THE
MARRIAGE OF FIGARO
Wild Arts at Birmingham Repertory Theatre
*****
That Birmingham is becoming an operatic desert is
undeniable. Welsh National Opera used to bring three fortnight-long seasons to
Birmingham Hippodrome, one of the country’s finest lyric theatres especially
rebuilt to accommodate the company’s lavish productions. Now its presence has
evaporated. As in WNO’s case, other touring companies have become conspicuous by
their absence. Yes, there is the heroic Birmingham Opera Company, but this is
certainly not opera at its grandest which should be a resident presence in England’s
Second City.
No wonder, then, that Birmingham Repertory Theatre should be
packed to its vaulting rafters for a visit from the exciting young performance
group Wild Arts. Its acoustic and sheer unsoftened vastness are uncongenial to
singers (bad enough for actors), but never mind. Here was a sparkling
performance of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro, and it drew a tumult of appreciative
applause.
Making her directorial debut Danielle de Niese (yes, she’s
the Glyndebourne one) has devised a witty yet sympathetic unfolding of
intrigues too complicated to keep up with. Everything moves across this huge
stage deftly and smoothly, with a minimum of stage furniture: a few symbolic
screens, three boxes containing vital props, but also converting into
writing-desks, step-ladders, window-sills and whatever, and some chunky
mattresses (Laura Jane Stanfield’s brilliant designs). And music director
Orlando Jopling has made a resourceful arrangement for a pacey little
orchestra, as well as creating with de Niese a natural, credible translation of
Da Ponte’s complex libretto.
Set against this encouraging context, the performances are
universally engaging, both in terms of singing and acting, and indeed
choreographic movement. Matthew Siveter was a savvy, compelling watchable
Figaro, Ellie Neate a sparky, resourceful Susanna. These two made an already
devoted couple; all Susanna needed was a rolling-pin to cement their
relationship.
Elinor Rolfe Johnson was a heartbroken but feisty Countess;
it was a brilliant idea to have her long-errant Count Almaviva (the imposing
Timothy Nelson) return to her nostalgic musings as the ardent lover who had won
her long ago from her guardian.
No space to name all the other immensely satisfying
performers, though it was a bit disconcerting that the randy page-boy Cherubino
and the housekeeper Marcellina (Figaro’s long-lost mother) looked so
disconcertingly alike. Mention must be made, though, of the lamenting Act Four
aria by the little garden-maid Barbarina, a rare example of F minor in Mozart,
and here affectingly delivered by Eleanor O’Driscoll.
Christopher Morley