The Marriage of Figaro
On the face of it, Le nozze di Figaro, Mozart's much-loved confection of droit de seigneur thwarted and true love triumphant is a perfect summer season opener. When Opera Australia first unveiled Neil Armfield's production (a co-production with Welsh National Opera initially staged in Cardiff in 2001) it was a typically effervescent mix of sly, sophisticated humour, imaginative staging and, of course, that glorious music: memorable solo spots, soaring duets, intricate quartets all wrapped in some of the composer's loveliest and wittiest melodies including good stuff for the chorus and orchestra.
This time and on opening night at least, despite a promisingly sizzling overture from conductor Alexander Briger and the band, the show doesn't really live up to its baggage of two Helpmann awards and a file of hugely enthusiastic reviews. It probably illustrates yet again what happens when the original director is absent (on Snugglepot and Cuddlepie duty) and the restaging and re-rehearsal is left in the hands of A.N. Other whose spirit is willing but whose creative vision is, inevitably, weaker than that which devised the production in the first place. This is particularly crucial when a production relies heavily on comic timing and subtle performance nuances. When these are lost or misunderstood by incoming cast members, the essential momentum and lightness also vanishes. The result is a stodgy plod rather than the skipping exhilaration promised by the music.
And, of course, most of the original cast has moved on and the current mob is an uneven mix of terrific - especially Tiffany Speight's vocally glorious Susanna and Leanne Kenneally's poignant Countess - and miscasting. Jud Arthur is one of the company's most handsome and impressive younger artists, but creaky old Dr Bartolo he ain't, no matter how many wrinkles are painted on; and Sally-Anne Russell appears to have not a laddish bone in her body, so the priapic adolescent charm of the page Cherubino is absent, instead he's a pouty pain in the ass. As Figaro, Joshua Bloom was vocally uncertain although he looks the part of the young swain; similarly, Jose Carbo also looks the part of the saturnine Count Almaviva, but didn't shine vocally. Perhaps, as the cast get to know one another better they might generate a better sense of the intimacy and sexiness on which this opera depends, meanwhile, it's difficult to get worked up about these heroes and anti-heroes, despite attempted swagger and fetching display of chest hair. All in all, it must be said, the gals carry the night in the singing department.
To disguise and distract from the subversive politics of the piece, the essence of Figaro is effervescent humour and the radiant interplay of voices. Because some of these elements are mistimed or simply missing, other components come to the fore and are confusing; the first act, for instance, now seems to be more about a red leather recliner armchair than the setting up of the combinations of lovers, would-be lovers, naughtiness and downright wicked behaviour. Dale Ferguson's design of vast ratty old drapes still comes into its own in the Countess's boudoir - and the old-fashioned salon-style hood hairdryer remains as a reminder of the production's visual wit.
Perhaps, when the Gumnuts are safely into their Sydney Festival run, Neil Armfield could return and give the Figaro crew a master class in comedy and sexual allure. It's sorely needed.
The Marriage of Figaro, Sydney Opera House to March 31 (with some cast changes); ph: 9250 7777 or www.opera-australia.org.au
