The Marriage of Figaro

Festival Theatre 16/8/24

Komische Oper Berlin  James Gaffigan conductor

Kiril Seribrennikov director, set and costume designer

A month ago during Music at Paxton, Mark Padmore gave a masterclass to a young Australian soprano on ‘Dove sono’ from ‘The Marriage of Figaro.’ “Think of the context,” he advised. “You’re not a victim- you’re a strong woman.  He’s a bastard.”  I was reminded of this when a neighbour and I exchanged grimaces during tonight’s interval.  “ It’s all there in the opera already,” she says.“ You don’t need all this nonsense.”

I was bored during the first two acts.  After the pre-publicity about Serebrennikov’s provoking production, on stage there was too much pointless action and no discernible concepts. Singing and orchestral playing were good, though only the harpsichordist showed any sparkle – including a well-placed quote from ‘Tosca’ during the defenestrations.  The much-heralded duo of Cherubino (a deaf man who signs his arias) and Cherubina (his woman-friend who sings them) are charmless, though they provide one of the few decisive pieces of action, when Cherubino removes all his clothes before taking a running jump through the window, followed by his alter ego who keeps her clothes on.  The set is on two tiers (the director’s ‘Cosi’ last year got similar treatment). Upstairs a gallery is full of sinister black-clad attendants who strike acrobatic poses, downstairs a launderette houses an old woman who seems to  pleasure herself atop a vibrating washing machine during the overture, then mops and irons thereafter in penance.  

After the interval things improve for a while.  A concept emerges from the muddle: “Capitalism kills love” says the new art-work. (Discuss!) The orchestra comes to life and the Count’s duet with Susanna, with more hands-on activity than usual, is well-played and sung, with a comic visual accompaniment from another exhibit which flashes “Okay/No”.  Hubert Zapiór’s Count, realising he’s been hoodwinked, gives a terrific account of his aria, nailing these tricky downward runs to perfection and benefiting from outstanding timpani work  (Friedhelm May). Best of all is the scene in which Figaro learns that Marcellina, here a sleek gallery curator, and the sheepish Bartolo are his parents.  Its sure-fire comedy is left to speak for itself, with first-rate acting and singing from Peter Kellner, Karolina Gumos and Tijl Faveyts, and there’s much laughter.  After that things go downhill.  Verity Wingate’s Countess, a disgruntled victim in ill-fitting tracksuit interrupts her workout to sing ‘Dove sono’’ and resumes energetic moves during her last bars.  Meanwhile in the basement the old woman rattles dishes, mops up a bit, looks in the mirror and does a dance. 

Dream sequences are indicated by swirling lava-lamp effects.  The first imagines a  chaste duvet-cocooned threesome during the unnecessarily interpolated, but beautifully sung,  ‘Soave s’il vento’ trio from ‘Cosi fan Tutte’. More menacing is the dream return of Cherubino, fully clothed but with a knife with which he stabs gallery visitors.  Act III ends with most of the cast holding knives in the basement. 

Penny Sofroniadou as Susanna has sung and acted well all night and her Act IV aria ‘Deh vieni non tardar’ is given a light touch, and a graceful flexibility.  The first ‘Figaro’ I saw was designed by John Byrne for Scottish Opera.  Around the same time he wrote the television series ‘Tutti Frutti’ in which rock star, Danny McGlone (Robbie Coltrane) is fitted for a shiny silver suit. Katy Murphy’s Miss Toner  sneers, ‘Whit dae ye ca’ that? Bacofoil?’  Acres of Bacofoil are required for the ‘garden scene’, clothing the cast and the Koons-style  sculptures which shiver alarmingly in the dry ice. Thankfully as Susanna and Figaro resolve their differences on the mattress downstairs, the Count emerges to ask his wife’s forgiveness.  The best thirty seconds of music Mozart wrote are not tampered with and a happy ending ensues.  There are some cheers, though as I leave the most frequent comment is “Well it’s something a bit different.”  A very Edinburgh remark, though I imagine similar words were spoken in the back rows of the cheering crowd as the naked Emperor processed past in his carriage.     

 Photo credit: Jess Shurte