Il Barbiere di Siviglia
Year : 2023
Service : Music Theater, Set and lighting design
Gioachino Rossini
Comic opera in two actsLibretto by Cesare Sterbini, based on the play by Pierre-Augustin Caron de BeaumarchaisMusic by Gioachino RossiniFirst performance: Rome, Teatro Argentina, February 20, 1816(Edition Casa Ricordi, Milan)
New production: Teatro Sociale di Rovigo in collaboration with Fanny & AlexanderCo-produced with Teatro Alighieri Ravenna, Teatro Verdi di Pisa, Teatro G.B. Pergolesi di Jesi, Teatro del Giglio di Lucca
Direction, sets, lighting: Luigi De Angelis | Costumes: Chiara Lagani | Musical direction: Giulio Cilona | Chorus master: Flavia Bernardi | Collaboration in direction: Andrea Argentieri | Assistant director: Gabriele Galleggiante Crisafulli | Costume assistant: Lucia Sammarco | Cast:
- Rosina: Mara Gaudenzi
- Figaro: Alessandro Luongo
- Count Almaviva: Matteo Roma
- Bartolo: Omar Montanari
- Don Basilio: Adolfo Corrado
- Berta: Giovanna Donadini
- Fiorello: Francesco Toso
- Citizens of the town: Giada Cerroni, Sofia Clemente, Maddalena Dal Maso, Francesco Dall’Occo, Andrea Gennaro, Enrico Zelante
- Orchestra: Regional Filarmonica Veneta
- Chorus: Lirico Veneto
- Management: Ifat Nesher Creative Artists Management, Marco Molduzzi
- Organization: Maria Donnoli
Director’s Notes
by Luigi De Angelis
By my mother’s will, I grew up without television. For years, the equivalent of the television experience for me, apart from reading novels, was listening to vinyl records and cassette tapes of operas. One of my favorites, which I listened to endlessly during elementary school, were a couple of tapes of The Barber of Seville that were given to me as a birthday gift.
For this reason, being able to stage this opera is a great emotion, and at the same time, it means being transported by this music into a familiar, domestic dimension, connected to daily life.
One of the things that has always struck me about Rossini’s The Barber of Seville is the generational conflict between the young and the old, between the ancient world and the modern world, which is well represented in the story and also highlighted by the composer’s choices, when he shapes the characters by selecting more ancient or more contemporary musical forms, not without irony.
When I was asked to direct The Barber of Seville, a film that I am very fond of immediately came to mind, Play Time by Jacques Tati, the great French comedian, mime, and director. Jacques Tati was deeply hurt by the transformations taking place in society during his time, particularly the transition from a rural France, still an expression of a genuine humanity, to a standardized, stereotyped world where the logic of repetition and the consumption of the same prevailed. His film Play Time is a true lighthearted yet simultaneously fierce fresco of the idiosyncrasies, stumbles, and pitfalls of the modern world, with all its ticks and neuroses.
This cinematic representation of our world seemed very similar to that of Rossini’s The Barber of Seville, where the characters don’t have a true psychological development but are more like “types,” as if this opera were a carnival of masks and characters from a world that closely resembles our own.
That is why I imagined setting The Barber of Seville within and around a contemporary living unit, in the style of Le Corbusier, where private and public life overlap in standardized architecture with large windows that allow the community’s gaze to enter the private space and blur the lines between social and intimate dimensions.
It is well known that the mechanism of laughter is never an individual one; we always laugh in company, in a living room in front of the TV, or at the theater, in a communal space. We laugh at others’ mistakes, at the breaking of conventions, at the incongruous, when we are external observers and through mirroring, because if someone stumbles, a part of us stumbles as well.
In this living unit, which develops over two floors with four mirrored rooms, the events of The Barber will unfold, and in front of it, the city with its characters and types, possible masks of our time, will come to life.
The generational conflict will take shape not only from the events of The Barber of Seville but also around it, with small epiphanies and presences on the street or at home, which will sometimes be reverberations of the story itself, between social and private space, requiring the audience to lightly connect additional invisible threads. If in Play Time by Jacques Tati, it is the small manifestations of the older rural world that bring the gaze back to the poetry of the human, here, in this contemporary dimension of the story, it is the adolescent dimension, with its disarming poetry, that will show that another perspective and another vision might be possible outside the grinding machine of our time, beyond the conventions of a world that perpetuates the consumption of the same, to the detriment of genuine expressions of feelings and emotions.
