Silliness is seductive and a great deal of fun

The Turk in the Italy by Rossini

Opera Australia, Sydney Opera House, January 22

A recurring occasional subject for opera is the making of opera itself. No one would pretend that the use of the device here in Rossini's The Turk in Italy – a poet trying to write a drama by transcribing the human comedy around him – adds the subtle complexity or theatrical force that, for example, Strauss or Leoncavallo achieved.

It does, however, add an additional dimension to the plot and a way of distancing and framing its absurdities. And with the mixture of cuckolded husbands, promiscuous wives and priapic orientals, the absurdities, in this case, certainly need a fresh frame.

The work is an invitation to farce which director Simon Phillips has accepted with glee. Gabriela Tylesova's design is crowded and zany with everything at angles to enhance the perception they are about to fall over. Phillips has populated this with deadpan theatrical routines and smutty double entendres that parody themselves in their obviousness by way of excuse.

Although not a notable work in the Rossini canon, it is a remarkable work by a 22-year-old and also, in this production, a great deal of fun.

One reason for doing the piece other than that it was first performed 200 years ago is as a vehicle for the coloratura brilliance of Emma Matthews whose voice, except the extreme high notes, is in a magnificent prime for this repertoire. Matthews' career began in such light virtuosic Bel Canto comedy which she now returns to with superb control, richer sound and masterly confidence.

Against her is newcomer Anna Dowsley making her debut with the company, and singing with a fresh attractive sound and natural expressive ease that informed both shaping of musical phrases and her characterisation of the part. Baritone Paulo Bordogna as the libidinous Turk sang with a well-defined well-finished sound, evenly focused over the full range, with a light lascivious comedic touch.

Tenor Samuel Dundas as the waiter-cum-plagiarising-poet sang lightly and acted with witty nervous attentiveness. Brazilian Luciano Botelho as the ineffectual lover who spends much of the evening changing clothes, has a light, clear, even at times thin, voice, but one streaked with highly promising colour. Conal Coad sang Geronio the deceived husband with puffy sound and pompous bluster. Conductor Andrea Molino, who always has a deft way with Italian music, was somewhat cautious in synchronising Rossini's propulsive rhythms and accelerating gear changes with the contrived stage comedy.

You might arrive wondering why we are still performing this piece but leave seduced by its silliness.