"The Marriage of Figaro" by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart |
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by DAVID GREGSON Sexual harassment between males and females simply isn’t what it used to be. Today a secretary can sue the pants off her boss if he touches her shoulder too suggestively (and the suggestiveness may often be very much in the shoulder of the beholder); but once upon a time, she might have been required to sleep with him according to a law known in French as “le droit de seigneur” (“the right of the lord”). One hears of this ancient law primarily in terms of a wedding night amusement pursued by male lords in feudal times, and the Latin term for it is “jus primae noctis.” Quite simply, the lord is looking to deprive a young bride (a commoner) of her maidenhead before her legal bridegroom has a go at it himself. And it is this “droit de seigneur” that infamously propels the plot of one of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s greatest masterpieces, Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro). Working from a libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte, adapted from the 1778 play by Beaumarchais, Mozart penned a four-act opera buffa, which is supposed to be and is funny, although some stage directors love to explore the dark side of the social injustice underlying the entire comedy. The opera’s anti-hero, Count Almaviva, can be portrayed as an effete aristocrat -- just another heartless Don Giovanni, well on his way to hell as he betrays his wife, plots seductions, and exploits his helpless serfs. In the San Diego Opera production, which began a five-performance run last night in Civic theatre, stage director Linda Brovsky treated this touchy topic with the perfect degree of seriousness, and, aided by some very unambiguous Digitext titles displayed above the proscenium, she left the audience no room for doubt about what was actually going on. In one amusing “for instance,” Brovsky brought Count Almaviva’s worshipful chorus of peasants on stage to sing these ironic lines: “Happy maidens, throw your flowers before our noble lord whose generous heart preserves the purity of even more lovely flowers” (roughly translated from Italian by me.). Well, the Count has no intention of preserving any female flowers if he can help it – and Brovsky lets us know the peasants are in no way fooled by his lies. In the reprise of the chorus just quoted, they are shaking their mops and dusting their sheets in a kind of impotent fury. Yet, Brovsky never lets this Figaro become the Regietheater (“producer's opera”) mess it could so easily be. Her emphasis is on the Mozart/da Ponte story and characters, and the entire production, if lacking spontaneity and inventiveness, is a model of clarity and sense. And Brovsky seems content to let the singers find their creative comfort zones when it comes to the comic drama. As for the sets, the wealthy Almaviva’s dwell in a large but rustic Spanish villa thanks to designer Zack Brown who originally planned this production for San Francisco over a decade ago. These sets – in order, four complete views of Figaro’s bedroom, the Countess’ boudoir, the villa exterior and a formal garden -- have been seen here in the SDO mountings of Figaro in 1992 and 1998. They are handsome, without excessive decoration, and somehow very convincing – although they come nowhere near the level of opulence one occasionally sees in some other productions. Although I found conductor Edoardo Müller’s tempi dragged from time to time (but certainly not in the zippy overture!), he and the San Diego Symphony lent pleasurable and stylish support to a fine cast of singers. Special kudos must go to harpsichordist Dorothy Randall who provided striking support in her playing of the score’s continuo. The Figaro on this occasion was American bass-baritone Richard Bernstein who has sung this part so many times, I’m certain he himself cannot count them. He does not quite “own” it, as the expression goes, yet he has charm, stage savvy, and virtually everything you could wish. He has a fine voice, too, but when it comes to something like the scene-stealing “Non più andrai” (the fabulously parodistic exhortation to militarism that ends Act One), he cannot quite achieve the sort of rich, full sound ideal for this music. Even in his anti-feminist tirade (“Aprite un po’ quegli occhi”) in the final garden scene, one would like to hear more tone – yet Bernstein tears off this number with supreme confidence, addressing directly (as is the custom) all the poor saps in the audience who have been duped by women. Due to the text, this number is sometimes greeted by good-natured boos, but not last night. This might be the place to mention an important cut, by the way: the aria “Il capro e la capretta” (“The goat and his mate”), in which Marcellina, now revealed to be Figaro’s mother, rails against men for their treatment of women. Cutting this aria certainly shortens what is already a very long opera, but without that piece, the audience gets a somewhat distorted view of what Mozart and da Ponte are up to. Marcellina’s song puts the battle of the sexes back into a more balanced context. If you cut Marcellina’s aria, the sexual debate is one-sided. On the other hand, Basilio’s aria (“In quegli anni in cui val poco”) is such a colossal diversion, it can easily be junked – and so it was last night. Apologies are due to Swiss tenor Martin Zysset, a superb Basilio. Filled by two terrific old pros, American soprano Delores Ziegler and American basso Kevin Langan, the roles of Marcellina and Don Bartolo were marvelously realized. Their comic situation is too delicious from the word go, but spookily Freudian too! They are not married, but they are (without realizing it) Figaro’s parents. Marcellina is in the process of blackmailing Figaro into marrying her when she discovers – ooops! – she’s actually his mother! In the twinkle of a hemidemisemiquaver, she totally turns off the amorous pursuer and becomes a doting mother. She instantly accepts her “rival,” Figaro’s bride-to-be, Susanna, and decides to actually marry Bartolo and to join her son and daughter-in-law in a double marriage. Kinky stuff, what? I wonder if Freud actually does write about this somewhere. It’s difficult to imagine a better Susanna than Canadian soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian. I have seen her several times in this part which has become something of a specialty with her. She has the sass and the intelligence and she’s funny, but she is also able to reach down inside and pull something out like the last-act “Deh vieni, non tardar” and break your heart