarity of text is also something of a disadvantage. Hearing the words we necessarily engage with them. When they make little sense, we are left confused, as are many of the individuals on stage. That the presentation is a theatrical expression of a dream is convincing, but has the effect of leaving us uninvolved in the action. Peter Hoare’s finely sung Michel has to carry most of the narrative weight but his confusion leaves us unmoved. Some fine moments in act two with the Julietta of Julia Sporsen do not go far enough to captivate us. Yet if we are meant to be at some sort of Brechtian distance it is unclear how we are being led to respond.

A fine cast, often doubling parts, bring moments of humour and the surreal. I particularly liked the horn player in evening dress who wanders through the action like something from Magritte. Edward Gardner and the orchestra do their best to convince us that all is well but, for all the efforts on stage and in the pit, I can’t help feeling rather short-changed. BH