THE BARBER OF SEVILLE

                             Longborough Festival Opera (July13)

 

One of the many heartening elements of this joyous production is the fact that the cast was so youthful, many of them making their Longborough debuts. The future looks set fair.

This was the final performance in a run which had begun early in June, insterspersed with Pelleas et Melisande, but there was no sense of end-of-term undisciplined high jinks. No, this was a grippingly tight presentation from a superbly well-drilled company, unfolding with unstoppable momentum under the fluent conducting of the batonless Elaine Kelly.

Underlying everything was the deft playing of the Longborough Festival Orchestra, lithe and crisp, absolutely every instrument an important presence.

Max Johns designed a set which doubled as a public square in Seville (close your ears and you could imagine Carmen) and the foyer of a swish apartment block, with a crucial staircase leading to a grilled-door balcony. Once again Peter Small’s lighting  provided both atmosphere and wit.

And capitalising upon all this was the busy, imaginative, shrewd direction of Louise Bakker, injecting humour, the occasional moment of pathos, and indeed a little social commentary in this modern-day setting. Now that the run is over, there are no spoiler alerts: the wonderful moment when the spurious Don Alonso’s keyboard accidentally bursts into its preset heavy rock rhythms: when Dr Bartolo (Benjamin Bevan dressed as a typical old fart in Bermuda shorts and long socks) extols the music of the olden days, and bursts into Tom Jones’s “Delilah”; and when Almaviva erects the ladder to rescue Rosina, but, scared of heights, pausing fearfully upon every rung.

All of this is helped by the brilliant updating of the surtitled translation, full of apt, slightly near-the-knuckle colloquialisms, and with dialogue in more than convincing Italian coached by tenor Alessandro Fisher. This was a show which made me laugh out loud, probably a first for me.

All of this would be nothing without the tremendous cast. Henry Neill the hyperactive, articulate Figaro (a well-delivered Largo al Factotum); Joseph Doody an appealing, resourceful Almaviva, ringing and supple; Benjamin Bevan a baffled Bartolo, superb in patter; Trevor Eliot Bowes an archetypal Basilio, smarmy and sniffy, with a well-delivered La Calunnia; Shafalia Jalota an angrily put-upon Berta. And above all the feisty Rosina of Lauren Young, spirited, resourceful, light on her feet, and with a coloratura which was truly impressive and a fullness of tone which could ping the highest notes even above the busiest of ensembles.

A musicological footnote: Rossini was composing this masterpiece as a prequel to an even greater masterpiece, Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. He picked up Mozart’s novelty patter for Bartolo, and employed it not only for that character in this opera, but for others too. But I have yet to see any reference to the fact that in Il Barbiere Bartolo and Figaro are as yet unaware that they are father and son – and there is even a throwaway reference to Marcellina, Figaro’s mother.

Christopher Morley

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