Yet another study has proclaimed that Gen Z is having less sex than previous generations; a drought is sweeping the minuscule bedrooms of the New Labour generation. What must these celibate youngsters make of the relentless libido of Count Almaviva, decidedly retro in his approach to horizontal sports? Glyndebourne’s new production of Le nozze di Figaro – a favourite at this address – takes a no-nonsense approach to Mozart’s beloved comedy, capturing both life’s humour and its misery.
Mariame Clément’s Don Pasquale remains popular with the festival audience. Entrusted with this new production of Figaro, she has delved into a similar bag of ideas. Julia Hansen’s set looks stunning – a gorgeous period mansion on a turntable, painted and decadent, with detail aplenty, albeit the turntable broke down during Act 4 (did the missing pin fall into the machinery?). There’s no statement updating here: the Countess’ dresses are wider than the Range Rovers in the Glyndebourne car park. Keeping the setting without complication, Clément focuses squarely on her characters.
A couple of concepts underpin her production. Almaviva is no mere seducer; he’s an abuser. Demanding entrance to Rosina’s antechamber in Act 2, the production’s tone changes markedly from light comedy to something bleaker when Almaviva pins Rosina to the wall by her throat. It’s dangerous, iunexpected to us, but clearly not to her; later gestures indicate that this is not a singular occurrence. It’s powerful stuff, but my one quibble – writing as a man who hasn’t been the victim of domestic violence – is that she then goes on to taunt and chide him. Is it likely that a wife afraid of her husband would be launching “Le vostre follie non mertan pietà” at him?
The other noticeable device was the silent presence of a young girl – the Almavivas’ daughter – who makes periodic appearances on stage. Almaviva, at one point plays with her, a doting father, unaware of the jarring clash between his approach to women and his own daughter. For Rosina, the daughter is a bittersweet signpost back to happier times. As a visual device, Clement’s sparing deployment makes it nuanced and effective. Beyond this, and a few other pleasant little details – the servants all gathering to watch Susanna and Marcellina clash in Act 1 is a fun touch – Clément largely allows her principals to get on with it, fostering an organic Regie-style that gives space and breath throughout the scenes.
For this new production, Glyndebourne has assembled an excellent cast with less established singers holding their own against a couple of big names. Huw Montague Rendall has form with Almaviva, having sung the role at Covent Garden last year. It fits him like a glove. His velvety baritone, a snarl at both ends of the voice, was deployed with eerie elegance, even in tone and solid at the most forceful moments. He gave us an Almaviva who swung from cold hauteur to seething bestiality in a heartbeat; a rampaging aristocrat never told no or spanked by nanny, unused to defiance. By contrast, Louise Alder’s Rosina was a study in still melancholy. Her soprano was totally secure at the top and showed delicate phrasing. Her “Dove sono” was one of the finest I’ve heard: both sophisticated and yet achingly simple.
Against Alder, Johanna Wallroth was a chippy, genial Susanna, bustling across the stage, wry smile at the ready. Hers is a softer, smaller soprano than Alder’s, but it was well projected and showed angular diction, fragrant on the ear. Her dynamic with her husband-to-be was sweetly depicted, particularly in her gentle apologies for his ‘rougher’ behaviour in Rosina’s suite. Michael Nagl was a reassuringly robust Figaro; his baritone has a granite strength to it in a lower register that is amply supported and gave real power to his phrasing. His two big arias in Act 1 were convincingly sung, phrased with a real sense of the text. Completing the central quintet, Adèle Charvet was a refreshingly understated Cherubino, proving that sometimes less is more. Charvet’s clean and classical tone was supported by a keen sense of line, making her “Non so più, cosa son” one of the highlights of the first half.
Among the supporting cast, Elisabeth Boudreault gave a sweetly sung Barbarina, and Madeleine Shaw an unusually graceful Marcellina. Buffa veteran Alessandro Corbelli was a finely tuned Dr Bartolo, a figure reduced in status and in energy. Ru Charlesworth, doubtless consulting an osteopath at the end of this run, was a delightfully absurd Basilio, delivered at a perpetually uncomfortable angle.
In the put, Riccardo Minasi led a full-throttled reading of the score, full of vim and verve. Horn intonation wavered occasionally, but with some rich playing in the strings and thrusting tempi, this was a lively interpretation that never threatened to wander. A fine new addition to the Glyndebourne stable.
