| The Barber of Seville | Opera Australia |
| Written by Matthew Clayfield |
| Thursday, 19 April 2007 14:35 |
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Set in the 1930s at a Catalan health spa for the rich and famous – its patients include two injured matadors and a moustachioed painter reminiscent of Dali – John Milson's current production of the work is conceptually interesting but inadequately realised. Unfolding across an elaborate, some would say self-indulgent, set, the production’s emphasis on its visual elements does more to hinder its success than to help it. Ostensibly modelled after the work of Gaudi, Leon Krasenstein's set design seems to me to owe more to The Little Mermaid than it does to the Sagrada Familia. Its palette is one of blue-green aquas, its forms evocative of seashells and finger coral. It's all the singers can do not to break out into an impromptu rendition of 'Under the Sea'. But the problem with the set is not so much its visual design – if a bit overwrought, the interpretation is nonetheless valid, and comes up quite well under sensitive lighting – as it is the spatial imperatives that it imposes on the singers. Krasentein’s problematic arrangement of space – in particular the barbershop, downstage in a claustrophobic alcove – seems to have little more than passing concern for its potential to suffocate the voice. More attractive to the eye than attentive to the ear, the set is an unfortunate example of impractical – and therefore bad – design. However, blessed with good humour, a magnificent score (conducted here with élan by Richard Bonynge), and a leading lady to write home to mother about, the production never really displeases – even when it’s difficult to hear – and is, more often than not, almost helplessly endearing. This is mainly due to the performances which, while struggling, sometimes not very hard, against attempts by the set to swallow them whole, are genuinely charming and, as caricatures, well drawn. Luke Gabbedy isn’t a remarkable Figaro – José Carbó, who was meant to have sung the role, has been struck down by laryngitis – but more than makes up for technical imprecision with his youthful energy and swagger. Warwick Fyfe's Dr Bartolo is delightfully repellent. Henry Choo, Richard Alexander and Rosemary Gunn are all very serviceable, if not particularly exciting, and (with the exception of Choo) fit their characters' visual types like gloves. But the highlight – not only of the cast, but also of the production more generally – is the full-bodied performance of Emma Matthews. Her Rosina is deceptively playful, her voice a taut, soprano sucker-punch. Puckish and innocent yet buxom and sexy, it’s the only performance in the whole production that really matches the music for sheer personality. Matthews’ voice, when it flies, soars. Her coloratura is pyrotechnic. When she sings the famous music lesson scene, as though popping corn on her upper-register, the hairs stand up on the back of your neck and you suspect that this is what opera really sounds like. It's the type of performance that one can't easily forget: Matthews, who I suspect knows how good she is, occasionally lifts the production to a whole other plane.
The hardest thing for a critic to evoke is a feeling of slightly
lukewarm ambivalence. It’s far easier to swing between violent extremes –
between overt antipathy and mindless enthusiasm – than it is to articulate mild
indifference. But sometimes this is precisely the feeling one walks away with
after seeing a show: a feeling of pleasant nothingness. With the exception of Matthews,
who could sing the phone book and have me doing backwards somersaults with
pleasure, the production did little more than make feel that writing the review
would be very difficult. I just wish that it had made me feel more. I just wish
that it had made me feel something. And in the end isn't this perhaps
the most damning indictment of them all? Comments (1)Subscribe to this comment's feedWrite commentYou must be logged in to post a comment. Please register if you do not have an account yet.
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Understudy turned title-role star Luke Gabbedy is quite entertaining singing the role of the barber with panache. Plus he seems more than at ease with the exaggerated comic style of this production. Henry Choo also revels in moments of comic timing and his singing is easy enough on the ear.
Soprano Emma Matthews is wonderful, especially in the second act where her Rosina really has the chance to shine. Her vocals are the highlight of the show. Brava!
I cannot share other's enthusiasm for Warwick Fyfe as Dr Bartolo. I think his performance is lack-luster and several times his singing lags behind the beat. Is he puffed, unable to enunciate each word quickly enough or in the wrong place to see the conductor? Whatever the reason he makes it sound like hard work.
Thankfully Richard Bonynge has no trouble guiding the orchestra to keep in time and present in turn dynamic and beautifully lyrical music.
John Milson?s direction is mixed. The background artists Brett, Byrant, Jones, Madden-Gray and Mannix all turn in disciplined caricatures that add delightful levity without once upstaging the leads. Unfortunately the leads are also kept to caricatures and too often cross the stage only to make their next mark. Maybe if there was less stage to cross and they weren't asked toclimb over the piano at the centre of the set so often it would seem more effortless.