Rossini, with his music and the brilliance of Sterbini’s libretto, provides a playful, lighthearted but also fierce look at the ticks, stumbles, idiosyncrasies, and neuroses of our daily lives, in a dizzying carousel, destined for horror vacui, but perhaps it exposes us before ourselves.
ph. Diego Bianchi
An effervescent Barbiere di Siviglia opens the opera season at the Teatro Sociale in RovigoBy Gilberto Mion | Teatro.it, April 5, 2023
How many times have we seen Rossini’s Barbiere di Siviglia? Dozens, the count is lost. However, rarely—if ever—have we witnessed such a lively, fresh, and enchanting version as the one presented by the Teatro Sociale in Rovigo to conclude its opera season. The credit for this must be equally shared among all the various elements of a performance that moves quickly and is thoroughly entertaining.
The Direction, First and ForemostThe first essential component is the dynamic musical direction, brimming with an effervescent vision of Rossini’s masterpiece, brought to Italy by the emerging talent Giulio Cilona. Kapellmeister at the Opera of Hannover, and soon at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin, Cilona’s leadership is vibrant and full of theatrical brilliance. Conducting from the fortepiano—he is also a fine concert pianist—he presents a performance that is clear, luminous, and witty, rich with beautiful instrumental nuances, and highly attentive to the singers’ work. The orchestra, which follows him well, is the Filarmonia Veneta.
Animated Dramaturgy and Direction Full of VerveNext, we have the highly animated direction by Luigi De Angelis (read Fanny & Alexander), who also designed the sets and lighting—leaving the modern costumes to Chiara Lagani. He created a unique set consisting of four modern rooms: below, Figaro’s barber shop and Don Bartolo’s sitting room; above, a pop band rehearsal room and Rosina’s small bedroom.
In front of it, a busy street unfolds where the inhabitants of a contemporary city pass by: crowds of students and elderly people strolling, the well-dressed lady and the obsessive jogger, the street cleaner and the homeless person, and so on. All the extras are teenagers—Rosina, too, is portrayed as adolescent—creating a flow of small counter-scenes, lively and fun. Never, however, do these scenes feel out of place or overwhelming.
Behind the Corner, Tati’s Play TimeInspired by the immortal cult film Play Time by Jacques Tati, with its melancholic satire of a standardized and inevitable progress that gradually sweeps away a poetic past, the talented dramatist from Ravenna creates a highly personal vision of Rossini’s masterpiece. This vision focuses on generational conflicts, capturing the characters and offering “a playful, light, and at the same time fierce look at the quirks, idiosyncrasies, and neuroses of our daily life,” as we read in the director’s notes. By coincidence, the company—harmoniously united—shines with half its members already carving out their space in the opera world.
Half Rookies, Half VeteransNone of them are even thirty years old: tenor Matteo Roma— a polite and decidedly interesting Almaviva, well-marked and well-phrased, with easy high notes— and bass Adolfo Corrado: a Basilio very sharp on stage, but whose voice emission is too generous and needs further refinement. Even younger is mezzo-soprano Mara Gaudenzi, a Rosina with a voice still immature—the agility well-formed, but a bit geometric; the timbre, not fully developed—but already persuasive in style, light singing, and determined character.
At this point, relatively young Alessandro Luongo— a sprightly, impetuous, fleshy, rounded, and sonorous Figaro— almost acts like a veteran. Not to mention Omar Montanari, a solid stage master, who offers a very enjoyable Bartolo, well-balanced and elegant, a true buffo character; and Giovanna Donadini, who has made the mischievous Berta a central figure in her long career. Here, she is increasingly pursued by Fiorello, Francesco Toso.
The Maestro of the Coro Lirico Veneto—who sings offstage—is Flavia Bernardi.
In conclusion, this Barbiere is one of the best productions we’ve encountered this 2022/23 season. The audience at the Teatro Sociale clearly agreed—two full performances in Rovigo, with two more soon to be staged at the Alighieri in Ravenna, which co-produced the work—showed their full satisfaction, giving long applause to everyone at the end. See you in Rovigo in October, possibly with Tosca.
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If Rosina is without a smartphone, by Valentina Anzani | Giornale della Musica, April 7, 2023
The new production by Fanny&Alexander debuts successfully at the Teatro Sociale in Rovigo.
On March 31 and April 1, the new, sparkling Barbiere di Siviglia by Fanny&Alexander was performed at the Teatro Sociale in Rovigo. The show, developed with a dynamic approach connected to contemporary themes, was well received by the audience. The choice to cast young singers alongside more established international performers proved balanced, and thus, the Rosina of Mara Gaudenzi and the Count Almaviva of Matteo Roma were both well-suited to vocalize and portray their characters, also through the distinctive characterization brought by the direction. Omar Montanari’s Bartolo was the star of the evening, with the overwhelming comedy that comes naturally to him, here tinged with a touch of post-pandemic hypochondria, perfectly paired with the mercurial Figaro of Alessandro Luongo. Giovanna Donadini, in the role of Berta, was also well-focused, especially in her interactions with Francesco Toso’s Fiorello. Adolfo Corrado, on the other hand, presented a Don Basilio with a gangster twist.
