The Joker is Wild
Not revived too frequently this 1991 production by Elijah Moshinsky updates the story to the 1960s and the films of Federico Fellini inspire the sets and costumes. The revival is even more welcome thanks to the outstanding performances of Michael Lewis and Rigoletto and Emma Matthews as Gilda.
The swinging, cynical sixties Moshinsky creates is the perfect world for the Duke. Paparazzi swarm around his act one party where showgirls dance with bishops. Act one springs along in this updated guise, the circus-like party music even sounding like the sort of music Fellini’s regular composer Nino Rota would have written had he lived a century earlier.
Michael Yeargan’s revolving ‘doll house’ set shows the Duke’s palace, the street where Rigoletto meets Sparafucile, Rigoletto’s house and Sparafucile’s inn. A quick quarter turn in acts two and four and you have some open space for Gilda’s abduction and the final father-daughter duet. It all works splendidly and is another of Opera Australia’s landmark productions. The set also concentrates the action close to the front of the stage so, when the many set pieces come along, the characters are conveniently up stage nicely placed to deliver their arias.
Michael Lewis is a model Verdi baritone, perfect diction, smooth legato and clear, ringing top. Lewis exploits every note of the music, sung and unsung, to convey character. Seen during the prelude, applying a grotesque clown make-up (anticipating Heath Ledger’s Joker from Batman), Lewis’s Rigoletto then stands to show this Rigoletto’s extra handicap. Crippled, Lewis beetles about on walking sticks. Lewis’s thirty years singing the role bring insights into the character’s words and music illuminate every dimension of Rigoletto’s tragedy big and small from his terrified freeze at Monterone’s curse to the perfectly timed pause and wild yowl when Gilda dies.
Emma Matthews is radiant as Gilda. Mentored in the role by Joan Sutherland, she now takes the highest alternatives at the close of “Caro nomo”, singing with a security and sophistication that would make her late, great predecessor proud. Matthews’s acting matches her singing and she creates an understandably fatalistic young woman out of Gilda. Her murder scene is actually shocking; she strides fearlessly into the tavern so Maddalena seems to see it is a woman, not a man, and shrieks with horror as Gilds is stabbed. Jacqueline Dark, in the unlikely double act of Gilda’s untrustworthy guardian and then co-assassin brings a Freudian undertone perfectly in keeping with the story.
Rosario la Spina makes less of the Duke than his colleagues seeming to sing without much involvement but this has the advantage of suggesting the Duke’s detachment from his many victims.
Conductor Marko Letonja and Orchestra Victoria do some splendid work with shaping the tender moments. The Rigoletto/Gilda duets are as lovingly shaped as they are sung and the often-repeated ‘curse’ theme and storm music are thrilling without being bombastic.
Verdi - Rigoletto
Rigoletto - Michael Lewis
Gilda - Emma Matthews (Natalie Jones 25 & 27 November)
Duke of Mantua - Rosario La Spina
Sparafucile - Richard Anderson
Maddalena/Giovanna - Jacqueline Dark
Monterone - Jud Arthur
Marullo - Luke Gabbedy
Borsa - David Corcoran
Count Ceprano - Richard Alexander
Countess Ceprano - Jane Parkin
Usher - Clifford Plumpton
Page - Jodie McGuren
Director - Elijah Moshinsky (Revival Director - Cathy Dadd)
Conductor: Marko Letonja
Set & Costume Designer - Michael Yeargan
Presented by Opera Australia
State Theatre, The Arts Centre
November 22, 25, 27 December 1, 3, 7, 10, 18, 2010
November 27, 2010
November 20, 2010
Review - Le nozze di Figaro - Opera Australia
I Love’s ya’ Porgi
It’s good to see Neil Armfield’s insightful production of Le nozze di Figaro again, especially in the lead-up to his greatly anticipated Ring Cycle in Melbourne in 2013 (the first complete cycle staged in Melbourne in a century) for the Wagner bi-centenary.
Armfield’s view of late eighteenth century life in Spain is a dark one. The Almaviva household is held in the same disdain as the then monarch Carlos IV and his dysfunctional family. Goya inspires Dale Ferguson’s costumes; Countess Almaviva in particular, in oyster satin (and thanks to soprano Rachelle Durkin’s supermodel physique and bearing) has the devastating allure of Goya’s beloved Duchess of Alba. Goya even makes an appearance in act three to ‘photograph’ Figaro’s nuptials and, just as the he did in his portrait of the Royal Family, captures a household in sexual, social and political turmoil.
