The title always has told us where the opera is set. Nevertheless, rarely does a The Barber of Seville production look specifically Spanish.

Therefore I was excited by this conception, which was said to pointedly replicate Seville. Clearly it couldn’t be the Spain of today, because the plot stresses that lovers can communicate only with handwritten letters. The story would not make sense in modern Seville. But Spain at a somewhat earlier time sounds intriguing.

I am not opposed to updating productions, and what a wonderful idea this would be — to place the opera when royalty and dukes (like Almaviva) still controlled that most conservative of European nations. In Spain of the 1920s and 1930s, women were rigidly controlled by men and by the Church, especially before the advent of the Spanish Republic in 1931. The imprisoned Rosina, as created by Beaumarchais and set to music by Rossini, could support such a concept.

The opening scene appeared promising, as Almaviva sang his serenade accompanied by musicians in sombreros and old-fashioned clothes. But soon the stage was filled with characters who looked and behaved not at all like that era.

The essence of the opera is that Rosina is locked up and the tenor hero, the noble Almaviva, has to break into the house where she is a captive and rescue her. Yet director Michael Shell and costumer Amanda Seymour created jarring anachronisms.

The libretto tells us Rosina is shuttered in her room, but here we saw a modern woman working in a doctor's office where she pressed her body against the lap of one of the patients. The repressed and strictly-raised Rosina strutted in V-neck blouses, modern skirts and high heels with her hands on her hips and smoking a cigarette.

Director Shell wrote in the program notes, “I have never really liked this opera,” and that distaste showed. Yet The Barber of Seville is Rossini's most popular opera, and many people feel that's mostly because of the story. This staging defied the basic concept that has earned its classic status. What's more, the production sometimes interfered with the music. Here are three examples:

 –  “La calunnia” is the bass aria in which Basilio describes the use of slander, or calumny, to the point where it overwhelms its target. Rossini composed a carefully-calibrated escalating crescendo. In this production, Basilio became an Elvis Presley impersonator, grabbing a microphone and thrusting his hips.

 – Rossini wrote vividly descriptive storm music in Act II. Here that rainstorm was replaced by a dream scene for Dr. Bartolo.   

  – Rossini’s final ensemble is a triumphal chorus with solo interjections of joy by Almaviva and Rosina. This director diverted attention from them to Dr. Bartolo strutting like a rooster at the far edge of the stage.

Making Dr. Bartolo a doctor of ophthalmology was clever, since the man is blind to the desires of his ward. But the scene became undone when Rosina climbed on a patient’s lap to administer eye drops; her sexual aggressiveness is all wrong for the character.

This production is homage to pop-culture Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar, borrowing images from his movies. It often is funny and is crammed with vivid colors, and some may feel that this is a magnet for opera newbies. To the contrary, a first-time opera goer would have a hard time understanding or relating to what was going on.

Almost overshadowed by the busy production were the singers. Taylor Stayton’s leggiero tenor was perfect for Count Almaviva, and the vocal highlight was his rendition of “Ah, il più lieto” just before the opera’s end. As Figaro, Jonathan Beyer revealed a high baritone voice that was attractive yet lacked the strong lower register that would help him command the stage. This title character is supposed to dominate the opera; here he was upstaged by others and his “Largo al factotum” did not get as much applause as did “La callunia” by the secondary character of Basilio.

Kevin Burdette practically stole the show as a comically smarmy Dr. Bartolo. His voice was richer than what we usually hear from that character and he expertly handled the rapid vocal embroidery. Jennifer Holloway's Rosina was appealing, with smooth warm color and excellent technique. Wayne Tigges showed a solid bass voice as Don Basilio reincarnated as an Elvis impersonator.

Conductor Corrado Rovaris started the overture at a languid pace which seemed appropriate for Spain. Then he shifted to a faster tempo for contrast. Most of the orchestral playing moved at a brisk clip.

Many in the audience wondered what to make of the multiple rooster images in the set by Shoko Kombara. My guess is that they refer to Dr. Bartolo who acts like a cock-of-the-walk and who keeps his hens (his ward Rosina and his servant Berta) caged as if in a chicken coop. This production definitely makes Bartolo the center of attention. That wasn’t Rossini’s idea but Burdette rose to the occasion and pulled it off magnificently.