An old Volkswagen van straight out of the 1960s sputters smoke and comes to a halt in front of the Teatro Rossini in Pesaro, just 20 minutes before the show. One by one, a troupe of drag queens in full regalia emerge, clamouring and parading around – for a moment, it seems as if a performance of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is about to begin. The police arrive, detaining the queens as they attempt to flee, while a loud, corpulent "impresario" protests vehemently. Eventually, they all file into the theatre alongside the audience, only to reappear moments later, darting across the stage before being hauled off to the police station.
This was the opening of L’italiana in Algeri at the Rossini Opera Festival, as envisioned by director Rosetta Cucchi. The scene served as a forewarning: this would be an Italiana in drag. The opera’s farcical plot, brimming with absurdity and nonsense, inspired Cucchi to craft a flamboyant, rainbow-coloured spectacle. The entire production hinges on the protagonist, Daniela Barcellona as Isabella, who embraced her drag queen persona with remarkable self-awareness, delivering the role with intelligence and infectious joy.
That said, transforming Isabella into a man adds little substance to the story while stripping away the original meaning of her character – a woman celebrated for her strength, cunning and wit. Instead, the only remaining female characters are a subjugated wife and her even more oppressed maid, “rescued” not by a fearless modern woman, but by a man in a wig. Given recent trends in some opera theatres, I dread the next logical step: a countertenor Isabella. The horror.
In the final scene, as Isabella sings a rousing patriotic anthem urging the Italian slaves to fight for freedom, archival footage of early Pride parades in the United States plays in the background. Yet this nod to a historic civil rights movement feels underdeveloped, more like empty lip service than a meaningful tribute.
Despite these shortcomings, the production is undeniably entertaining, thanks in large part to the four (genuine) drag queens who remain onstage throughout. Whether seducing Mustafà’s soldiers in full glam, leading them in a comical fitness routine, or lip-syncing Haly’s aria “Le femmine d’Italia”, they command the stage with effortless charisma. Their natural theatricality makes them ideal foils for the unfolding chaos, seamlessly blending into the opera’s madcap energy.
Barcellona was a magnificent Isabella. Her coloratura dazzled, her Rossinian style was effortless and flawless, her top notes soaring with brilliant, steel-like clarity. While her legendary middle register may have lost some of its former projection, her lower range remained as rich and seductive as ever – deep, bronzed and commanding. Her embellishments were inventive, her interpretation masterful. One of the highlights came in “Per lui che adoro”, an aria in which Isabella primps, bathes and perfumes herself... here performed while she shaved her face and neck, adding a stroke of comic genius.
As Mustafà, Giorgi Manoshvili proved himself a star in the making. His velvety, resonant bass delivered astonishingly precise coloratura, gleaming high notes (his high G in “Pappataci Mustafà” was exquisite) and a performance brimming with charisma and wit. His Act 1 aria, “Già d’insolito ardore”, stood out as one of the evening’s finest moments.
Lindoro, Isabella's beloved, was portrayed by Josh Lovell, whose light, pleasant tenor charmed despite occasionally lacking resonance in certain registers, leaving some passages less thrilling than others. While his coloratura sometimes muddied, his superb breath control carried him through and his performance brimmed with wit and spirit; his contributions to ensembles were invariably precise and effective.
As Taddeo, the basso buffo and Isabella’s hapless admirer, Misha Kiria brought strong comic timing and an affable stage presence. His well-projected baritone may not have been the most idiomatic for Rossini, but he excelled in his duets and ensembles, delivering them with warmth and rhythmic vitality.
As Elvira, Mustafà’s long-suffering wife, Vittoriana De Amicis deployed her silvery, crystalline soprano to cut through even the wildest ensembles like a finely struck triangle. Her character’s arc – from mousy spouse to flamboyant seductress, and finally to dominatrix – was a masterclass in comic transformation. Andrea Niño brought a bronzed, velvety mezzo to the maid Zulma, infusing the role with warmth and sharp comic instinct. As Haly, Gurgen Baveyan balanced polished baritone tone with impeccable timing, his every intervention landing with practiced ease.
In the pit, Dmitry Korchak, now straddling careers as a world-class tenor and conductor, led the Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna with kinetic energy. The overture crackled with vitality and good pace. Occasional coordination slips between stage and pit emerged, though none proved disastrous. His true success lay in the ensembles: breakneck tempos never compromised clarity and his judicious handling of Rossini’s crescendos and rhythmic traps proved convincing.
