It was going so well until the closing seconds. Up to that point, English Touring Opera’s staging of Rossini’s La Cenerentola provided a good-natured evening that ticked every box. Fine singing? Tick. Buoyant conducting, by Naomi Woo? Tick. A witty English translation, courtesy of Christopher Cowell? Tick. A nimble, entertaining theatricality? Tick... up to a point.
For some, director Jenny Ogilvie’s decision to set Cinderella (as it is billed) in a museum will have prompted thoughts of a popular nocturnal movie franchise, but to this jaded mind it evoked the memory of a disastrous Opera Holland Park Aida. That one didn’t work at all; this one, against all logic, hangs together pleasantly. Quite why Rossini’s magic-free reimagining of Perrault’s fairy tale needed to be relocated in this way is unclear; still, it made for some neat sight gags.
In this humanist retelling of her story Cinders has a friend with contacts in high places, Alidoro, rather than a fairy godmother. There are no mice, no pumpkin, not even a glass slipper to add a bit of shimmer; yet, for all that, the narrative is sufficiently recognisable to survive a director’s conceits. Moreover, the museum setting has a tangible realism that raises it above ETO’s usual modest levels to a standard we’d associate more with an affluent opera house. Basia Bińkowska’s stylish decor is sleek, solid and bright enough to accommodate the director’s well-oiled comic machine and let it purr.
The removal for refurbishment of museum exhibits gives Ogilvie scope for stage business to cover orchestral passages, but it was mighty hard to focus on Rossini’s lengthy overture amid so many visual distractions. The generously proportioned orchestra (to field 35 players is remarkable for a small touring company) played with zest and a commendable stage-pit balance considering the range of venues they are visiting on tour. Nevertheless, more than three violins were needed to prevent them from sounding exposed in Derek Clark’s otherwise satisfying orchestral reduction.
Cinderella’s two stepsisters are only ugly on the inside, a fact that allowed Nazan Fikret (Clorinda) and Lauren Young (Tisbe) to huff and flounce deliciously as their disdain turned to jealousy at the changing fortunes of their downtrodden sibling. The pair sang with vivid expression and their competitive duet was a delight. Less fortunate was bass-baritone Arshak Kuzikyan as their preposterous father, Don Magnifico, since his own comic potential was hamstrung by being kitted out as Napoleon Bonaparte.
The other male principals were terrific. Edward Hawkins, hands thrust in cardigan pockets, was a well characterised Alidoro (more pen-pusher than philosopher, you’d think, but that fitted the concept) and his performance gave this underwritten role more prominence that it sometimes achieves. As the valet Dandini, baritone Edmund Danon dominated swathes of the evening – effectively Leporello to Ramiro’s Don Giovanni – but it was Joseph Doody as the Prince himself who was the production’s revelation. The tenor’s vocal sound was reminiscent of a young Juan Diego Flórez and the confident ping of his high notes was simply thrilling. Watch his career erupt.
In the title role, Esme Bronwen-Smith presented a dignified feistiness and sang with an eloquent beauty. However, while the mezzo-soprano’s physical grace suggested a woman born to higher things than a fireside hearth, there was no inkling in her performance, nor in Ogilvie’s staging, that seconds after magnanimously forgiving her egregious family for their years of cruelty she would shut her new husband in a box and waltz offstage to an emancipated future. If that was a directorial statement of some sort it had not been earned – and it soured the moment.
