From the world-famous overture to Il barbiere di Siviglia, in which everyone has memorable tunes, through the opera’s quicksilver alternations of comedy (mostly) and romance, it is clear that Rossini is in charge. Events, actions, and texts that are comical or witty are equally or even more so in the music. Probably nothing is funnier in opera than Almaviva’s fake priest nasally intoning ad nauseam “Pace e gioia” – but it’s the notes that do it. Don Basilio’s “La calunnia” is a brilliantly slimy text of nastiness, but Rossini’s setting makes it twice as nasty. The rapid-fire conversations, the deliberately endless “Buona sera” scene, and the multi-layered concertato “Fredda ed immobile come una statua” – here, too, librettist Cesare Sterbini gets the words right – but with the music they are truly amusing.
Thus the staging and performance of Curtis Opera Theatre’s Barbiere worked best when director Chas Rader-Shieber, responsible for more than thirty Curtis productions, left well enough alone, trusting, respecting and taking advantage of the text and especially the music. Among the best examples were precisely those mentioned above: no gimmicks, slapstick or overacting, with relatively straightforward individual interpretation.
However, there were several exceptions: for example, while singing that tongue-twister “Largo al factotum”, Figaro reduced two customers to baldness: a hirsute hippie who also lost his facial hair, while a primly dressed lady emerged hairless but with a moustache (his?). This got laughter, naturally, but distracted from the aria, a masterpiece of charming self-promotion, deserving extra attention.
Yes, there was a hippie, and the other costumes were more-or-less of that era: opera directors and designers are apparently obsessed with the 1960s, or maybe that style of dress is plentiful and cheap in second-hand shops. The band assembled for the opening serenade (indeed very funny with their conglomeration of instruments, especially the bespectacled triangle-player awaiting his big moment) wore red cardigans with a big “S” lower left (Seville High?); Fiorillo sported a black leather jacket. The triangle-guy switched clothes with white-suited Almaviva, including the glasses, but stashed away the suit and remained in t-shirt and Jockey shorts (Almaviva wore boxers). Dottor Bartolo and Don Basilio (not in the customary priestly garb) wore too-tight suits with too-short trousers, and Rosina a gauzy white long-sleeved top revealing a black bodice, with a huge bow down her back, a yellowish flared skirt and high heels. What was supposed to be a visual statement was just boring, like most clothes in updated productions, particularly mid-late-20th-century ones.