The new production is by the duo Fanny&Alexander, with Luigi De Angelis directing, as well as designing the sets and lighting, and Chiara Lagani creating the costumes, always making bold choices. And who else could Rosina be if not a teenager deprived of technology? There is humor and playfulness, but it is heart-wrenching to see her isolated and forced into solitude when, on the other side of the wall, her peers are having fun together. Her tragic and restrictive condition emerges clearly: almost a Blair from Gossip Girl, trapped in makeup and serious clothes, she has grown up too quickly for her age, oppressed in a house where she can hear the parties of others and see their lives unfolding, yet excluded from it all.
Outside the Le Corbusier-style building where Rosina lives, a varied humanity passes by – from delivery riders to nuns, to mothers with strollers, to street cleaners – and a single gesture or detail is enough to evoke themes related to ecology, social injustice, and the representation of disabilities in art (we see a woman throwing trash on the ground, episodes of gratuitous violence against the vulnerable, and a blind person). Special mention should be made of the fact that these acting interventions, which were effective and scenically precise, are the product of theater workshops for young people promoted by the theater.
The orchestra was the Regionale Filarmonia Veneta, conducted by the young but decisive Giulio Cilona, who gave a musical interpretation focused on the delivery of words and acting.
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Ravenna, Figaro and Rosina in the Architect’s Loft | Pierachille Dolfini, April 24, 2023
Cilona on the podium and at the fortepiano for Rossini’s Barber of Seville in the ironic and modern version by Fanny & Alexander. Excellent cast with Luongo, Roma, Gaudenzi, and Montanari.
“Amore e fede eterna sii vegga in voi regnar… in voi regnar… in voi regnaaaaar…”. Train from Ravenna to Bologna. A sleepy Saturday morning in April. Almost without noticing, in a train car without commuters, you hum the final rondo of The Barber of Seville. It’s the one that always puts you in a good mood whenever you hear it… Even though you know very well that the “faith” the male chorus (all male… so offering only one gendered perspective, as good dramaturgs would point out) wishes for Rosina and Almaviva will be far from “eternal”—because lurking in the background are The Marriage of Figaro (even though chronologically it’s the sequel to The Barber, Mozart wrote it 30 years before Rossini’s 1816 score) with the Count’s attempts to seduce the maid Susanna, attempts, however, exposed by a new feminist consciousness.
As I was saying. Train from Ravenna to Bologna. A sleepy Saturday morning in April. Almost without noticing, you hum the final rondo because The Barber of Seville, with its music—a mix of contagious cheer and melancholic happiness—sticks with you every time you hear it. You meet the eyes of the person sitting next to you. “Excuse me…”. But he smiles. “Were you by any chance at the Alighieri last night?” An unmistakable Spanish accent that makes you startle, an unexpected short circuit with Rossini’s melodrama… “I was there too. In the afternoon, the breathtaking mosaics of the basilicas, and in the evening, Figaro at the theater. Today, a visit to the Pinacoteca in Bologna, and tonight I’ll already be in Barcelona,” reassures the friendly fellow traveler. He knows everything about opera. He knows that “Kaufmann is singing Wagner in Naples: I was supposed to hear him in Monte Carlo, but he canceled.” He knows there’s a Lucia at La Scala where Kaufmann will sing Chénier in May. “Maybe I’ll drop by.” In Bologna, as soon as the train doors open, he disappears into the crowd. Students with backpacks. A few nostalgic metalheads. A delivery rider with a delivery backpack. Families heading out for the weekend. Many foreigners in Italy’s multicultural society.
And this is Italy (not Seville from Sterbini’s libretto inspired by Beaumarchais), where Luigi De Angelis and Chiara Lagani set their Barbiere Rossiniano. A Veneto-Romagna axis (but also Tuscan-Marche because the production is co-produced by Pisa, Lucca, and Jesi) for a new staging of the most famous opera of all time (alongside Verdi’s La Traviata). Because even if you don’t know anything about opera, not just the final rondo—I mean the “Amore e fede eterna”—but at least the “Figaro qua, Figaro là…” at some point in life you’ve definitely hummed it. A Veneto-Romagna axis because the Ravenna Barbiere debuted in late March at the Teatro Sociale di Rovigo, co-produced with Alighieri (where it went on to a double sell-out success on April 21 and 23) in collaboration with Fanny & Alexander, the research company founded in 1992 in Ravenna by Luigi De Angelis and Chiara Lagani.
