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| Images: Craig Fuller |
Count Almaviva – Vitor Bispo
Countess Almaviva – Madison Horman
Susanna – Luiza Willert
Figaro – Michael Ronan
Cherubino – Georgia Mae Ellis
Marcellina – Chloe Harris
Bartolo – Wonsick Oh
Basilio – Magnus Walker
Don Curzio – George Curnow
Antonio – Oleksandr Ilvakhin
Barbarina – Clara Onif
Two Bridesmaids – Cerys MacAllister, Clover Kayne
Stephen Medcalf (director)
Jamie Vartan (designs)
Simon Corder (lighting)
Chorus
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| Countess Almaviva (Madison Horman), Susanna (Luiza Willert) |
The first day of Spring brought the welcome sight of daffodils in Regent’s Park, followed a few yards away by the recurring epiphany that is The Marriage of Figaro at the Royal Academy of Music. Our world may still be in dire straits, but there was something to lift the mood, as was the performance given by an excellent young cast of singers from Royal Academy Opera in a new production by Stephen Medcalf.
Medcalf lightly updates the action to the
mid-twentieth century. Those with superior knowledge of fashions in military
uniforms will be able to tell me more precisely when. It does no harm, enables
the action still to speak pretty much for itself, and avoids the danger of
fetishising eighteenth-century costumes to no particular end. The droit du seigneur
might sit a little oddly with that on paper; yet as we all know, powerful male
predators reinvent it constantly—and many of the finest Figaro
productions have found explicit parallels elsewhere. Here, since the principal
difference is of ‘look’, rather than substance, it really need not matter to
anyone save the dullest Beckmesser. Where Medcalf particular scores is in imparting
such a fine sense of theatre, and enabling the cast to do likewise. From the very
first scene, one sees that Figaro and Susanna have learned to work together, as
have the singer-actors portraying them; the drama could barely unfold more
naturally as a result. Where it becomes stylised, as in a striking section of
slow motion acting during the second-act finale, Medcalf has listened to the score
and reacts accordingly, to the benefit of stage and pit alike. Simon Corder’s lighting
similarly follows suit—and, on occasion, leads. And in scenes notorious for
potential confusion – they are not especially so, yet some directors nonetheless
manage to make a pig’s ear of them – Medcalf’s calm yet fond professionalism
clarifies rather than obscures. Who is who in the garden during the fourth act
is a case in point, though a curmudgeon (who, me?) might ask: without a degree
of confusion, would they actually act in that way at all?
Count Almaviva (Vitor Bispo)
Each of the singers had something excellent
to contribute. For me, the absolute pick of the bunch was Luiza Willert’s
Susanna. She did not put a foot, or pitch a note, wrong; one came to realise
quite how much of a lynchpin the role is, and how much the rest of the cast
benefited from her spirit, her tirelessness, and her vocal artistry alike. Not
that Michael Ronan’s Figaro paled by comparison. Here was a similarly human
portrayal, alert to words, music, and gesture, and their alchemic combination. Vitor
Bispo’s Count was startlingly good, full of toxic yet alluring masculinity, yet
assuredly human nonetheless. His third-act aria was a true highpoint of the evening,
recognised by the audience as such. Madison Horman’s Countess offered a lovely ‘Porgi,
amor’ in particular; she conducted herself with great dignity throughout. As is
so often the case, a small theatre worked wonders in Mozart, enabling us truly
to engage with the characters and their interaction. Georgia Mae Ellis as
Cherubino responded strongly to the comedy of Medcalf’s direction, as did
Magnus Walker as a clerical Basilio. Clara Onif’s cavatina as Barbarina as so
often had one wish she had more to sing, but what she did – assured stage
presence included – she did very well indeed. There was no weak link, though; a
fine company on stage had been created.
Barbarina (Clara Orif)
Alice Farnham’s conducting was sometimes rather hard-driven, the Overture a case in point. The abruptness of some orchestral phrase-endings also attested to puzzling mannerisms of ‘period’ performance. For the most part, though, Farnham maintained and propelled the flow of action well. There were a few – a few too many – noticeable cases of singers and orchestra falling apart, for a number of bars rather than beats, but rehearsal time is never enough and Farnham always ensured they came back together. Occasional thinness of violin tone was regrettable, but again that was doubtless to be attributed to a way of hearing Mozart that is simply not mine. The Royal Academy Sinfonia otherwise showed much to recommend itself, and will surely have learned much from the experience. Alexsander Ribeiro de Lara’s harpsichord continuo playing was excellent throughout: doing what it should with care and imagination, without narcissistically drawing attention to itself as is far too often the case nowadays. Whatever my misgivings orchestrally, this was a life-affirming Figaro at a time when such is sorely needed.
