How far are you prepared to go if you really, really want something? Would you stop at nothing, save perhaps murder? When it’s a question of naked political power, all bets are off. But if it’s a matter of the heart, would you determine to leave no stone unturned in pursuit of your own happiness? That, essentially, is the dilemma facing Count Almaviva in Rossini’s The Barber of Seville, where the apple of his eye, Rosina, is Dr Bartolo’s ward of court. In turn the guardian is the Count’s direct adversary for her affections. Since this is an opera buffo, we know in advance that there’ll be a happy end and loads of fun along the way, but how successfully will the young hero circumvent all the obstacles strewn in his path?
In Hamburg’s new production of an opera reputedly tossed off in only thirteen days by the composer, there’s no attempt at either creating a sultry Andalusian atmosphere or adding anything significantly Italianate. Instead, there’s something of an art deco feel to Klaus Grünberg’s sets with a central panel made up of interlocking rectangles that allow for entrances and exits as well as balcony appearances. This panel is repeatedly rotated in vertigo-inducing mode to suggest scene changes. The impression grows that all is not what it seems to be, that the ground beneath one’s feet is by no means a stabilising factor, a notion aided by a raised area in the middle of the stage sloping gently to left and right and by three large lighting globes which, like the tower of Pisa, stray dangerously from the purely perpendicular. Trapdoors imply subversion from below. Two black leather chairs, one neatly concealing a cocktail cabinet from which the inevitable drinks emerge, a birdcage carried by Rosina symbolising her trapped condition at the hands of Dr Bartolo, an array of fluffy white wigs, a lampshade as an element of disguise for the heads of Rosina and later her guardian, Fiorello’s sunshades and a prayer carpet in shocking pink that does duty as a visual focus in Act 2, are the only props. The band of musicians indicated in the score as part of Fiorello’s efforts to support his master’s serenading of Rosina was reduced to a single guitar player.
Responsibility for the costumes lay with Barbara Drosihn. As if to underline the monochrome tendencies in the age of art deco, there were muted tones throughout set against stark contrasts of black and white, with chequered patterns as distinguishing features in the clothing of both Dr Bartolo and Figaro. At the beginning of the opera the chorus of soldiers appear in white underwear. By the time of their final appearance some of them have stretched to wearing jackets and peaked caps, but any suggestion that they represent the military is left to the imagination. When Count Almaviva, now in the first of his disguises as the drunken soldier Lindoro, is seen in a safari jacket without any hint of martial insignia, he could just as easily have been the local layabout.
Klaus Grünberg’s lighting largely emphasises the spartan look of the stage, with an occasional rosy glow to heighten erotic moments. Much more striking were the strobe lighting effects that crowned the thunderstorm sequence towards the end of Act 2 and conveyed a sense of travelling disoriented through space. The dizziness that is a concomitant of falling in love and being swept away by feeling was certainly more than merely hinted at. If the setting and staging of this opera left much to be desired, chiefly in relating it to the inter-war period, the characteristics of opera buffo were splendidly realised with a succession of slapstick strokes and an abundance of physical activity on and around the stage giving further impetus to the pacesetting quality of the music. Tatjana Gürbaca’s stage direction with its many deft touches, such as the lateral side shuffles and repeated dance steps, together with the shadow boxing and gymnastic exercises involving the Count and Dr Bartolo as well as Rosina’s hypnotising actions directed at her guardian on the prayer rug ensured that there was no danger of stasis and that the eye was always drawn to something attention-grabbing.
Omer Meir Wellber’s direction of the score, complemented by his virtuoso harpsichord accompaniments, provided ample evidence of his energising effect on this opera orchestra. Keeping the number of strings to a modest number, grounded on just two double basses, enhanced the lightness and buoyancy of the musical lines. This was already apparent in the overture, delivered with an infectious burst of effervescence, a stream of bubbles rising inevitably to the top of the champagne flute, with a furious accelerando and crescendo right at the end. At the same time Wellber allowed his oboe, clarinet, bassoon and horn all the time in the world to phrase their solos with distinction. Equally remarkable was his ability to really turn up the heat during key episodes, and with impressive intensity too, while maintaining relaxation elsewhere by way of contrast.