These local artists sign, with their unmistakable style, the direction, set design, and lighting, while Chiara Lagani contributes dramaturgy and costumes to this contemporary Barbiere. It works wonderfully as a mirror of our society’s quirks and neuroses: the fitness-obsessed runner, the nerd, the shy person, the snobbish woman who throws plastic and tissue paper on the ground, the elderly man watching construction work, the elderly lady with a walker, and teenagers experiencing their first loves to the beat of music (rock, rap, and trap, naturally). De Angelis’s Barbiere, the Barbiere branded Fanny & Alexander (the hallmark is clear in the flapping curtains, the rigor and clarity of the set, the clean, essential gestures that are never caricatured but tragicomic in their detached storytelling of life, with a subtle irony running under the text), is the tale of a generational clash. Young Rosina and Figaro on one side, the old (who, however, would like to remain forever young and have their own “itches”) Bartolo, Basilio, and Berta on the other. In the middle stands the Count, young, yes, but already contaminated and certainly “corrupted” (let’s not forget The Marriage lurking in the background) by an economic-centric mentality, where money moves everything, and can buy anything (even love).
If Figaro sings, “at the thought of that metal, wondrous omnipotent…” and does nothing for nothing (not even a shave) because “I already hear the sound of coins… gold comes, silver goes in my pocket,” for Basilio it’s enough that “money comes.” And the Count always has bundles of cash in his hands. He pays everyone, musicians (a rock band for the serenade) and Figaro (who, at the end, while everyone celebrates the happy ending, counts the money he earned), his accomplices in conquering Rosina, a modern and emancipated girl living with an older man who wants to marry her, but she then chooses the Count, younger than Bartolo (or maybe not so much), but already in a tailored suit and well-groomed mustache like a rising manager or politician—and if not for the news and medical bulletins suggesting respect, one might think of elegant parties, scandals, and trashy media coverage (by the way, Berta irons while watching TV… as suggested by a famous commercial TV host).
Generational clash. The subtle irony of our society, where the old look suspiciously at the young, but in reality, they wish to be (nostalgically) like them. De Angelis takes us into their homes, spying on others’ lives through the keyhole. It becomes a cinematic tale, a long tracking shot, as the stage depicts an elegant apartment building designed by an architect where (also concurrently) the action unfolds: Figaro’s modern Barber Shop at the (philologically correct) number 15 on the left (on the missing side) with a white façade; above, a loft where a band of young people, with the motto “Music is my drug” spray-painted on the wall, is rehearsing its hits (already from the Symphony heard as the curtain rises, already part of the story), and where Berta sneaks in, driven by impure thoughts about a handsome young man; and then Bartolo’s house, spanning two floors, with a design salon and a wall-mounted piano and the inevitable hand sanitizer dispenser (Bartolo is obsessed with hygiene, disinfecting everything—after all, we’re still in Covid times). On the upper floor, Rosina’s room, pop and pink, where Figaro and Rosina share a pizza in the box delivered by a rider. In front, a street where continuously (perhaps too much) passersby serve as a counterpoint (sometimes fitting, other times repetitive and distracting) to the story told through Rossini’s music.
This is beautifully rendered with theatrical flair, dramatic pace, and just the right amount of irony by Giulio Cilona, in his debut in Italy. The 27-year-old musician (conductor, pianist, and composer) from the U.S., current Kappelmeister at the Staatsoper in Hannover and soon-to-be first Kappelmeister at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin, leads the Filarmonica Veneta and accompanies the recitatives on the fortepiano with constant invention, both ironic and cultured, popular and refined: drawing heavily from Mozart, hinting at Traviata, and introducing the storm by referencing the dramatic one from Verdi’s Rigoletto. A measured, fun, yet also melancholic Rossini—beautiful the slower tempo for Berta’s aria “Il vecchiotto cerca moglie,” turning into a pathetic reflection on the passage of years. A perfectly stylized Rossini from Cilona who, you can hear in every step of his conducting, has done a great job of concertation with the orchestra (the Filarmonica Veneta’s performance is fairly good) and keeps everything in sync with the stage (though the Coro Lirico Veneto wasn’t flawless). On stage, there’s a musically impeccable cast that is perfect for the director’s interpretation.