Fergusson’s sets feature deliberate anachronisms that, to my eyes, show the contemptible attitude of the Almaviva’s to their staff. A shabby, red vinyl reclining armchair dominates act one for Cherubino then the Count to hide behind or in. It’s the sort of out-of-date furniture that would normally be dumped but here is given to the servants to furnish their quarters. For the wedding celebrations the Count has laid on a cheap looking spread that, with its old fashioned hot water urn and Sunshine brand cups and saucers resembles a remote Country Ladies’ Association luncheon circa 1962!
I personally prefer a deeper voiced Figaro in contrast to a lighter voiced Count as here. With that gruff edge to his voice Teddy Tahu Rhodes exemplifies the peasant against the more refined voice of Peter Coleman-Wright’s aristocrat. In “Se vuol ballare” he embellishes the repeated theme. The result is a little ungainly but in terms of characterisation the growl in his voice works splendidly. Even better in “Non più andrai” he directs the second verse to the Count, seated smugly in that recliner chair, and, towering over the trembling Count, warns him his days of philandering are over too and reminding us just how revolutionary this opera (and the play it derives from) was feared to be. Armfield fills the opera with insights like these and the principal singers - especially Coleman-Wright, Rhodes, Durkin and Tiffany Speight - integrate them into their performances with easy assurance.
Tall and sleek Durkin’s arms glide naturally into gestures both graceful and, at appropriate times, erotic. When, in act two, the Count tries to force her away from the door to force open the closet where Cherubino hides, he at first violently lays his gloved hands on her only to let them roam over her breasts and body making the sexual connection still existing between the two – despite their current marital problems – alarmingly obvious. Durkin’s response to this rare moment of contact with her faithless husband, melting at his touch, is simultaneously elegant and erotic. Erotic obsession is the basis of this opera after all and this insight into that eroticism created a frisson. The Countess’s attraction to Cherubino was insightfully played up too; the Countess wilting to his act two serenade like Gomez used to when Morticia spoke French.
Speight’s voice grows in size and stature with each appearance. Speight also has charming way with and special claim on Mozartian maids. Sian Pendry bravely displays the rampaging teenage sexuality of Cherubino behaving at times like a spaniel in heat! She neatly negotiates the rapid pace set for “Non so piu” beautifully enunciating the words as do he rest of the cast.
The secondary characters weave through the story with only occasional success, pity because Mozart and Da Ponte allow them often substantial stage time. Elizabeth Campbell’s Marcellina is another character caught in a precarious situation. Her frustrations run deeper than mere anxiety over her age. Her favour with the Count Almaviva, depends on her winning her case against Figaro. In Campbell’s hands there is that sense Marcellina is greatly relieved when she finds Figaro is her son and she can escape to bourgeoisie security now as Bartolo’s wife. When Armfield’s production was first staged Don Basilio’s and Marcellina’s arias were cut. They were restored for the revival in Sydney, although Marcellina’s is excised for this Melbourne season.
The tenor Robert Tear specialises in singing Basilio and devotes an entire essay to him in his book Singer Beware offering an illuminating analysis into “the quality of thought which might invest a small part with a fresh interest and, at the same time, probably alter the usual balance of the opera. “If the aria, is cut,” he writes, “the character becomes extremely hard to play simply because the chance of explaining his character to the audience is taken away, all the earlier behaviour seeming merely eccentric or stupid.” Basilio is a man of great intelligence, according to Tear, “more intelligent than anyone else in the Almaviva household” the seemingly bizarre aria "In quelli anni cui dal poco” is making a point about this “musician/thinker’s position in a philistine aristocratic house of the period.” While the near-revolutionary sentiments of Figaro’s are extrovertly apparent in Armfield’s clever twist in “Non più andrai”, there could have been similar possibilities with Basilio’s aria explaining his philosophy and how it helped him survive the “fooleries of class and politics” surrounding him.
Figaro is as much about disguise and hidden identity as it is about eroticism and Basilio revealing that he has disguised himself in a donkey skin his entire life should hardly come as a surprise after the multiple disguises of the previous acts. In Opera Australia's older production Basilio actually wore said pelt, converted into a cloak which he wore over his familiar curé's garments. In this production Basilio only speaks of the donkey skin.