Vocally, there were no weak links in an outstanding cast. Mattia Olivieri has honed his Figaro in a number of previous outings on major international stages, including at Covent Garden. He was every inch a swashbuckling character reminiscent of Errol Flynn’s celluloid triumphs, the astute and practised local barber whose services are sought after by everyone for everything. His sunny disposition was a constant feature in the voice, heard to particular advantage in his stellar aria Largo al factotum and given an additional degree of headiness in its whirlwind conclusion. He was equally impressive in the various ensembles, the warmth of his baritone always supportive.
He and Jonah Hoskins’s Count Almaviva were well matched: the rich burgundy tones of Figaro an excellent foil to the Asti Spumante qualities present in the American tenor’s voice, sweet-toned and floral, with a jammy seamlessness to all the transitions through his registers. From his early Act 1 cavatina Ecco, ridente in cielo, sung as Lindoro below Rosina’s balcony in a powerful expression of his love for her, through to the rapid-fire of his Act 2 Cessa di più resistere in which he reveals his true identity to her, his confident charm proved irresistible. Not the least of his vocal agility was on display in the extensive coloratura runs towards the end of the opera.
All the other male roles are written for the bass voice. As Fiorello, the Count’s sidekick, William Desbiens was suitably impish in the best traditions of a comic opera. Johannes Martin Kränzle’s Dr Bartolo made a good fist of contrasting the pursuit of his own amorous intentions towards Rosina with a sense of puzzlement at a world he is increasingly unable to comprehend, let alone control. I especially liked the gravelly and saturnine tones Ilia Kazakov injected into his role as Don Basilio, Rosina’s music-teacher, complete with a touch of menace for his aria La calumnia è un venticello which reveals his way-of-the-world experience in ruining personal reputations. His articulation was excellent, as was the case with all the principal characters as well as the men’s chorus, strong and lusty and full-toned.
Lilly Jørstad’s Rosina was utterly engaging. No shrinking violet, she displayed all the qualities of a 1920s flapper, albeit without bobbed hair, feisty and with a clear sense of what she wanted from life. Already in her Act 1 statement aria Una voce poco fa there was a beguiling assurance, underpinned by her careful attention to the double-dotted rhythms and a smoky richness to the coloratura line. Her sense of playfulness was evident in the way she used the ice bucket from the cocktail cabinet, and her expressive powers ranged from ecstasy in the knowledge that Lindoro will be hers to later fury in the mistaken belief that he has deceived her.
Hellen Kwon proved to be a very characterful Berta, something of a chain-smoker, initially in muted grey (but later in primrose yellow), with all the worldly wisdom of an old maid, as she describes herself, in her Act 2 aria Che vecchiotto cerca moglie. This is one of those critical junctures in the opera when all the frothy frolicsomeness gives way to deeper insights. What on earth is all this love which makes everyone go mad, she wishes to know, and which she curses as a universal evil, a mania and an itch, a thing which tickles and torments you.
This is ultimately what turns this comic opera with its manifold opportunities to guffaw and snigger into something altogether grander. Laughter and melancholy are neighbours, as Gürbaca states in a programme note, but all the fizzing lightness only works because it is offset by an awareness of the complexities and contradictions of the human condition. Shortly after its premiere in 1816, Beethoven complimented Rossini in this way: “It will be played as long as Italian opera exists.” He was dead right about that.
Alexander Hall
Il Barbiere di Siviglia (The Barber of Seville)
Opera buffo in two acts
Music by Gioachino Rossini
Libretto by Cesare Sterbini based on Le barbier de Séville ou La précaution inutile by Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais
Sung in Italian with German and English surtitles
Cast and production staff:
Count Almaviva – Jonah Hoskins; Don Bartolo – Johannes Martin Kränzle; Rosina – Lilly Jørstad; Figaro – Mattia Olivieri; Don Basilio – Ilia Kazakov; Fiorello – William Desbiens; Berta – Hellen Kwon
Director – Tatjana Gürbaca; Sets & Lighting – Klaus Grünberg; Costumes – Barbara Drosihn; Dramaturgy – Katinka Deecke & Judith Wiemers; Members of the Hamburg State Opera Chorus, Director Alice Meregaglia; Philharmonisches Staatsorchester Hamburg, Conductor Omer Meir Wellber
Hamburg State Opera, Hamburg, 17 May 2026
Top Image: The Principal Members of the Cast
All photos © Tanja Dorendorf
Further performances until 17 June