Leading them is Alessandro Luongo, a highly musical Figaro, engaging and charismatic without ever going over the top. The baritone brings a very modern take on the character, sweeping away the affectations and excessive winks of some traditions (which would clash with the modern storytelling seen on stage). Luongo’s voice is beautiful and well-balanced, both in coloratura and lyrical passages, dedicated to a fully-rounded character, which the baritone has portrayed many times before (though this summer in Macerata, the portrayal wasn’t quite the same… but certainly not his fault). There are many Almavivas in the young (but rising) career of Matteo Roma, whose tenor voice is among the finest today. A voice that holds both the ancient color and the precious wisdom of tradition, with clean high notes and perfect passage in the more dramatic moments. His most beautiful performance was “Cessa di più resistere” in Act 2. Roma’s sound blends perfectly with Rosina, whom the singer Serena Gaudenzi portrays with an elegant, lyrical, and brilliant voice. The mezzo-soprano, truly at home in the role, is precisely the young lady who’s still amazed by the world around her (especially by love). Her playful, natural interpretation shows all the beauty of her vocal line, from soft to more intense notes, always in perfect balance with the character’s youthful freshness.
Famous for his Sung Hero, Matteo Montanari is a perfect Bartolo. He moves with ease across his varied vocal line, from comic to pathetic moments, creating a delicate character filled with humor and pathos. His interaction with the audience was another highlight of the evening. Excellent work by Giorgia Smaldone and Giulia Piccirillo in their smaller parts as the maids. An ironic, polished Barber, this show is not only a theatrical triumph but also an interpretation of a “generational clash” as the starting point for reflecting on what awaits the future.
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Ravenna – Teatro Alighieri: The Barber of Seville, by Daniela Goldoni | Operaclick, April 27, 2023
Staging The Barber of Seville is a difficult task. The fame of the opera creates exaggerated expectations, not to mention the fact that its popularity means that practically every spectator has, more or less consciously, their own idea of what should and shouldn’t be done. It becomes difficult to invent, add or remove, distort or preserve; it feels like any move you make will be wrong.
Luigi De Angelis, co-founder of Fanny & Alexander, one of the most prestigious and innovative theater companies in Italy in the last thirty years, has shown how to approach such a cultural icon, skillfully using the tools of theater—those that come from a respectful reflection on the text, the meticulous work that arises from a careful reading, which is the furthest thing from those flashy tricks that quickly collapse when faced with the relentless logic of masterpieces.
The set, a single stage, shows the ground floor and first floor of an apartment building with large windows overlooking the street, almost always with the curtains open. The lighting suggests the moments of the day, in tune with the activities on the street: at night, a homeless person sleeps, early in the morning there’s someone running and then stretching, a woman walks with a walker, a girl with a white cane stops only if she likes the music, many backpacks go back and forth, there’s a street sweeper picking up trash, and he will have a role in Rosina’s ticket transactions. There’s even an Umarell (an iconic figure from the Emilia-Romagna region) who watches Berta’s erotic exploits with his hands behind his back, as if observing a construction site. Often, the silent passersby—six very young actors—not only watch but also have their own lives that comment on the events with many small counter-scenes, often barely hinted at, each more beautiful than the last, strengthening the narrative when it risks being consumed by the famous Rossinian numbers: Una voce poco fa, Largo al factotum, La calunnia are removed from their monumental status, during which everything stops to listen to what the singer does, and are brought back into the flow of the story. All without redundancy, without forced moments, without any annoyance for the audience, with lightness and intelligence. There is a great deal of work on the libretto, on the words, on the close relationship with the music, and a remarkable speed of theatrical thought. There is also a lot of laughter, which is no small achievement.
The singing cast, served by such brilliant direction, responds fully because the entire theatrical construction is aimed at highlighting the musical aspect. Rosina, played by the young contralto Mara Gaudenzi, sings Una voce poco fa in pink chenille slippers (which we interpret as a tribute to Aretha Franklin in The Blues Brothers) with naturalness and a beautiful warm tone rich in harmonics, composed yet already appropriately in love. She never loses her composure or readiness, without which she could never hope to escape the status of a “tough girl” that her guardian wants to impose, always in perfect harmony with both the music and the strict theatrical timing. Alessandro Luongo is a charming Figaro—likable, attractive, and mischievous without overdoing it. At the service of the story, he delivers his gags effortlessly, in a modern style. He also sings very well, without overwhelming the scenes with excessive antics. The young tenor Matteo Roma is a bit tense at the start of his serenade but then recovers in Se il mio nome and completely gains confidence during the Duetto del metallo. From there, he continues confidently until the end, growing more comfortable both vocally and theatrically. Omar Montanari, as Bartolo, is not as decrepit as expected. He plays a compulsive, obsessive doctor terrified of germs, always with a bottle of hand sanitizer. He dresses elegantly and is outsmarted without much hysteria. With a fluid and never forced emission, he navigates the syllabic passages with ease, precise and contained. A relief. Arturo Espinosa, as Don Basilio, delivers a subdued calunnia, floating in the air as per the libretto. Like the others, he avoids trying to create a memorable punchline, steering clear of crude effects, and in the end, he is very likable. Giovanna Donadini completely redefines the character of Berta. She transforms Il vecchietto cerca moglie into a calm reflection on elderly love, telling a different story that culminates in redemption when, in a hilarious scene of seduction, she convinces Fiorello effortlessly, to the satisfaction of both. Francesco Toso, as Fiorello, is omnipresent and always on point, completing a very well-chosen cast where no one struggles to find their space.