Conductor Marko Letonja actually highlights the ascending horn passages at the end of Basilio’s aria so they ring out with a confidence worthy of Beethoven and suggest maybe Basilio is another plebeian hero. Kanen Breen plays Basilio primarily for laughs and by the time the aria arrives the character has become a rococo incarnation of Kenneth Williams. It’s an assured performance however; with a smug strut, the character slithers around with decreasing fear of his master after all.
There is a touch of early music practice from the orchestra; fortepiano replacing the usual harpsichord and the strings adopting that occasionally ‘wiry’ sound associated with early music practice. Acts one and two work the best in this current revival, the sexual and social strain made delightfully relevant by director and cast.
Mozart - Le nozze di Figaro
a co-production between Opera Australia and the Welsh National Opera
Conductor - Marko Letonja, Anthony Legge (November 23 & 27)
Director - Neil Armfield
Scenery & Costume Design - Dale Ferguson
Lighting Design - Rory Dempster
Count Almaviva - Peter Coleman-Wright
Countess Almaviva - Rachelle Durkin
Susanna - Tiffany Speight
Figaro - Teddy Tahu Rhodes
Cherubino - Sian Pendry
Marcellina - Elizabeth Campbell
Bartolo - Warwick Fyfe
Basilio/Curzio - Kanen Breen
Barbarina - Claire Lyon
Antonio - Clifford Plumpton
Bridesmaids - Katherine Wiles & Margaret Plummer
Opera Australia Chorus
Orchestra Victoria
Presented by Opera Australia
State Theatre, The Arts Centre
November 17, 20, 23, 27, December 2, 9, 11 & 15, 2010
It’s good to see Neil Armfield’s insightful production of Le nozze di Figaro again, especially in the lead-up to his greatly anticipated Ring Cycle in Melbourne in 2013 (the first complete cycle staged in Melbourne in a century) for the Wagner bi-centenary.
Armfield’s view of late eighteenth century life in Spain is a dark one. The Almaviva household is held in the same disdain as the then monarch Carlos IV and his dysfunctional family. Goya inspires Dale Ferguson’s costumes; Countess Almaviva in particular, in oyster satin (and thanks to soprano Rachelle Durkin’s supermodel physique and bearing) has the devastating allure of Goya’s beloved Duchess of Alba. Goya even makes an appearance in act three to ‘photograph’ Figaro’s nuptials and, just as the he did in his portrait of the Royal Family, captures a household in sexual, social and political turmoil.
Fergusson’s sets feature deliberate anachronisms that, to my eyes, show the contemptible attitude of the Almaviva’s to their staff. A shabby, red vinyl reclining armchair dominates act one for Cherubino then the Count to hide behind or in. It’s the sort of out-of-date furniture that would normally be dumped but here is given to the servants to furnish their quarters. For the wedding celebrations the Count has laid on a cheap looking spread that, with its old fashioned hot water urn and Sunshine brand cups and saucers resembles a remote Country Ladies’ Association luncheon circa 1962!
I personally prefer a deeper voiced Figaro in contrast to a lighter voiced Count as here. With that gruff edge to his voice Teddy Tahu Rhodes exemplifies the peasant against the more refined voice of Peter Coleman-Wright’s aristocrat. In “Se vuol ballare” he embellishes the repeated theme. The result is a little ungainly but in terms of characterisation the growl in his voice works splendidly. Even better in “Non più andrai” he directs the second verse to the Count, seated smugly in that recliner chair, and, towering over the trembling Count, warns him his days of philandering are over too and reminding us just how revolutionary this opera (and the play it derives from) was feared to be. Armfield fills the opera with insights like these and the principal singers - especially Coleman-Wright, Rhodes, Durkin and Tiffany Speight - integrate them into their performances with easy assurance.
