There’s a moment in Seattle Opera’s end-of-season production, as the threads are being steadily pulled ever tighter in the final act, when Figaro reaches out from his hiding place behind a tree, trying to make contact with Susanna. He desperately wants to believe that the love song his new bride appears to be singing so convincingly for the Count, with such melting beauty (“Deh, vieni non tardar”), is intended for him. Which, of course, it is — but he can’t be allowed to know for sure until the turn has been played and la commedia è finita. Figaro’s gesture underscores the keenness of desire that courses through director Peter Kazaras’ staging — not just in the erotic sense, though that abounds, but a desire to grasp for meaning, for some sort of reassurance amid the bafflement.
As if to keep stern watch over all the zany plot twists, a line from Da Ponte’s libretto was shown engraved on a palace beam through all four acts: “Perdono non merta chi agli altri non dà” (Those who do not forgive others deserve no forgiveness). It comes from the second act, that masterpiece of operatic architecture: Susanna and the Countess sing it in response to the Count, who has made his first plea for pardon after maligning his wife. The point here seems to be that we’re all in this mess together, on the verge of falling into the traps set by our own insecurity.
None of this came across as heavy-handed. Indeed, this was a Figaro with a light, amiable touch that zeroes in on Mozart’s and Da Ponte’s impeccable comic pacing. The youthful cast exuded spontaneity and inhabited their roles with a remarkable physicality. Figaro and Susanna’s mutual attraction in particular was palpable and never seemed in doubt, despite the threats from all around. Perhaps it’s a lingering aftermath of the strictures that were necessary during the worst of the pandemic, but Kazaras’ emphasis on physical interaction, without the worry of social-distancing ploys, had a liberating, rejuvenating effect.
The production was ostensibly set in Mozart’s era, as established by designer Benoît Dugardyn’s neoclassical columns and chequered parquet floor (more effective when expanded for the third act and transformed by Connie Yun’s stars and lanterns into the atmospheric garden of the finale). A welcome twist that kept things from turning too staidly traditional was the exuberant, ever-so-slightly surreal colour palette of Myung Hee Cho’s costumes, their electric pinks and acid trip greens delightfully colliding against the sober, powder-blue (painted) drapes. Though the French Revolution should be just around the corner, Kazaras and his team showed no interest in engaging with the opera’s class divisions: Susanna and Rosina clearly bonded as allies. Nor was much made of Figaro’s troubling sexual politics, aside from a fleeting show of resentment toward the Count from the women in the chorus of peasants (one of them visibly pregnant).
The focus, rather, was on Mozart as comic genius, and the cast sustained admirably buoyant ensemble energy throughout his virtuosic manipulation of opera buffa patterns. Ryan McKinny sang a charismatic Figaro, dispatching even his recitative with flair. Soraya Mafi gave a multifaceted account of Susanna, adjusting like a chameleon to those around her; her singing conveyed humour, warmth and passion. Though vocally underwhelming, Norman Garrett depicted the most likeable Almaviva I’ve yet encountered, smoothing over his loutish behaviour with charm and, in the final scene, credibly in need of reconciliation with his wife.
As conferred by Marjukka Tepponen’s Countess, the pivotal moment of forgiveness pushed the performance onto another plane altogether, one she had already foreshadowed with her exquisitely phrased, pain-shot “Dove sono”. With her nuanced, delicately controlled legato and messa di voce, Tepponen contributed the finest vocal performance of the evening. Olga Syniakova gave Cherubino a vital presence, more central than is often the case. Her mixture of awkwardness and intensity seemed to distil the state of confusion that nearly everyone else in the palace falls into at one point or another. Cherubino eventually finds a respite for his restlessness with Ashley Fabian’s spirited, affectionate Barbarina. Margaret Gawrysiak was spot on in her comic timing as Marcellina and, together with Kevin Burdette’s unusually young Bartolo, enhanced the comic absurdity of the recognition scene when Figaro’s parentage is revealed. Martin Bakari was an hilariously oily Basilio, and Kazaras similarly milked the comedy with Barry Johnson’s gruff, drunk Antonio and Anthony Webb’s doddering Don Curzio.
Aside from a rather bland take on the overture and a few off-kilter moments with the singers, the young conductor Alevtina Ioffe elicited a nimble, transparent, somewhat HIP-inflected account from the orchestra that was beautifully attuned to the production’s spirit.
