Trapped in a vice: a terrific double-bill of Il segreto di Susanna and Pagliacci at Opera Holland Park

“Cav and Pag get a divorce” was the ingenious marketing line by which Opera Holland Park’s team were broadcasting their pairing of Wolf-Ferrari’s Il segreto di Susanna with a new production of Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci. The latter, a verismo behemoth, is indelibly linked to the work that inspired its composition, Cavalleria rusticana, but in prefacing the adrenaline-charged tale of a marriage violently disintegrating with a more whimsical and comic scene of matrimonial discord, OHP provided audiences with a more balanced operatic menu.

John Wilkie’s production of Il segreto debuted in a pairing with Iolanta back in 2019 and designer takis' gorgeous colours continue to delight the eye. Many operas have delightfully merry tributes to alcohol at their centre in the form of raucous drinking songs; Il segreto, on the other hand, is the tobacco lobby’s dream, with smoking held up as the ultimate activity for the happy couple. Move over tandem bikes, step back salsa dancing! It’s a simple plot that sees Count Gil driven mad by the smell of cigarette smoke permeating his previously happy home. Leaping to the conclusion that his wife is having an affair, he embarks on a clumsy campaign to catch the lovers. 

In practice, the Countess Susanna is cheerfully chuffing cigarettes with the (silent) servant, Sante, a discovery Gil only makes when he burns his hand on the cigarette Susanna ineptly hides behind her back. It’s terrific fun and Wolf-Ferrari’s buoyant score jingled attractively under John Andrews' baton, the pace never slackening and moments of ravishing beauty positively bursting from the City of London Sinfonia. Richard Burkhard, resplendent in a crushed strawberry suit, brought the senex amator elements out of Gil, giving us a figure that was at times ludicrous but for whom we couldn’t help but feel sympathy and affection. Vocally Burkhard was on good form, showing a lightness to his higher register and keen lyricism. As Susanna, Clare Presland was an able match despite a recent indisposition, always dynamic and with a strong eye for comic timing. A touch of shrillness was occasionally present at the top of the voice, but not to the overall detriment of her performance. Silent, but with a performance that spoke volumes, John Savournin was a fine Sante.

From comedy to tragedy. Martin Lloyd-Evans’ new production of Pagliacci is one of the finest performances of this visceral work I have seen. The backdrop has the famous front page of la Repubblica on the abolition of the monarchy plastered across it, placing the production firmly in the postwar years. The staging implies that both the troupe and the community are still living with the effects of the Second World War in the lack of prosperity and the gloom that lays heavy across the cast. A feeling of hopelessness abounds despite the excitement that the arrival of Canio’s band generates. Direction is tight and the choreography is organic, but it is with the vocal performances that this production really lands its punches. To see and hear David Butt Philip’s Canio was a privilege. His tenor was utterly compelling, entirely even and secure at every register, blooming and with an almost ember-like glow at the very top, this is a role for which he was made. Noticeable too, in all the fury that he brought to the role, was his diction: always clean, the text always present in the line.

Alison Langer’s Nedda was at times a cypher, almost fatalistic in approach. One sensed at times a bleakness to the soul – that her actions, even her affair, were motivated by a desire simply to feel something. Langer deployed her soprano generously, the top of the voice soaring in “Stridono lassù”, the phrasing clear and the tone clean. Robert Hayward’s mahogany-tinged bass-baritone radiated malignity; clearly articulated, his Tonio’s lust and loathing shrouded the troupe, a miasma that touched and clung to the unfortunate company. By contrast, Harry Thatcher’s bright baritone had an almost naive energy to it, untinged and pure. His Silvio was the brief light, the single green shoot of hope on an otherwise desiccated landscape.

Replacing John Andrews in the pit, Francesco Cilluffo led the orchestra in a reading that bled passion, but also had striking moments of beauty, particularly in the “ding dong” chorus when the hard edges were smoothed into a silky, serene sound. Always considerate to his singers, Cilluffo’s interpretation was impeccable, the final detail to an unforgettable – and unmissable – performance.