Domenico Cimarosa's Il matrimonio segreto has triumphantly returned to the Teatro San Carlo after a 30 year absence. This production bridges centuries with remarkable sophistication. Stéphane Braunschweig's staging – a masterclass in elegant minimalism – reaffirms this 1792 opera buffa's enduring relevance while celebrating its Neapolitan roots and European refinement.
Braunschweig's production eschews both period reconstruction and heavy-handed modernisation in favour of something far more interesting: a fluid temporal landscape where 18th-century social structures collide with contemporary sensibilities. The pristine white set – at once abstract and domestic – serves as a canvas for Thibault Vancraenenbroeck's transformative costumes. Characters begin in modern dress before gradually assuming period attire (save for Carolina, whose stubbornly contemporary wardrobe underscores her rebellious spirit). This sartorial evolution becomes a powerful dramaturgical device, particularly when Count Robinson bursts onto the stage in full ancien régime splendour – a walking anachronism whose patriarchal arrogance feels unsettlingly familiar.
Francesco Corti conducted with the assurance of a true 18th-century specialist, drawing luminous playing from the San Carlo Orchestra (positioned at almost audience level in period style). His interpretation balanced structural clarity with expressive nuance, the harpsichord continuo adding authentic texture to recitatives, while arias bloom with elegant phrasing.
The young ensemble from San Carlo's Opera Academy proves that Naples' operatic tradition remains in splendid health. Soprano Maria Knihnytska sang Carolina with a voice that combines silvery purity in her upper register with surprising depth in lower passages. Sayumi Kaneko’s mezzo revealed new colours in each act; by turns matronly, then disarmingly sensual in her Paolino infatuation. Her controlled vibrato and impeccable diction brought vocal control and sensual complexity to Fidalma, while Anastasiia Sagaidak's Elisetta perfectly captured the character's petty jealousies while avoiding shrillness. Her floated pianissimi in her Act 2 aria showed technical refinement beyond her years.
Among the men, Sun Tianxuefei (Paolino) brought lyrical warmth to his role. While occasionally cautious in fioritura passages, his duets with Knihnytska achieved genuine poignancy. Yunho Eric Kim embodied Geronimo's blustering paternalism with robust vocalism, as he deployed his substantial bass-baritone with intelligent restraint. Antimo Dell'Omo's performance as Count Robinson showed smarmy charm and barely concealed menace.
What makes this production exceptional is its ability to reveal the opera's beating heart without resorting to didacticism. The second act's confrontation between Geronimo and Robinson acquires disturbing contemporary resonance – less a comic misunderstanding than a depressingly familiar battle of patriarchal egos. Even Fidalma's inappropriate passion for Paolino reads differently through modern eyes, leaving Carolina as the sole voice of progress in a world regressing towards outdated social norms.
Braunschweig's direction combines visual elegance with sharp social observation, Corti's musical leadership is impeccable, and the young cast demonstrates that bel canto's future is bright. The result is neither an archaeological piece nor a polemic denunciation, but that rarest of things: a production that makes an 18th-century comedy feel urgently contemporary through sheer intelligence and artistry.
For reminding us that great opera never truly becomes historical – but only acquires new resonances – this San Carlo revival deserves the warmest applause.
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