with it. I think American soprano Pamela Armstrong was looking to break a few hearts last night in her third act “Dove sono,” one of the great arias written for anybody, ever. Unfortunately, she was struggling against a chorus of coughing generated by some boors in the audience. Such behavior is truly egregious, especially when coughers make absolutely no effort at all to stifle the noise. They must think they’re home watching television. The stage, however, is an interactive medium. Artists hear the coughs and that fact affects their performance. Armstrong was attempting a gorgeous, delicate piano reprise of the main melody during the worst of the noise from the house. Armstrong was excellent all evening, singing with a beautifully supported tone, but at the outset she was the victim of a little misguided bit of stage business probably invented by Brovsky. Before “Porgi amor” (“Love, bring back my beloved to me”) she hears a noise in the corridor, turns down the bed sheets, and then rushes to the door to see if the Count is coming to make love to her – but it’s only a servant passing by the hallway. Such shtick robs the Countess of her dignity, and Armstrong had to work hard to overcome that initial image of a woman on the brink of desperation. The key to this part is really maintaining some sense of decorum no matter what happens! As for our anti-hero, rarely does one see an Almaviva so deliciously depraved and attractive at the same time. His voice is of the type so often praised as "world class," a tiresome cliché no doubt, but definitely applicable in this case. True menace is impossible without the element of fatal attraction. One hopes Ian Campbell will hire Polish baritone Mariusz Kwiecien again before he becomes too expensive! New Zealand mezzo-soprano Sarah Castle was the randy young Cherubino, the archetypal adolescent in love with love itself and chasing every skirt in sight. Cherubino’s two great arias “Non so più cosa son, cosa faccio” and “Voi che sapete” are models of Mozart’s genius at fusing textual meaning with strict musical forms – and “Non so più” is particularly miraculous in revealing character. Ms. Castle does quite well in her girl-imitates-being-a-boy-who-then-imitates-being-a-girl pantomime, but she needs to slow down and get to the heart of those two superb arias. Cherubino’s music, however, is typical of what Mozart does everywhere in Figaro. When you study this score, you are experiencing a miracle. It is tempting to call Figaro a flawless work of art. Its only true fault is one of over-exposure, something that cannot be attributed to the work of art itself. A common criticism of the piece is that the final “garden scene” is over-composed (a serious version of Emperor Joseph II fatuous “too many notes” jibe in the movie/stage play Amadeus.) And in terms of dramaturgy, Count Almaviva’s apology to his wife is only convincing because Mozart’s glorious music tries to make us think it is. |
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'Marriage of Figaro' a night of surprises |
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by VALERIE SCHER San Diego Opera had a surprise for those who attended Mozart's “The Marriage of Figaro” over the weekend. The curtain remained up during the second intermission as stagehands changed the scenery from Act II's royal bedroom to Act III's massive palace exterior, complete with tiled roof and ivy-clad walls. While San Diego Opera has provided behind-the-scenes views at student dress rehearsals, this was the first time they were seen at a Saturday opening. In only about six minutes, Zack Brown's realistic San Francisco Opera sets were expertly positioned, prompting applause from the audience and a shout of “encore!” Though Brown's sets were familiar – they were also used in 1998 and 1992 – this was a very different way of seeing them. The eye-opening transformation will be repeated at the four performances that close San Diego Opera's season. And that wasn't the only “first” in the production of Mozart's ever-popular 1786 opera, which on Saturday filled approximately 96 percent of downtown's 2,967-seat Civic Theatre. Bass-baritone Richard Bernstein made an exuberant company debut as Figaro, displaying a robust mastery of the role he has sung more than 100 times at companies including the Metropolitan Opera. Soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian excelled as his beloved Susanna, bringing alluring expertise to the signature role that she had never before performed in San Diego. The revelation was baritone Mariusz Kwiecien. New to the company, he exuded genuine star power as Count Almaviva, the chronically unfaithful husband who serves as the villain in Mozart's comic masterwork about love, marriage and the follies of romantic relationships. Never mind that the Polish-born Kwiecien (pronounced kvee-AY-chen) looked at first like a Fabio wannabe, with flowing hair and a chest-baring outfit. He proved himself an exceptionally charismatic singing actor, whether erupting in a rage in “Esci omai” or begging his wife's forgiveness in the finale's sublime reconciliation scene. As staged by director Linda Brovsky, who's also a choreographer, the pacing was often lively even if the last act sagged a bit. The singers danced a courtly Fandango. They also engaged in broadly comic effects, as when the love-addled Cherubino (winningly portrayed by mezzo-soprano Sarah Castle) crashed into a bedpost. Or when Bernstein was so busy with Figaro's antics that he began the aria “Non più andrai” slightly ahead of the orchestra. The San Diego Symphony performed with spirited finesse under the ever-so-knowledgeable guidance of the opera's principal guest conductor, Edoardo Müller. Particularly rewarding was the famous overture, where scurrying eighth notes led to an exciting D major fortissimo. Harpsichordist Dorothy Randall supplied unfailingly attentive accompaniment during recitatives. The chorus sang well and so, for the most part, did the rest of the cast. Soprano Pamela Armstrong was an appealing Countess Almaviva though her high notes were occasionally strained. She was at her best in the exquisite “Porgi amor,” where she floated legato phrases with seeming effortlessness. Delores Ziegler and Kevin Langan revealed old-pro know-how as Figaro's long-lost parents. Martin Zysset was a fabulously foppish Don Basilio while Priya Palekar – a Lyric Opera San Diego favorite – made a bright-voiced Barbarina. And as Antonio, the gardener, Scott Sikon was so enjoyably loutish that he drew attention to an easily overlooked character. Add that to the production's list of surprises. |
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