Focus on farce: a light Marriage of Figaro makes the case for fun in Chicago

It’s hard not to see a Parthian shot in Lyric Opera of Chicago’s revival of Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, which opened this past Saturday night. The production, original to Lyric in 2015, was that season’s opener and the first opera conceived, planned and executed by recently retired general director and CEO Anthony Freud. The most critically divisive theme in Freud’s tenure was productions with strong directorial takes, seen by proponents as fresh viewpoints and by detractors as excesses.

One of the most celebrated directors in Chicago stage history, Barbara Gaines interprets Figaro as first and foremost a sex farce, along the lines of her expertise in the Bard’s comedies at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, which she founded. For her, Figaro is lightweight, with its class issues more upstairs-downstairs than having any real stakes, and the heartfelt arias as momentary changes of pace, the butter in the cake batter. This take is internally coherent and does no violence to the libretto, but you cannot miss the presence of Gaines’ opinions.

Flamboyant costumes and lavish scenery set the tone, along with, during the overture, Count Almaviva’s pursuit of a woman down an aisle of the auditorium and under the curtain, which the Countess then pulls down to start Act 1. The action of Act 2 takes place around and on the Countess’ enormous bed, and in Act 3 a bevy of low-hanging chandeliers rise midway through the act to reveal lewdly positioned statues. A water feature in Act 4 serves little purpose except for a final, pre-curtain frolic.

The focus on farce heightens the acting demands on the singers. As Susanna, Ying Fang met the challenge with such aplomb and stage presence that the opera could be retitled The Marriage of Susanna. She found her character’s playful baseline and pouted instead of raged at her moments of adversity. Gorgeous Mozartian suppleness in Fang’s voice and sensitivity in ensemble singing made her Susanna an ideal match for this production. 

Gordon Bintner’s Count, too, nailed the exasperation at knowing he’s being tricked over and over, even if he can’t figure out how. His timing and facial gestures, although probably not fully legible from the gallery, showed a keen sense of humor. Peter Kellner, as Figaro, has a lovely instrument, but did not seem as naturally funny and occasionally slipped in pitch or production when dialing up the expression. His Act 4 aria ranting against the deceit of women came off more jittery than desperate, although it does not seem easy to balance the lightness of Gainess production with the momentary agony Figaro feels here.

A balancing that hit the bull’s-eye, on the other hand, came from the pensive interludes of the Countess’s “Porgi amor” and “Dove sono”, as sung by Federica Lombardi. Lombardi stopped time with her sorrow and languor, with understated vibrato highlighting her fiercely accurate pitch, and heart-breaking use of a pianissimo dynamic on the “Dove sono” da capo.

Kayleigh Decker made for a Cherubino swaying between vulnerable and seductive, gamely bearing the vicissitudes of cross-(cross-)dressing, conscription and jumping out a window – here, into the orchestra pit. Decker displayed impressive technique on her solos, with long, luscious phrases and pure tone.

Erina Yashima, more familiar across the Loop at Symphony Center from her time as a Solti Conducting Apprentice with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, made a mixed debut in the pit. She launched the overture at an ambitious, antic tempo that the orchestra had no trouble keeping. But later she occasionally lost the singers, and a few fortes overpowered the solo voices.

Gaines clearly wants the audience to find this opera funny. Vernacular American English in the supertitles – as translated by Colin Ure, Freud’s husband – got the biggest laughs from the audience, such as a moment where Susanna says “What a bitch!” about Marcellina. In 2015, those titles raised the dander of the more negative reviewers, or as Ure would probably put it, pissed them off. A few jarring idioms aside, the translation fits this production snugly: immediate, jokey and a little vulgar. It may clang occasionally, but it rings more often.

Gaines’ Figaro, with its sense of mischief and silliness, like a cartoon or commedia dell’arte, will not appeal to everyone. It’s not anti-traditional, exactly, but like Bridgerton, it’s not afraid of anachronism. What it is, more than anything else, is fun. Those who don’t like fun should stay away.