Hugh Russell as Figaro in Opera Hamilton’s production of The Barber of Seville.
Happily for us, the keenly focused cast of this production are most adept at keeping comic details organically true to both plot and character and seemingly effortless. In some noteworthy productions, we sometimes find singers “doing” comedy and consciously reaching for humorous effect, but here, under Krysa, we have characterization of folks whose actions and words happen to cause laughter. They are not caricatures but characters and this production thus sparkles with inherent and truthful levity.
If you’re accustomed to a Rossini with massive tongue-in-cheek chords and full throttle momentum, you’ll find conductor Gordon Gerrard’s twenty-five member orchestra concealed in the pit of the Dofasco Centre for the Arts a constant revelation of the composer’s mind. The orchestra has a chamber dimension to it and thus we become more aware of Rossini’s methods in construction of effects. Interaction of instruments, contrapuntal surprises, placement of distinct tones, subtle shaping of lines all make the band in the pit, through characterizing specifics of orchestration, into an organic character as much as those on stage. We get to hear exactly why Rossini is musically such a fun guy.
If the orchestra seems a participating character in this operatic comedy, such as well are we. Larger stages like the previous Hamilton Opera home at Hamilton Place can sometimes create the undesirable impression of oppressive dead space around the stage, but in the much more intimate Dofasco Centre, we sit extremely close and feel like confidants of Dr Bartolo, Figaro, Rosina, Berta, et al. as they send asides our way. Moreover, voices here have human life and not the remoteness-making character of amplification. Vocal shadings feel natural, rooted in the ebb and flow of human breath, and each emotion has a body and not a soundboard as its origin.
Hugh Russell’s Figaro opts for theatrical as much as musical values in his performance and alternates between potent vocal resonance and a more subdued and seemingly spoken urgency. He actually comes across as a scheming troublemaker, given to sneaky glances, and because he appears to conceal as much as he reveals, one might suspect he has underworld connections. When Figaro enters with his barber shop on wheels, he begins Largo al Factotum with a megaphone, when he remarks that “customers line up night and day,” an elderly fellow appears in the middle of the night and sits for a shave as Figaro flirts with his wife. Russell and the director share a broad take on the role and Figaro serves as a dynamic anchor to the proceedings because this he is certainly a catalyst of theatrical energy.
Lauren Segal’s Rosina is sexy, commanding, feisty, petulant and obviously in need of opposition and contradiction so she might vent her pent up anger. When she sings “but if my anger is aroused…” and then hurls her guardian’s coat to the floor, her fury is pointed like the knife she holds in her hand. Whenever she glares into the audience, one feels the need to duck. Vocally speaking, her embellishments feel organically and comfortably right. Hers is a clear, agile full-bodied and piercing mezzo that gives the production a huge dose of feminine spicing.
The Almaviva of Edgar Ernesto Ramirez has a hearty and deep sounding lower mid range and a ringing finesse above that, all with solidity of presence and robustness in his lyricism. Such fullness of tonal reserves, delivered with poise and masculine security, serves well as a balance to his volatile Rosina and an ever agile Figaro. He sings with ardor of love but also seems an emotionally confident fellow, which one must be among this hectic bunch. Ramirez ably negotiates a number of funny routines: Almaviva as a drunken soldier enters as Napoleon, later as a blind music teacher wields a white cane like a sword at Bartolo’s peril, and after that sits at the keyboard as a hybrid of Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder.
Alexandre Sylvestre’s Dr Bartolo is a thoroughly conceived characterization that delights in every minute detail without any flaw in consistency. This not too elderly Bartolo is a strutting and foppish fellow, self-congratulating and elegant in a silly way, one who sneers with a dash of slime in his asides to the audience. What could be a stock character, as it was in Commedia dell’arte, here makes standard stage business dynamic and fresh, and is beautifully sung with resonant tones. His irritations are palpable and delightful each time.
Don Basilio in the able hands of Giles Tomkins is also a creation of new and surprising qualities, at least a far as I’ve experienced. Here is a man with constantly startled eyeballs who lays on his innuendo like sticky jam, which is doubly funny in a beautifully sung bass-baritone. He glides as he walks and is hilarious as an understated presence. Wendy Hatala Foley’s Berta is a maid with animated elastic facial expressions, rich mezzo voice, and the hots for her boss Bartolo. She does the physicality of her humour with spontaneous sexy ease. James Levesque, as Fiorello and the sergeant, brings vocal honey and delicacy to each scene.
Many details of stage business, either given or implied in the music, are delivered with concise and unforced élan and director Krysa demands that one pay diligent attention lest a humorous touch go unperceived. At one point Rosina implants a needle in Bartolo’s coat and later he is pricked by it, and each is a brief instant gone in a flash. Almaviva takes a swig before serenading and needs his lyrics turned in mid line, both quick touches. Dr Bartolo and Almaviva briefly tug at Rosina’s arms as suggested in the music and Rossini’s frenzied tempo is often given physical form that seems natural and like a quick brush stroke of humour. Another passing touch has Figaro leading Bartolo into kissing him. In Act I. Figaro and the Count trade flamenco progressions on the guitar and each tosses in an “ole!” and another skit are done. On a dramatic level the relationship of Figaro and Rosina suggests familiarity, mutual insight, and –who knows?- perhaps previous intimacy, since neither plays by society’s rules.
This production is treated as comic theatre as much as opera and through its strong characterizations we experience the intermingling of almost defiantly self-centred wills and the comic combustion of their connection. The orchestra with its subtly effective presence is like guiding voice of delicate and impish placement that accentuates the sound and meaning of the singers. Robert Little’s detailed and slightly stylized set of hot pastels suggests both a hot summer street in Seville and the heated atmosphere of exquisite operatic comedy. A careful balance of many contributing elements makes this a theatrically bubbling production.
One of the hardest things to achieve in comic theatre of any kind is the spirit of a given work, the energy that keeps true to the work’s content and style and infuses every idiomatic detail with a magical dimension that makes one experience life anew with fresh perspective. Thus, driving home from Il Barbiere di Siviglia, I remembered Dr Bartolo at Queen Street and laughed, at Dundurn I remembered Don Basilio and laughed, at Aberdeen it was Figaro who made me laugh, and at our front door Rosina’s glowering stare caused my laughter. When I awoke the next morning I thought of the hilariously sizzling finale and laughed and now, as I write these lines with the whole opera in mind, I am laughing still. What more can I say? This production is a true celebration of enlivening comic spirit.
Lauren Segal as Rosina in Opera Hamilton’s production of The Barber of Seville.