Giulio Cilona conducted the Orchestra Regionale Filarmonia Veneta. He is a young conductor with Central European training and an impressive curriculum, making his first appearance in Italy. He primarily works in Germany, Belgium, and Austria. He is also a pianist, which allowed him to accompany the recitatives on the fortepiano with elegance and humor. His direction, focused on balance, established a strong connection with the voices, supporting them without overpowering them. His dynamic choices were appropriate, with famous crescendos executed with taste and a strong sense of theater, building to their peak without excess, starting from a quiet silence. The invisible choir, appearing during the curtain calls in all black to blend into the background, was also good, along with Maestro Flavia Bernardi.
The audience, which was very numerous, applauded endlessly. The acknowledgments lasted quite a while, as is fitting when witnessing a performance that succeeds in every aspect, enjoyable in the highest sense of the word.
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Il Barbiere di Siviglia secondo De Angelis, by Cesare Galla | Doppiozero, May 1, 2023
At the beginning of Il Barbiere di Siviglia according to Luigi De Angelis, Figaro makes a slip-up so brief that it almost goes unnoticed, but it’s crucial because in a way it sets the tone for the entire performance, which is played on a sophisticated, almost surreal sense of alienation. When he is about to read the note dropped by Rosina to Count Almaviva, instead of pronouncing the words from Cesare Sterbini’s libretto (“Your constant attentions have excited my curiosity…”), the jolly factotum starts with the words from Giorgio Germont’s letter to Violetta Valery, read by her in the third act of La Traviata, when she is already dying of tuberculosis: “You kept your promise…” It’s just a moment, a flash: seeing Almaviva’s stunned expression, Figaro immediately corrects himself, laughing at his own mistake, happy with the joke. This digression is the rapid “climax” of a reversal in the meaning of comedy in Rossini’s masterpiece, also set up by the previous appearance of a young environmental worker, who diligently collects the note from the floor, forcing Figaro to retrieve it with some ridiculous difficulty.
The decisive presence of a small society made up of young people, embodying the “barbaric taste” spreading in the “corrupt century” that Don Bartolo laments in vain, is a hallmark of this De Angelis production. The founder of the Fanny & Alexander company, a key name in innovative theater, is sufficiently familiar with the musical world to outline—not just projects in contemporary works—a sort of symptomatic journey through acknowledged masterpieces of all eras. It’s worth noting that since last June, his signature has appeared on a Return of Ulysses in Cremona, a Lohengrin in Bologna, and now this Barbiere, demonstrating how the valuable connective tissue of the Traditional Theaters can serve as an incubator for a new and intriguing vision of tradition itself. This is a co-production between the Teatro Sociale di Rovigo and the Teatro Alighieri di Ravenna (where I watched it), also set to tour in Marche and Tuscany.
De Angelis’s explicit references—both for what is seen (he is responsible for sets and lighting, while Chiara Lagani is in charge of costumes and dramaturgy) and the interpretive approach—are not so much linked to contemporary reality, but rather to a master of Modern Movement architecture like Le Corbusier and a 1960s cinema figure like Jacques Tati, known for his absurd and surreal humor. Removed from any reference to Seville, which the opera only alludes to musically and textually, the fixed stage presents a modernist two-story living space, open to the proscenium, with the barber’s shop on one side, Don Bartolo’s parlor on the other, and Rosina’s room above. The décor is elegant, and televisions are omnipresent, which the characters treat almost as a refuge, though the audience can only sense their presence.
In this small world of generational conflict (Rosina, Figaro, and Almaviva “against” Bartolo and Basilio, with Berta acting as the bridge: elderly in age but young in spirit), the silent figures of Gen Z “inhabitants” pass through the proscenium. They are idealized Tati-like characters: in their gestures, normalcy becomes a paradox, and their interactions with the protagonists of the comedy often venture into nonsense. These are a talented group of young actors (Giada Cerroni, Sofia Clemente, Maddalena Dal Maso, Francesco Dall’Occo, Andrea Gennaro, and Enrico Zelante), who take on various roles: rockers, street sweepers, nuns, delivery people (Rosina eats pizza delivered to her while duetting with Figaro), runners addicted to their daily run (even appearing with a long beard at the end), office workers, and a homeless person making a bed with cardboard. Current affairs emerge unexpectedly during the purely instrumental passage leading to the opera’s final “Storm,” when two figures beat up a character, kicking him and leaving him in bad shape.
