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Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia must be one of the most loved and played
classics of the operatic stage. It is stuffed full of concert-room bon-bons and
its simple, lively, farcical plot and action are as much a gift to a witty
director as its vigorous roles are to a colourful cast. Of course, with too
large a dose of pretentiousness, both director and cast can go horribly wrong,
but last night’s performance at the Deutsche Oper, in the six year-old staging (‘47th
performance’) of Katharina Thalbach, with the liveliest young cast of singer-actors
imaginable, simply went oh-so-thoroughly right.
Mme Thalbach chose to take that favourite path
of directors since the ark, and ‘frame’ the action. So we had the story of
young Almaviva’s amorous exploits played out like a commedia dell’arte on a
stage within a stage, while a bundle of present-day seaside Sevillians lounged
around watching and occasionally getting involved. Just because it’s an old
trick doesn’t mean it doesn’t work, and it works particularly well when decked
out in bright and enjoyable south-of-Spanish scenery (Momme Röhrbein) and
costumes (Guido Maria Kretschmer), and played with real gusto. It works less
well when the ‘off-stage’ people do chorus acting and fidgety ‘business’ whilst
the ‘on stage’ principals are singing an aria, or pursuing the story. But that
didn’t happen too much. By and large, the show galloped along merrily and
musically, and a grand time was had by all. And for that, we have to thank not
only the production, but the players. As delicious a team as ever you could ask
for. How grand to have a Rosina who could pass for a teenager, an Almaviva like
a 20 year-old Errol Flynn, a Figaro who is a cheeky boyo and not an ageing
buffo. Yes!
The opera is a little unfairly titled ‘The
Barber of Seville’ (though I’m told it wasn’t originally), but the character of
the finagling Figaro certainly has captured the world’s imagination. You didn’t
need any imagination last night. This Figaro (Étienne Dupuis) was what I’ve
always imagined he should be. I’ve used all my adjectives already, so I’ll just
repeat them: young, lively, natural, athletic, humorous … and can he sing the
music! After seeing Mons Dupuis as my definitive, dying Rodrigo (Don Carlo) I wondered what he’d make of
comedy. I didn’t need to wonder. Just wait. Gagné.
That list of delighted adjectives applies
equally forcefully to the ‘hero’ of the night, the Count Almaviva. If Mons
Dupuis is my ideal Figaro, Matthew Newlin is my perfect Almaviva. He had me in
serious chortles with his impersonation of a drunken soldier, with his fake
Basilio, with his serenading of Rosina and his baffling of Dr Bartolo, and his
‘Ecco ridente in cielo’, sung in an effortlessly pure ‘Mozart’ tenor, was, for
me, the musical gem of the night.
The lady in the tale, Rosina, doesn’t do
much. She gets done to. But, on the way to her happy ending, she gets to sing
the famous ‘Una voce poco fa’ and the almost as famous ‘Dunque io son’. What do
you do with ‘Una voce?’. Well, for my taste, you don’t race through it.
Stephanie Lauricella has a really lovely, creamy, even mezzo-soprano which can
breeze without difficulty through the frills and trills of this classic
showpiece, but I would like it to ‘tell’ more at a slightly steadier tempo. But
that’s something folks have never agreed on. Anyway, Miss Lauricella was as
bright and lively as her two companions, and the three made up a singing and
comic acting trio of absolute choice.
Alongside the trio de tête, Noel Bouley made
more out of the ‘butt of the comedy’ role of Dr Bartolo than I thought
possible, Marko Mimica rumbled out a staunchly sonorous ‘Calunnia’ aria as
Basilio, and Hulkar Sabirova flung out her high E, while the others took a
breather, as Berta.
The stoutly-applauded orchestra under
Moritz Gnann caught and helped the prevailing tendency for vivacity, but
sometimes took it to excess. I wondered how the singers kept up (they didn’t
some of the time). Or when they grabbed a breath!
But, for me, Il Barbiere di Siviglia rises or falls on vivacity, fun … and those
three leading players. Which means that this performance of Rossini’s opera
rose like my mother’s best soufflé.
And, you know, what pleases me? I came in
humming the score. As one does. But I went out with pictures of Figaro dangling
in the air, of Almaviva leaping about like Zorro, of Rosina in her Papuan
Lampshade dress … and, of course, of the little burro who put in a cameo
appearance. That pleases me, because opera is more than just singing the music.
An opera should be a ‘show’. And last night sure was a show, in every way. A
grand night out at the theatre.
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