When Gioachino Rossini wrote L’italiana in Algeri in 1813, he was barely 21 years old. The speed of composition – he purportedly composed the opera based on a previously successful libretto by Angelo Anelli in just three weeks – did nothing to diminish its brilliance. On the contrary, the score seems to thrive on velocity: musical ideas tumble over one another with youthful exuberance, propelling one of the most sparkling examples of opera buffa ever written.
The premise remains irresistibly absurd. In the original, Mustafà, the Bey of Algiers, bored with his loyal wife Elvira, longs for an Italian woman to enliven his life. His wish appears fulfilled when he meets Isabella, who comes in search of her beloved Lindoro who, inconveniently, is enslaved to Mustafa. Armed with wit, charm and a shrewd understanding of male vanity, Isabella quickly takes control of the situation. In a whirlwind of disguises and comic intrigue, she outwits the Bey, reunites with Lindoro and orchestrates the liberation of other Italian captives.
For this new production at the Deutsche Oper Berlin, tenor-turned-director Rolando Villazón transports the action to Mexico and sets the story in the flamboyant world of Lucha libre, the country’s spectacular form of professional wrestling. The action takes place in a pair of rival gyms – El Seraglio and La Patria – representing the Algerian and Italian neighbourhoods. Mustafà, once a celebrated wrestler, now presides over his domain under the ring name “El Bey”, while Lindoro, burdened by debt, works as a waiter in the adjoining Seraglio café.
At first glance the concept sounds improbable. Yet the exaggerated theatricality of Lucha libre – with its flamboyant masks, acrobatic combat and almost operatic sense of spectacle – proves surprisingly compatible with Rossini’s comic universe. Much as the opera draws on commedia dell’arte traditions, Lucha libre thrives on archetypal characters, outsized gestures and carefully choreographed conflicts. In this sense, Villazón’s staging finds a curious historical symmetry between Italian comic theatre and Mexican wrestling culture.
The Deutsche Oper enlisted the assistance of the German Wrestling Federation to bring this world convincingly to life. Two professional wrestlers, Pascal Spalter and El Comandante Rambo, appear onstage, adding an element of genuine athletic spectacle. Their presence lends the production an unexpected physical dimension, blending the virtuosity of bel canto with the flamboyant choreography of show fighting. This is supported by the fanciful costumes by Brigitte Reiffenstuel, inspired by the 1950s, and Harald Thor’s revolving stage, with its realistic ring, coffee shop and office settings.
In the title role, mezzo-soprano Nadezhda Karyazina commands the stage with ease. Her Isabella possesses precisely the mixture of confidence and irony that Rossini’s heroine requires. The voice itself, a warmly coloured mezzo-soprano with secure agility, navigated the florid vocal writing with impressive assurance. More importantly, Karyazina conveyed Isabella’s quiet authority: she is clearly the only character who fully understands the absurd game unfolding around her. As Elvira, soprano Hye-Young Moon offered a delightful portrait of wounded dignity that gradually transformed into spirited resilience. Petite yet formidable, she gave the neglected wife a touching humanity that grounds the opera’s comic excess. Her confidante Zulma was capably sung by Arianna Manganello, whose presence provided an effective foil in the various ensemble scenes, complete with hints that she and Elvira are a pair.
Tenor Jonah Hoskins brought elegance and agility to the role of Lindoro. Rossini’s tenor writing is notoriously demanding, requiring both lyrical sweetness and dazzling coloratura. Hoskins met these challenges with a bright, flexible voice – after some initial intonation insecurities – that mark him as a promising interpreter of the Rossini repertoire. Opposite him stood Tommaso Barea as Mustafà. With his distinctive bass-baritone and a keen sense of physical comedy, Barea turned the character into an exuberant caricature of masculine vanity. His stage presence – half wrestling champion, half bewildered buffoon – fitted perfectly with Villazón’s concept. Among the supporting roles, Misha Kiria shone as Taddeo, Isabella’s hapless companion, proved he is a master of the buffo repertoire, delivering Rossini’s rapid-fire patter with admirable precision. The role of Haly, sung by tenor Artus Garbas, added further comic energy to the proceedings.
Conductor Alessandro De Marchi kept the excellently disposed Deutsche Oper Orchestra on their toes after a briskly paced overture and first act. In the second act, he refrained from lavish ornamentation and domination, allowing the ensemble scenes to shine.
In the end, Villazón’s production succeeds not because it modernises Rossini but because it recognises the essential theatrical exuberance already present in the score. In the colourful, mask-filled world of Lucha libre, that exuberance finds an unexpectedly fitting home. The result is a performance that celebrates the timeless vitality of Rossini’s comic imagination.