Within this varied and contemporary humanity, the love and generational struggle between Count Almaviva and Don Bartolo for the lively Rosina, somewhat mischievous yet childish, unfolds with a narrative clarity that is one of the performance’s strengths, and an acting subtlety rarely seen on opera stages. All the singers are also actors who bring joy and humor not only in unfolding their individual stories but also in their interactions with the busy and varied humanity around them. De Angelis does not shy away from the “counter-scenes” that the set almost naturally permits, though they are risky. So, when Rosina performs her famous cavatina, “Una voce poco fa,” a few meters away, Figaro and Berta in the barber’s shop are casually smoking a cigarette, perhaps even sharing a joint—a grotesque scene that likely grabs more attention from the audience, just as the silent and caricatured erotic duet between Berta and Fiorello on the ground floor does, while above their heads, Rosina’s fate is being decided in the trio with Figaro and Almaviva leading to the final.
Dramaturgically, nothing is implausible. Both situations relate to what Berta is saying—or singing. She will sneeze endlessly after the cavatina due to tobacco, while her caricatured sexual encounter represents the fulfillment of the aspiration expressed in her aria, “Il vecchiotto cerca moglie,” where she confesses to still feeling erotic desire. De Angelis’s approach is a form of deconstruction, played on a knife’s edge. The risk is turning the music into little more than a soundtrack, but the goal, which is effectively achieved, is to underline the paradoxical strength of a score in which bourgeois comedy hybridizes with the “absolute comedy” noted by Stendhal in L’Italiana in Algeri, three years before Barbiere di Siviglia. The synthesis of these two elements is evident in the cheerful finale (which unfortunately lacks Almaviva’s challenging but now customary final rondo, “Cessa di più resistere”), where all the “inhabitants” are onstage holding colorful balloons.
On the podium (and at the fortepiano for the recitatives) was Giulio Cilona, a young Italian conductor whose career is currently centered mainly in German-speaking countries. He is Kapellmeister at the Opera in Hannover and will soon take on the same role at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin. Leading the Filarmonia Veneta orchestra, which appeared balanced and precise as needed, with good woodwind colors and decent flexibility in the strings, Cilona offered a reading of Barbiere where the necessary brilliance was still calibrated to the wide range of expression required by this masterpiece, with effective tempi (though at times in need of a bit more flexibility), careful phrasing, stylistically convincing, and flexible dynamics with spontaneous theatrical clarity.
The cast was exemplary, not only for its excellent stage disposition but also for its overall musical and vocal quality, especially considering the young age of almost all the performers. Alessandro Luongo was a Figaro whose irony, athletic embodiment of the role, and vocal brilliance were perfectly balanced in a singing line that adhered to stylistic coordinates without sacrificing the expressive possibilities of a role finally freed from stale clichés. Similarly, Omar Montanari’s Bartolo was far from the overused cliché of the old fool who ends up deceived, thanks to a phrasing in which both recitatives and singing found their musical justification, supported by a timbre that was neither too dark but of certain expressive quality. Arturo Espinosa’s Basilio was a bit “light” for the profound bass part, which peaks in the famous Aria della calunnia, while Matteo Roma hinted at his command of the challenging tenor role of Almaviva with the necessary elegance and freshness. In the performance we attended, it was announced that Roma was unwell, which likely affected the clarity of his agility and precision in high notes, though these issues didn’t significantly affect the overall performance. As for Rosina, Mara Gaudenzi presented a characterization of careful musicality, elegant in the middle range of the tessitura, soaring with ease but perhaps a bit less “present” in the lower range, though still convincing with a singing line that was always controlled and effective.
The role of Fiorello (and the commander of the guards) was handled by Francesco Toso with the necessary irony, while Giovanna Donadini, with thirty years of experience, a recognized specialist in the role of Berta, gave a compelling, well-rounded performance of the ever-present Rossini servant, singing with the necessary attention and precision to avoid any hint of banality and acting like a true leading lady—thanks to the space De Angelis’s direction gave her—in a successful mix of sympathy, irony, and subtle gestures.
For her and all the others, the audience at the Teatro Alighieri awarded an unqualified success, which also included the Coro Lirico Veneto, directed by Flavia Bernardi, which, though kept offstage, was always “present” vocally when necessary.
