Barrie Kosky's production of Le nozze di Figaro received its latest revival at the Wiener Staatsoper to thunderous ovations. With its trademark directorial touches – striking, colorful visuals and raucous humour blended with insightful, moving character studies – and most of Kosky's cast reprising their roles here, there was much to recommend this performance. Yet it wasn't a complete triumph.
Most of the evening's remarkable and less felicitous aspects both stem from Kosky's staging. Its unique visual appeal – the Baroque palazzo of Rufus Didwiszus' design and the vivacious 1970s costuming by Victoria Behr – is undeniable, as is the smooth stage action, vivid acting and the impeccable comedic timing of Kosky's direction. Ever-moving and leaning into the farcical, the production nevertheless doesn't forget the humanity of its characters: rarely do you see the Countess' despair and disgust at the Count's conduct so poignantly rendered (the garden scene in Act 4 is nothing short of devastating). Indeed, the performance felt its most electrifying when depicting this dysfunctional marriage, with tension always simmering beneath the surface and periodically bursting forth with startling intensity.
This depth, conversely, is what ultimately makes the final scene lacking: for a production that so thoroughly emphasizes the gravity of the Countess' sadness, the final ensemble's joyful tone taken at face value – though delivered in a manner that accentuates the artificial, theatrical nature of such final sentences – feels almost like an abdication. A sorer issue still is Cherubino's characterisation. Precious little is felt from the sensitive, artistic soul Kosky praises in the programme book: rather, the 'wimpy teen' is exaggerated to the point of being downright mean-spirited. For all the sensitivity Kosky shows to other characters, this is a baffling blindspot.
Other portrayals were, thankfully, beyond reproach. The laurels rest with the lovebirds at the heart of the opera: the exuberant partnership of Peter Kellner's Figaro and Slávka Zámečníková's Susanna anchored the performance. Commanding the centre of gravity, Kellner gave a highly dynamic portrayal, singing with unending energy and wit, while Zámečníková charmed in equal measure with her delightful, shimmering lyric soprano, “Deh, vieni non tardar” delivered with a touch of delectable playfulness. Of no lesser quality was Hanna-Elisabeth Müller's portrayal of the Countess, bringing her customary lyricism, elegant, affective phrasing and remarkable stage presence to the role. “Porgi, amor” was immediately arresting in its bittersweetness, while the shining beauty of “Dove sono” made for a sharp contrast with the dramatic reality of the Countess' situation, being nothing but a desperate last bid for a lost cause.
Unfortunately, neither Andrè Schuen's Count nor Isabel Signoret's Cherubino left similar impressions. Bouncing around with periodically focused anger and slimy menace, Schuen made for a striking figure onstage, and though he sang with bite and finesse, his velvety bass-baritone was often rather underpowered. Signoret, already hampered by the staging, similarly struggled with volume, leading to a rather undercharged “Non so più”, but her appealing, burnished mezzo shone with sensual urgency in “Voi che sapete”. In the supporting roles, Stephanie Houtzeel's Marcellina was utterly fabulous, chewing the scenery with relish together with Stefan Cerny's remarkable Bartolo. Wolfgang Bankl's Antonio was a riot, while Hannah-Theres Wiegl's Barbarina showed off a lovely young voice.
Ivor Bolton led the orchestra in a stylish reading of the score that never missed its mark, relentlessly energetic and delightfully colourful, although perhaps some extravagance would have been a welcome accompaniment for Kosky's staging.
