Dead Man Walking – London Coliseum

Director: Kerem Hasan

Composer: Jake Heggie

Libretto: Terrence McNally

In her book about her work, her ministry with prisoners on Death Row in Louisiana’s Angola Penitentiary, Sister Helen Prejean writes: “The secrecy surrounding executions makes it possible for executions to continue. I am convinced that if executions were made public, the torture and violence would be unmasked, and we would be shamed into abolishing executions.” Of course, there was the film in 1995. This opera was written in 2000.

The composer Jake Heggie and the librettist Terrance McNally have taken this message and run with it. The crime is presented on-stage powerfully and viscerally, the long, drawn-out process of appealing for a pardon, losing the appeal, seeking clemency from the Governor of Louisiana, having that clemency denied, and then preparing for the gruesome judicial execution: all that is portrayed relentlessly. The torture and violence perpetrated by the criminal and subsequently by the state are comprehensively unmasked.

There are some aspects of the show, however, that are seriously problematic. Most distressing is the set, designed by Alex Eales. It represents a large, naturalistic right-angled section of a building, painted sludge green, full of doors and windows. It serves as the penitentiary, a convent, a courthouse, various waiting rooms, and a death cell. It isn’t very convincing as any of those things, and isn’t helped by constant stacking and rearranging chairs and tables to represent the different venues.

The set also prominently features two entrances large enough to admit a car. That is convenient, because the car in which two lovers are cavorting when the curtain goes up, and in which they are murdered, gets dragged away only to re-appear as Sister Helen Prejean’s (Christine Rice) ride to Angola Penitentiary. She sings a long and plot-heavy number through the car window, with difficulty, before it is effortfully hauled off stage, never to be seen again. It’s a lot of prop. It takes a number of people to manoeuvre it. It is a real car and so very naturalistic, and it is clunky and in the way.

The whole set constrains the action; it makes for incoherent entrances and exits, especially the crucial last exit of the murderer Joseph de Rocher (Michael Mayes), who is hauled off for execution stage right only to turn around in full view, and re-enter, followed by his trundling death cell. It should be terrifying; it is actually bizarre and slightly comical at a time when comic relief is really not wanted. There’s also a mystical soft drinks vending machine that charges onstage together with the ghosts of the slaughtered children. Effects like this leave the production stranded uncomfortably between realism and symbolism, and make for a seriously unhelpful context for the drama.

The other major problem is the quantity of recitative. A large proportion of the opera is conversational back and forths between a couple of principals. Terrence McNally, who wrote the book, also collaborated extensively with Kander and Ebb of Chicago fame, and provides fast, demotic, wry dialogue. Turning that into disposable recitative makes it both hard to hear and ponderous, and makes the pointed discussions on guilt and morality between Prejean and de Rocher almost incomprehensible. Since this opera claims to be exploring arguments around capital punishment, audibility and comprehension are paramount.

There are a number of high points. Chief amongst them, a heart-rending solo from Dame Sarah Connolly as de Rocher’s mother, lamenting and loving her son, the murderer. Michael Mayes closes Act One with a beautiful, soulful, reflective piece that features the title trope Dead Man Walking! to chilling effect. A welcome change of mood opens Act Two as Mayes and Rice duet and bond over Elvis Presley. Jacques Imbrailo, playing the father of the murdered girl, makes his lament for his child, his rage at her killer, and his struggle to forgive, into a wrenching emotional moment, bringing together the key dramatic ideas, the conflict between revenge and justice and forgiveness. It is quiet and poignant. It is the pivotal moment of the long opera.

Runs until 12 November 2025