Past Production Reviews
4This production by Lindy Hume (previously aired in Brisbane, Seattle, and Auckland, and on this occasion directed by Jason Barry-Smith) does go some way to derailing the proceedings with gratuitous funny business, but overall the opera itself stays on its well-oiled path to total musical enjoyment. Hume’s initial conceit, and a good one, is to locate the proceedings in a world of doors and windows. During the overture, projections of such façades appear over the curtain, which on rising, reveals a set contained by domestic entrances at different levels. Tracy Grant Lord’s set and costume design is not all that specifically Spanish, but suggests a domestic locale of comings and goings, intrigues and gossip which is what the opera is about. Some Iberian touches are evident in costuming, but the overall impression is a colourful, sun-filled realm, again exactly as suggested by the music. Whirling lights accompanied many of the crescendi, which had a varying reception amongst the audience. Hume’s great talent is moving people around on a stage, and this production was no exception. The title role was performed by local charismatic baritone James Clayton, who depicted Figaro as something of a larrikin friend-to-all. While not exactly a bel canto stylist, his warm resonant voice filled the role. Brigitte Heuser, hailing from New Zealand originally and having made her mark there and overseas, was a lively Rosina, but her voice is rather a puzzle. Her technical approach and flexibility were excellent but there seemed to be little integration between a quite sparkly top and a rather snarly bottom. Emerging Australian tenor Michael Petruccelli as Count Almaviva was somewhat uncertain at first, but his voice soon settled into a pleasing Italianate style, with great bel canto technique. This is not the first occasion Warwick Fyfe has portrayed Dr Bartolo, and his exquisite comic timing combined with a grandly mellifluous voice made this role a killer. Don Basilio does not have a great deal to do on his own apart from deliver the deliciously mean aria “La calumnia”, which was performed with smooth vocal insinuation by Robert Hofmann and an accompaniment of tinkling teaspoons. The part of Berta the maid is, unusually for Rossini, always a worry; I have seen several excellent mezzo sopranos suffer from direction that gives them nothing to do but sneeze. This evening’s Berta was given quite a bit to chew on without having to sneeze, including a budding romance with Ambrogio, an essentially silent role, well portrayed by Brendan Hanson, and culminating in a suave dance in the finale. Berta was sung with entertaining flair by Naomi Johns, who enlivened her aria no end with a startling geschrei in the middle of it.
From the opening notes of the overture the stage became a series of portals: with more doors and windows than an Advent calendar in all colours of the rainbow, in and out of which cast and chorus ran enough plotlines for a whole series of Looney Tunes, rather than the one episode starring Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd that riffs off Rossini’s score. Slapstick was never far away, keeping pathos at bay; though Heuser and Johns each had a moment before the chaotic comedy returned. Burhan Guner, conducting from the pit for the first time, kept the measure with an A-team of WA Symphony Orchestra musicians, occasionally tested by the sheer vibrant energy.
Set and costume designer Zoe Atkinson, together with director Matthew Lutton, describe this as a space where light and life are absent, a nocturnal subconscious prison. The almost barren set was punctuated by a huge staircase and very little else but a few shabby looking rehearsal room and school chairs. My initial curiosity about the incongruous nature of the chairs and the three modern branded water bottles set around the stage was cleared up by Lutton: “the whole production is filtered through Elektra’s eyes and anything or anyone she has no emotional connection with is dealt with perfunctorily and plainly”.
Set and costume designer Zoe Atkinson, together with director Matthew Lutton, describe this as a space where light and life are absent, a nocturnal subconscious prison. The almost barren set was punctuated by a huge staircase and very little else but a few shabby looking rehearsal room and school chairs. My initial curiosity about the incongruous nature of the chairs and the three modern branded water bottles set around the stage was cleared up by Lutton: “the whole production is filtered through Elektra’s eyes and anything or anyone she has no emotional connection with is dealt with perfunctorily and plainly”.
