San Francisco Classical Voice

FESTIVAL REVIEW Figaro Brought Low

August 2, 2001

By Dan Leeson

[Editor's note: In view of the controversy surrounding the Salzburg Festival's director, Gérard Mortier, whose regime ends this summer, this report by one of SFCV's writers is offered.]

In Salzburg, at the Kleine Festspielhaus on Thursday, unbelievable things happened to Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro in a production that will continue on and off until the end of August. To reduce a work of extraordinary genius to a silly and, at times, incomprehensible farce is difficult. The stage director, Christoph Marthaler, managed this by means of disconcerting stage action, theatrical activities that distracted from the singers' performances, dramatic devices that had no purpose, alteration of Mozart's music, and contradiction of Da Ponte's text — all leaving the impression that whatever Mozart and his librettist had in mind was of little consequence.

The first hint of trouble came right after the overture, because the stage setting was contemporary, with all characters appearing in modern dress. Cherubino, for instance, wore punk-rocker pants with matching haircut. Figaro doesn't work in modern dress. The opera's dramatic devices resist modernization. For example, the very idea of a contemporary Count giving up the practice of "jus prima nocta" ("right of the first night") is absurd. And to give a 16-year-old boy a commission in the Count's private regiment because of sexual indiscretions beggars the modern imagination.

Beside the fact that the workings of contemporary society clash unmercifully with the theme of 18th century dissatisfaction with the privileges of the upper class, the director chose to tinker with the very music of the opera. Many of the accompanied recitatives had their instrumentation altered — radically. Instead of the scored-for string basses that accompany Figaro's introduction to "Se vuol ballare," we heard a trombone and a trumpet (the latter with a wah-wah mute to supply a mocking, sarcastic tone). Both instruments might well have been created electronically by the keyboardist, because those instruments are not used in the opera. It sounded like Shep Fields and Rippling Rhythm.

There's Two Bottles of Beer on the Stage

Later, an on-stage glass harmonica was used as the only accompaniment for the first few measures of Figaro's recitative "Tutto e disposto." Another anomaly was the use of two beer bottles holding various levels of liquid to provide an onstage secco recitative for Susanna. The beer-bottle player blew across the top of one bottle, then the other, then drank some beer from each to get new pitches, then blew some more, etc. Drink, blow, drink, blow.

As for the staging carelessness, the first of two extreme instances came when Cherubino (the role that is of course sung by a woman portraying a 16-year-old boy) had his pants removed onstage by the Countess and Susanna and was then dressed in a wedding gown. Without zipping the back up, he turned around — displaying an obviously nonmale backside in attractive female undergarments. Susanna, taking a close look at the displayed part of the anatomy, voiced Da Ponte's original text: "Look! The skin of his arm is even paler than mine." Second, the conceit surrounding the Countess' ribbon, taken as a souvenir by Cherubino, was reduced to a burlesque involving her pantyhose, including a sophomoric pulling and stretching of the garment from one wing of the stage to the other.

An invented character, irrelevant to the opera and introduced at the earliest moment, was constantly on stage. He is a rock musician with a chair stuck on his backside so that he can sit down at appropriate times. He carried either an electronic keyboard (played during recitatives), an electronic accordion (without bellows), or, in the fourth act, a glass harmonica used to accompany himself, singing in falsetto, for a performance of a completely irrelevant Mozart song, not in the opera's score, "Die Alte." Wandering around almost continuously, this character interfered with stage action and distracted the audience.

Animals and Mysterious Objects

The upper third of the stage contained a stuffed sheep, a stuffed goat, something that looked like an alligator, a piano, and some unidentifiable objects, all (except the piano) as visual background for a usually omitted aria by Marcellina about animals. The rock musician with his keyboard wound up on this upper level from time to time, even accompanying some recitatives from there.

Finally, at rear stage center — throughout all four acts — was an entire room that looked like the entrance to a movie theater, cashier's booth and all. Glass panels allowed a full view of this room, where people walked around, a half-dozen women in bridal gowns sat unmoving, telephone calls were made, and characters entered and exited. A clock on the rear wall continually read 5:58. This supposedly simulated the offices of state registration for marriages, which was the reason the brides were always present.

The singers, when I could pay attention to them, were wonderful. Figaro, sung by Lorenzo Regazzo, was magnificent. Peter Mattei, as the Count, was constantly acting angry, in consequence of which, by the end of the opera, he was hoarse from shouting. Angela Denoke, the Countess, carried on despite a throat condition that had her in poor voice. Susanna, sung by Christine Oelze, was wonderful. Marcellina, sung by Helene Schneiderman, an American, is a great singer. (She invited the audience to clap rhythmically during one of her arias, instantly transporting us to a hoe-down.) And the Cherubino ("he" of the ladies underpants) was brilliantly done by Christine Schafer, a world-class talent. During her aria "Voi che sapete," she sang magnificently and brought the house down.

The conductor, Sylvan Camberling, led an exceptionally well-prepared Camerata Salzburg Orchestra, and the chorus of the Vienna Staatsopera sang as well as a well-trained chorus should, even when required to march in a conga line.

(Musicologist/author Dan Leeson is a former member of the San Jose Symphony Orchestra, a retired businessman, and an editor of the 220-volume complete Mozart edition published by Bärenreiter.)