On a cold, rain-swept evening, 13 February 2026, Staatsoper Unter den Linden presented one of Giacomo Puccini’s most gripping masterpieces. Already a highlight of the season, the closing performance crowned its run with an interpretation that combined musical refinement, theatrical intensity, and an audience response that lasted long after the final curtain.

Production and Artistic Team

The three-act melodrama, drawn from the play by Victorien Sardou and fashioned into a libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica, was conducted by Petr Popelka and staged by Alvis Hermanis. Visual elements played a decisive role: sets and costumes came from Kristine Jurjane, lighting from Gleb Filshtinsky, while the chorus had been meticulously prepared by Gerhard Polifka. In the pit, the Staatskapelle Berlin once again demonstrated why it is counted among Europe’s most distinguished opera orchestras.

The structure of the evening—one interval after Act I—allowed the fatal chain of events in the final two acts to unfold in a single, tightening dramatic arc. The result was an almost unbearable accumulation of tension.

Stage Performances and a Rare Encore

Aleksandra Kurzak shaped the title role with striking psychological depth, moving effortlessly from tenderness to blazing defiance. Her “Vissi d’arte” emerged not as a showpiece but as an intimate confession.

Opposite her, Piotr Beczała’s Cavaradossi combined elegance of phrasing with heroic projection. From his first moments on stage he radiated assurance, and the audience responded instantly. Alexey Markovportrayed Scarpia with chilling authority, his controlled vocal line underlining the character’s cruelty without caricature.

The supporting artists—Carles Pachon, Hanseong Yun, Florian Hoffmann, Irakli Pkhaladze and Jaka Mihelač—contributed finely etched characterizations that strengthened the dramatic credibility of the whole.

The emotional peak arrived at the beginning of Act III. Following Beczała’s aria, applause swelled, refused to subside, and turned into rhythmic calls for more. In a move rarely granted in this house, the tenor offered an encore. The repetition did not feel routine; it felt historic.

In the foyer afterward, the buzz was immediate and unusually unified.

• An opera student from Potsdam: “I came to listen, but I ended up holding my breath. When Beczała repeated the aria, people around me had tears in their eyes.”

• A long-time subscriber: “I have attended this theatre for decades. Standing ovations happen, but not with this intensity. Tonight the electricity was different.”

• A young couple visiting from Munich: “Kurzak made Tosca human. Vulnerable, proud, desperate—everything at once.”

• An international visitor: “The orchestra sounded like molten gold. You could feel Puccini’s heartbeat.”

Hermanis’s direction illuminated the emotional mechanics of each character, while Jurjane’s severe architectural lines—especially in Act II—projected the icy face of institutional power. Filshtinsky’s lighting carved the stage into zones of fear and hope. Together, they created images that lingered as strongly as the music.

When the curtain finally fell, the entire auditorium rose. Applause rolled from the stalls up to the highest balconies, recalling the artists again and again. Berlin’s opera audience, knowledgeable and demanding, had delivered its verdict.

This Tosca will be remembered as one of the defining triumphs of the season: a meeting of masterful conducting, inspired singing, and theatrical intelligence.

© Eurasia Review