In a year made wearisome by doomscrolling through Trump, Putin and Netanyahu, a balmy evening in sun-drenched Garsington felt like the perfect tonic, particularly when the fare on offer was that frothiest of rom-coms, Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore. And indeed, as we took our seats (Garsington doesn’t have a drop curtain), we were greeted by Simon Higlett’s exquisite tableau of a village in middle Italy, some time after the American liberation: Belcore and his soldiers are US infantry, winning the hearts of the local lasses with the aid of military swagger and Hershey bars. Higlett’s sets, props and costumes are crafted in loving detail, from the nooks, crannies and balconies of the buildings to the laden window boxes to Dulcamara’s sports car to the table settings and crockery for the wedding feast. Perhaps it's all a little too prosperous for the times, but who’s counting?
The cast and crew for this production are an engaging mixture of youth and experience. Chloe Rooke, an Emerging Artist with the Residentie-Orkest in The Hague, displayed assurance well beyond her years at the helm of the Philharmonia Orchestra: the sound was crisp and bright, tempi were carefully chosen to allow the requisite space to the singers (particularly important in buffo patter if we are to hear any of the words), dynamics were equally carefully judged to allow space for the loud pedal to be pressed at critical moments. The momentum never flagged, the orchestra never overpowered us and the chorus singing made up in vigour and tunefulness for a certain level of muddle. Director Christopher Luscombe’s years of theatre experience were palpable in the acting performances of the whole cast, with the highly complex stage movement expertly directed by Rebecca Howells – of particular note was the way people, chairs and food seethed around the long banqueting table.
In the vocal cast, experience trumped youth in the shape of Richard Burkhard, who ran the show as the quack Dulcamara, with a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye. His Italian patter was exceptional, with a pleasantly rich tone and every word clearly intelligible (until, eventually, Rooke let rip with the acceleration on the repeats). With movement that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Victorian music hall, Burkhard seemed to have unlimited reserves of conviviality and good cheer to go with a keen sense of the absurdity of his oh-so-gullible customers. He was nicely counterbalanced by Carles Pachón’s Belcore, who displayed impressive baritone power while clocking in a good portrayal of oafish machismo.
Oleksiy Palchiykov gave plenty of vocal appeal as Nemorino, proving mastery of both ends of the dynamic range – able to turn up the volume knob at moments of despair of anger, but also treating us to a daring pianissimo in “Una furtiva lacrima”. Madison Leonard also had plenty of power in reserve for the part of Adina, although she tugged at the heartstrings rather less – which, to be fair, is in the nature of her character.
And therein lies my slight reservation about this production. Luscombe and Rooke are uncompromisingly honest about their characters, all of whom except Nemorino are highly unpleasant people. Until her hard-to-believe Pauline conversion, Adina is vicious minx whose only interest in Nemorino is the power she has over him – and I’m afraid I found Leonard a more credible nasty Adina than a nice Adina. Belcore is a womanising braggart; Dulcamara an inveterate conman; even Giannetta and the girls of the village are shameless in pursuing Nemorino’s money without any interest in the young lad himself. This production pulls no punches in shining a light on this, which is all honest and truthful, but does put rather a dent in the feel-good rom-com effect. I didn’t feel overly optimistic for the future of Nemorino and Adina’s marriage.
But in the end, the fine orchestral performance, some spirited chorus singing and Burkhard’s disarming geniality won me over. Never was the appellation “Dr Feelgood” better deserved.
