Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro is an opera buffa that premiered in 1786. It has four acts, and it’s one of three renowned operas Mozart collaborated on with librettist Lorenzo da Ponte. These are facts that are true of every production, but the essence that makes the opera great – hilarity intricately staged by comic artists who also sing some of Mozart’s most stunning arias effortlessly – is never a given. In this production, Houston Grand Opera just has the facts of Figaro on its side.
A co-production of HGO and Glyndebourne Festival Opera, this version of Figaro tries to re-imagine Mozart in more contemporary terms. Many productions have done this well – Peter Sellars’ Trump Tower from 1988 comes immediately to mind, as well as the elegant upstairs-downstairs Figaro at the Salzburg Festival directed by Sven-Eric Bechtolf. The program notes claim this production is either set in “early-1970s Morocco, or perhaps a Moroccan/Moorish-inspired country estate in Spain,” and this uncertainty is part of a much larger problem of overall visual coherency.
The opening sequence as the scrim raised, with house staff lining up to greet a sparkling vintage car, bespoke of a Downton Abbey-style country estate. With a turn of the rotating stage, though, we were thrown into mosaic tiles with speculative furniture that evoked more of the Spanish theme. Set and costume designer Christopher Oram dresses characters in vaguely 1960s or 1970s garb, clothing that seems to allude to the period more than actually be from the period: muted blue bell bottoms with large polka dots that could be some kind of tie dye; flower power peasant dresses in mottled brown; silk capes, loosely fitted jump suits, platform heels, and even some go-go boots. In Act III, the wedding celebration ends with some variety of 70s rave lit by hot pink, lime green and highlighter yellow spotlights.
Sometimes illness strikes a singer on opening night, and courageous scrambling makes the show go on. These things happen. It isn’t anyone’s fault. But it is was someone’s decision to replace baritone Joshua Hopkins, who was to sing the role of Count Almaviva, with both HGO Studio artist Ben Edquist and stage director Ian Rutherford, who walked the part while Edquist sang from the side. While Edquist did a brave job singing at the last minute, a rich tone vitalized with feeling, and Rutherford indeed walked and mouthed the parts, it was awkward visually and aurally. The aural unbalance was particularly painful in the many delicate duets and trios where intimacy between singers is so critical to the comedy.