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Pisa, Teatro Verdi – Il Barbiere di Siviglia, by Filippo Antichi | Connessi all’Opera, October 31, 2023
This production of Il Barbiere di Siviglia by Luigi De Angelis, performed by Fanny & Alexander and opening the 2023/2024 season at the Teatro Verdi in Pisa, could be summarized as “not an opera for old people.” De Angelis manages to bring an absolutely new perspective to Rossini’s classic, giving it a modern and entertaining twist while respecting the core of the opera’s essence. The comic and energetic nature of the libretto is preserved, but a more modern setting and physicality are introduced.
At its core, the performance manages to bring out the timeless, adaptable nature of Barbiere. De Angelis’s direction was filled with vibrant color, humor, and youthful energy. His take on the opera was driven by a contemporary sensibility that never compromised the musicality of Rossini’s score. The atmosphere of fun, folly, and irreverence allowed this traditional piece to breathe new life, making it accessible and exhilarating for audiences of all generations.
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L’araba fenice, by Luca Fialdini | L’Ape musicale, November 2, 2023
With its opening title, the Teatro Verdi in Pisa chooses to focus on quality, delivering a memorable Barbiere di Siviglia filled with both enthusiasm and controversy.
PISA, October 27, 2023 – The 2023/2024 opera season at the Verdi Theater in Pisa could not have hoped for a better opening night than the one on October 27, when a Barbiere di Siviglia was presented on Andrea Scala’s stage, a production destined to carve out a space in the memory of the audience, both for the quality of the production and for the (quite amusing) aftertaste of a succès de scandale. To get straight to the heart of the matter, the element that propelled the performance above even the most optimistic expectations was the substantial balance between the four components of the production: cast, direction, conducting, and orchestra all played at the same – high – level, and, moreover, worked together as one; a shared intent across so many levels is rare to witness and felt like a fleeting appearance of the phoenix.
When the curtain rose, the attention was inevitably drawn to a set that brings the action of the opera into the present in a very clever way: Beaumarchais’s bourgeois comedy, first, and Sterbini’s libretto, later, finds new strength in Luigi De Angelis’s scenography (who also directed, designed the set, and lighting) as part of the Fanny & Alexander Project. Through the depiction of a typical bourgeois family home, he shows a society today in transition—much like Beaumarchais’s rising bourgeoisie back in the 18th century, now in an increasingly precarious equilibrium. The set design is extremely well crafted, with taste and consistency; for instance, if a street had to be present on stage, it is delightful that it’s portrayed as a real street with pedestrians, street cleaners, polluters, and fitness enthusiasts. Sometimes, the staging pushes a bit too far, as when the audience is expected to believe that a prog band is the accompaniment to Lindoro’s serenade, but this kind of exaggeration was also employed by Fellini, so who are we to judge? Much more evocative is the decision never to show the chorus, keeping them hidden with elegance as they enter and exit the stage, made possible through the vertical scenography with sliding elements. The costumes by Chiara Lagani are well-integrated and consistent with the visual dramaturgy, characterized by refined irony.
De Angelis also knows how to measure his steps, meaning that in the performance, he proposed everything that could be consistent with Barbiere without altering its nature. There are layers of interpretation and subtexts, but everything is alluded to or only hinted at. Indeed, the transition from Beaumarchais to Sterbini’s libretto is noticeable, with a different approach to the material (resulting in something much less political than what Mozart and Da Ponte had conceived, to put it one way), and the focus is clearly placed on the comedic aspects of the dramatic situations, with less emphasis on other scenarios. This is how De Angelis works, with the intelligence of not overloading the opera with too many elements; each time he touches on a particular theme, the gesture is extraordinarily delicate and placed almost in the background. This is the case with Bartolo’s morbidity towards Rosina, or the relationship with power, or the homosexual kiss in the second act. Speaking of the latter, it is such a marginal and discreet detail that it wouldn’t even be worth mentioning if it weren’t for the fact that this scene, and the “modern direction,” clearly led Luigi De Angelis to receive some booing at the end of the performance. During “Cessa di più resistere” – thankfully not cut – there were very chaste affections between two young men, which prompted part of the audience to murmur during the scene. Apart from the fact that the whole thing was done with the utmost delicacy, not only did the action underscore a moment in the drama, specifically the line “Annodar due cori amanti / è piacer che egual non ha” (so at most, it can be seen as a slightly didactic choice), but it was also cleverly set up with Berta’s flirtation with the handsome soldier, which was far more explicit and, if we wish, “vulgar” in its manner. The writer struggles to understand the shock of a portion of the audience.
