Le nozze di Figaro has always had a sharp, political dimension, challenging the authority of the ruling classes, the servants getting one over on an aristocracy about to lose their grip on power. But does it have a sinister underbelly too? Martin Kušej certainly sees one in his dark, compellingly acted, new staging of Mozart and Da Ponte’s comedy for the Salzburg Festival, so don’t expect many (any) laughs in this “folle journée”.
The action seems to take place in Italy rather than Seville – Kušej interpreting Figaro’s references to “il padrone” in a Sicilian sense – and Andrè Schuen’s handsomely sung Count Almaviva is a gun-toting mafia boss. His first act is to shoot someone dead. Is Krzysztof Bączyk’s hangdog Figaro his henchman? It’s Manuel Günther’s Don Basilio, a creepy cleric, who is in charge of disposing the bodies.
All the characters in Kušej’s world are escaping from something or someone, possibly themselves. During the overture, they seek solace in alcohol or drugs. All except Lea Desandre’s mesmerising Cherubino, who loses himself in a world of love, feverishly writing poetry in his notebook. He’s the production’s central point, the only character worth caring about. The Countess, Susanna and Barbarina are completely smitten with him and nobody – regardless of age or gender – can ignore him. Everyone’s high on this Cherubino.
Raimund Orfeo Voigt’s sets are cold – bathroom, concrete basement, car park – reflecting the frostiness of the interactions. Are Figaro and Susanna ever in love? They drown their sorrows in a bar, not even facing each other. She’s far more drawn to the Count, although their sex is transactional. It’s a violent world. Bartolo burns incriminating documents during Susanna’s bitchy spat with Marcellina. Basilio beats up Cherubino during Figaro’s “Non più andrai”, smashing his face into a window, against which mute virgins have already smeared blood during the choral praise of their master. Antonio is held hostage in a basement, his mouth taped. Frequent blackouts and pauses between scenes kill the action stone dead.
Lorenzo Da Ponte’s libretto earns a few chuckles – even when nothing remotely funny happens on stage. The production’s single genuine laugh comes when Susanna jumps in the bath to hide from the Count, emerging covered in foam. The silent disco to Mozart’s fandango for the car park wedding celebration is a nice touch, but comic moments go for little. The revelations about Figaro’s true parentage are played as a drunken piss-take in the bar, while the Act 2 finale descends into silliness when everyone brandishes a firearm around, Basilio drawing a machine gun from his guitar case. Bartolo then uses his “gun” to light a cigar. Are Kušej’s characters real or just playing at gangsters?
Musically, the performance was often outstanding. Raphaël Pichon, treating the Vienna Philharmonic like a full symphonic band rather than a beefed up Pygamlion, conducted a rich, meaty account of the score, the horns braying superbly, the clarinets delicious in “Porgi amor”. Schuen’s Count was suavely sung – you can hear why Susanna is attracted to him – but Bączyk’s Figaro was heavy and lacked charisma. Kušej having Figaro shouting angrily in the Count’s face is a misstep; disrespect a mafia boss like this and Figaro would be sleeping with the fishes.
The women were uniformly strong. As the Countess, Adriana González sang gorgeously in her two arias where Kušej, fair play to him, allows her time and space to express her isolation, musing at Gustave Courbert’s intimate painting L'Origine du monde in “Dove sono” while her double takes a bath. The da capo of “Porgi amor” was taken hauntingly slowly at a hushed dynamic. Desandre sang an exquisite Cherubino, her high mezzo wonderfully pliable in both arias, her stage presence magnetic.
Sabine Devieilhe was a splendid, bright-voiced Susanna, singing a melting “Deh vieni non tardar” in a disappointing garden scene where Kušej seems to have completely lost interest. He ends with the Count coldly lining up five of the miscreants, blindfolded, preparing to pull the trigger when the Countess appears and there’s a sudden stay of execution, followed by a meaningless apology and an absence of joy.
Figaro has its bitter – and bittersweet – moments, but Kušej’s staging leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.
