Sir Mark Elder once referred to a particular type of work, the “Monday night opera”. This would be a popular piece where a house would be guaranteed a reasonable audience attendance on a dreary Monday evening. The Royal Opera House, looking at well-filled Stalls for its opening night of The Marriage of Figaro will surely be celebrating that the term still exists; the appetite for one of the greatest pieces in the canon remains sharp.
Sir David McVicar’s production, celebrating its 20th anniversary, remains a lavish spectacle and, in this latest revival, it is lovingly dusted down by Leah Hausman. The space is well-used, the costumes are crisp and, most importantly, the chorus is brought to life with vivid attention. Bustling, flirting, grumbling: the hubbub of an aristocrat and soon-to-be diplomat’s residence is constantly on display. There are points where the comedy seems less pronounced in places; it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that first encounter between Susanna and Marcellina played with quite so much venom and so little humour, possibly because Marcellina here is depicted as less frump, more older beauty, while Susanna in general seems far less sparky than we often see her. Flipping to the other end of the scale, there’s also less sense of threat. Count Almaviva is neither a sinister predator nor a demonstrably abusive husband, just a rather pathetic sex pest who thinks he has rather more charisma than reality allows. This is in no way to diminish the experience of women trapped by a man who cannot accept rejection; merely to say that dramatically there’s a touch of stagnation here that leaves the theatrical experience just that little bit blunt.
A Royal Opera debut provided the musical highlight of the production: Svetlina Stoyanova, as Cherubino, was dazzling. Her voice is well-sized, incisive and delightfully pellucid, with not a hint of grit. The range is comfortable, the ornamentation deft and well-executed, all making for a very accomplished house debut. Louise Alder, having impressed in her role debut as the Countess at Glyndebourne last year, returned to Susanna. Her upper register remains secure and comfortable, with plenty of colour, while there’s an evenness of tone that speaks to strong technique. In Alex Esposito, she found a robust Figaro; Esposito’s voice is a large instrument that positively rings. There was a bark without a shout, and his diction was pointed. His dynamic with Alder was perhaps not particularly charged, with not a great deal to suggest an impending marriage of particular warmth.
Masabane Cecilia Rangwanasha gave us a bleak Contessa, melancholy and isolated. Rangwanasha’s soprano naturally soars, and she showed plenty of care to the phrasing, but her voice did not sound like an entirely natural fit for the role – there was a sense that she was forcing it into a more restrained, polite style when it yearned to belt out something meatier. Andrey Zhilikhovsky seemed uncharacteristically muted as Almaviva, struggling to project in the middle and lower registers. Among the comprimari, a particularly fine Bartolo from Carlo Lepore, fruity and resonant, stood out, while Rosie Aldridge gave us a dangerous Marcellina.
Bertrand de Billy conducted the orchestra in a plush and velvety reading of the score, eschewing nimbleness for an interpretation that felt appealingly retro – not unlike the production itself.