Tall and sleek Durkin’s arms glide naturally into gestures both graceful and, at appropriate times, erotic. When, in act two, the Count tries to force her away from the door to force open the closet where Cherubino hides, he at first violently lays his gloved hands on her only to let them roam over her breasts and body making the sexual connection still existing between the two – despite their current marital problems – alarmingly obvious. Durkin’s response to this rare moment of contact with her faithless husband, melting at his touch, is simultaneously elegant and erotic. Erotic obsession is the basis of this opera after all and this insight into that eroticism created a frisson. The Countess’s attraction to Cherubino was insightfully played up too; the Countess wilting to his act two serenade like Gomez used to when Morticia spoke French.Speight’s voice grows in size and stature with each appearance. Speight also has charming way with and special claim on Mozartian maids. Sian Pendry bravely displays the rampaging teenage sexuality of Cherubino behaving at times like a spaniel in heat! She neatly negotiates the rapid pace set for “Non so piu” beautifully enunciating the words as do he rest of the cast.
The secondary characters weave through the story with only occasional success, pity because Mozart and Da Ponte allow them often substantial stage time. Elizabeth Campbell’s Marcellina is another character caught in a precarious situation. Her frustrations run deeper than mere anxiety over her age. Her favour with the Count Almaviva, depends on her winning her case against Figaro. In Campbell’s hands there is that sense Marcellina is greatly relieved when she finds Figaro is her son and she can escape to bourgeoisie security now as Bartolo’s wife. When Armfield’s production was first staged Don Basilio’s and Marcellina’s arias were cut. They were restored for the revival in Sydney, although Marcellina’s is excised for this Melbourne season.
The tenor Robert Tear specialises in singing Basilio and devotes an entire essay to him in his book Singer Beware offering an illuminating analysis into “the quality of thought which might invest a small part with a fresh interest and, at the same time, probably alter the usual balance of the opera. “If the aria, is cut,” he writes, “the character becomes extremely hard to play simply because the chance of explaining his character to the audience is taken away, all the earlier behaviour seeming merely eccentric or stupid.” Basilio is a man of great intelligence, according to Tear, “more intelligent than anyone else in the Almaviva household” the seemingly bizarre aria "In quelli anni cui dal poco” is making a point about this “musician/thinker’s position in a philistine aristocratic house of the period.” While the near-revolutionary sentiments of Figaro’s are extrovertly apparent in Armfield’s clever twist in “Non più andrai”, there could have been similar possibilities with Basilio’s aria explaining his philosophy and how it helped him survive the “fooleries of class and politics” surrounding him.
Figaro is as much about disguise and hidden identity as it is about eroticism and Basilio revealing that he has disguised himself in a donkey skin his entire life should hardly come as a surprise after the multiple disguises of the previous acts. In Opera Australia's older production Basilio actually wore said pelt, converted into a cloak which he wore over his familiar curé's garments. In this production Basilio only speaks of the donkey skin.
Conductor Marko Letonja actually highlights the ascending horn passages at the end of Basilio’s aria so they ring out with a confidence worthy of Beethoven and suggest maybe Basilio is another plebeian hero. Kanen Breen plays Basilio primarily for laughs and by the time the aria arrives the character has become a rococo incarnation of Kenneth Williams. It’s an assured performance however; with a smug strut, the character slithers around with decreasing fear of his master after all.
There is a touch of early music practice from the orchestra; fortepiano replacing the usual harpsichord and the strings adopting that occasionally ‘wiry’ sound associated with early music practice. Acts one and two work the best in this current revival, the sexual and social strain made delightfully relevant by director and cast.
Mozart - Le nozze di Figaro
a co-production between Opera Australia and the Welsh National Opera
Conductor - Marko Letonja, Anthony Legge (November 23 & 27)
Director - Neil Armfield
Scenery & Costume Design - Dale Ferguson
Lighting Design - Rory Dempster
Count Almaviva - Peter Coleman-Wright
Countess Almaviva - Rachelle Durkin
Susanna - Tiffany Speight
Figaro - Teddy Tahu Rhodes
Cherubino - Sian Pendry
Marcellina - Elizabeth Campbell
Bartolo - Warwick Fyfe
Basilio/Curzio - Kanen Breen
Barbarina - Claire Lyon
Antonio - Clifford Plumpton
Bridesmaids - Katherine Wiles & Margaret Plummer
Opera Australia Chorus
Orchestra Victoria
Presented by Opera Australia
State Theatre, The Arts Centre
November 17, 20, 23, 27, December 2, 9, 11 & 15, 2010
pictured - Rachelle Durkin & Peter Coleman-Wright (picture Branco Gaicia)
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