July 24 (Bloomberg) -- A junkie soprano shoots up and slumps by a graffiti-covered trash can. A TV mystic surrounds herself with dry ice and plays up to the camera.

Not quite a conventional setting for Verdi’s 1859 masterpiece “Un ballo in maschera.” Martin Lloyd-Evans’s bold production at London’s Korn/Ferry Opera Holland Park was simply too much for one disgruntled customer who booed loudly and walked out in the middle of an act.

Fair enough.

Those who stayed caught a thrilling, if sometimes raw, piece of music theater. A sensational performance from Amanda Echalaz, a chic soprano with a full-bodied voice, didn’t hurt.

Lloyd-Evans relocates the plot to modern America. Gustavo is the charismatic governor of a state riven with warring political factions. His best friend Renato, a military type, is in charge of security. When Renato suspects an affair between his wife Amelia and the governor, his loyalty curdles and he begins to plot murder.

Sex. Backbiting. Treachery. Claustrophobia. It all feels like a disturbingly plausible version of modern politics. With some added ladies for rent, it might be Berlusconi’s Rome.

The corridors of power bustle with advisers, secretaries, and security staff. Surveillance cameras are everywhere. With economical means, designer Jamie Vartan creates a fluid set which transforms from a gubernatorial mansion to a downtown urban hell-hole.

Glamorous Wife

The latter is the place where the glamorous trophy-wife Amelia stumbles about among the trash cans looking for heroin to numb her pain. It adds a level of pathos to the character, for sure; it also begins to suggest a whole different story, which isn’t then properly addressed.

For the rest, Lloyd-Evans keeps a tight rein on the plot. It’s always clear who the conspirators are, who are the good guys, and who shoots whom.

The glamorous Echalaz displays ample reserves of vocal power and a real flair for Verdian phrasing as Amelia: she’s a name to remember. Olafur Sigurdarson is authoritative as the vengeful Renato too.

On opening night, the tenor Rafael Rojas came down with a chest infection, so acted the role on stage while David Rendall, brought in at heroically short notice, sang from the pit. Both he and conductor Peter Robinson did a great job, though it was clear that the general levels of intensity on stage sometimes suffered from the last-minute change.

When Rojas is back on form, it looks to be a cracking good show. Rating: ***1/2

“Un ballo in maschera” is at Korn/Ferry Opera Holland Park thru August 8. For details: http://www.operahollandpark.com or +44-845-230-9769.

Black Album

There is clearly a hunger among theater-goers to see plays which confront the tension between Western liberalism and Islamic fundamentalism.

All the early performances of Hanif Kureishi’s adaptation of his 1995 novel “The Black Album’’ are sold out.

Once word of mouth spreads on the quality of the production, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few tickets are returned. Quite aside from the grinding awkwardness of the agitprop dialog, the direction is so bad, it’s scary. Imagine gawping at a bloody freeway pile-up, and you get the idea.

It’s London, 1989. Shahid Hasan (Jonathan Bonnici) is an apolitical young innocent who arrives in the capital to study post-colonial literature. He quickly makes friends with a group of religious Muslims, who are shocked when they learn of his attraction to his white, pot-smoking libertarian tutor Deedee Osgood. Things come to a head when the notorious fatwa is announced against Salman Rushdie, and Shahid is forced to choose between his loyalties.

Some scenes are non-naturalistic Brechtian political debates; some scenes are more like soap-opera melodrama; some attempt slapstick farce. There are no characters, just mouthpieces, and precious few new insights into the clash between religion and reason.

It’s a pretty lumpy mix, made all the worse by Jatinder Verma’s direction. He leaves enough dead time between scenes -- sometimes during scenes, even -- to ensure that the few sparks of dramatic conflict never ignite into a flame.

One actor delivered his lines so monotonously, and with such repetitive emphasis, I felt like issuing my own theatrical fatwa.

It all takes place in a cramped three-walled set, which serves as Shahid’s digs, a college classroom, and Deedee’s front room. Fussy video projections let us know where we are.

A black mark against “The Black Album.” Rating: *

“The Black Album’’ plays at the National Theatre until October. For info: http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk or +44-20- 7452 3000.

(Warwick Thompson is a critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

What the Stars Mean:
****        Excellent
 ***        Good
 **         Average
 *          Poor
 (No stars) Worthless

To contact the writer on the story: Warwick Thompson, in London, at warwicktho@aol.com.

Last Updated: July 24, 2009 03:59 EDT