“A charming and exuberant rendition of Mozart’s beloved comedy.”
On the sunny lawn at Glyndebourne a gentleman in immaculate black tie told me that ‘One must see Figaro at least once a year, otherwise one gets a toothache.’ Frequently lauded as the greatest opera ever, Le Nozze di Figaro has been at the core of Glyndebourne repertoire since its inception and this summer’s production marks the tenth new version at the Festival. The stakes perhaps could not be much higher, then, for director Mariame Clément to deliver a rendition of Mozart’s beloved opera of mistaken identities and reconciled loves that is at once familiar and fresh.
Clément opts for a fairly conventional staging which retains the original 18th century setting, replete with lush gowns and powdered faces. Julia Hansen’s revolving set, evoking an elegant painting, gives the Count’s castle a labyrinthine quality in which there are plenty of hiding and eavesdropping spots. This has the effect of enhancing the claustrophobia of this folle journée, as the spinning set has characters running in circles, unable to escape from the castle’s physical, and social, structure.
Figaro is an opera which can swing wildly between comic farce and poignant drama; though Clément leans towards the former, this production is not without beauty and heartbreak. A relatively young cast of leads lends a youthful mischief to the comedy, offering spectacular double takes and downright silliness as characters attempt to hide under sheets and in dresses. Johanna Wallroth brings a wry wit to her Susanna, who seems equal parts delighted and exasperated by her exuberant fiancé Figaro, played by Michael Nagl with great comic bluster. This production’s interpretation of Count Almaviva is particularly striking. Sung fantastically by rising star Huw Montague Rendall, this count is a petulant lothario who refuses to be told ‘no’. There is a childishness to him which occasionally switches to a darker wielding of power. His responses to being denied what he wants range from, at the comic end, stomping his feet and banging his head, to, at the more menacing end, groping Susanna and choking his wife.
The Countess, subject to the violence and neglect of her husband, brings the bulk of the opera’s more serious emotional side. Exquisitely sung by Louise Alder, her tender arias offer a tragic portrait of a woman so love-starved that even her randy page momentarily seems to offer solace. But despite the beauty of Alder’s portrayal, it seems dramatically implausible that what the Countess most desires, and is therefore willing to forgive, is the love and attention of a man so philandering, sulky and violent.
Musically, this Figaro is a treat. It is extremely well-sung all round and the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, under the baton of Riccardo Minasi, sounds fantastic, playing with absolute precision despite a few moments of surprising rubato. The orchestra’s use of historical instruments enhances the richness and sweetness of Mozart’s score, offering remarkable delicacy in the strings, delightful grace from the woodwind and blistering triumph in the brass. The music is fully part of the comedy, too, with witty flourishes from the continuo and comic gestures onstage perfectly timed to the orchestra.Fizzing with energy, this Figaro is a highly enjoyable feast of comic and musical delights.