AVA's "Barber of Seville'

Something old (vibrato),
something new (clutter)

STEVE COHEN

For the second time in a month we’ve seen a modern staging of a Rossini opera from the early 1800s: First the Opera Company of Philadelphia’s Cenerentola (Cinderella), and then the Academy of Vocal Arts’ Il Barbieri di Seviglia (The Barber of Seville.)

The Barber is a deeper, more complex work than Cenerentola, even though the same composer created both. The Beaumarchais libretto to The Barber explores levels of class warfare, liberation and self-discovery in addition to the adventure of a young man stealing an attractive young woman from under the nose of her aged guardian and would-be husband. In short, there’s a lot going on. Does such an opera need a complicated exposition through unorthodox staging? Or does that clutter matter unnecessarily?

I vote for the latter. Beaumarchais possessed great theatrical instincts, and he made his serious points deftly in the midst of comedy and romance. Kay Walker Castaldo, whose work I’ve admired in the past, did not improve this opera with her direction.

Metaphors, but to what end?

Several scenes had soldiers aiming rifles at civilians, and two or three scenes had characters throwing containers across the stage and scattering papers all over the floor— a metaphor for civilization in disarray, perhaps, but it failed to reinforce any of the characters’ motivations.

Figaro the barber made his first entrance just off a helicopter, proving that he’s a successful operator who gets around– but we knew that from the original lyrics and stage directions. Rosina appearing in pajamas was a cute touch, but to what end? Rosina’s guardian Bartolo installs electronic eavesdropping equipment in his house to spy on her— a reference to contemporary politics, perhaps, but not developed.

I was much more tolerant of Cinderella’s updating than was my colleague Dan Rottenberg, but I was confused by this Barber and lost patience with it.

For me, the casting alone provided sufficient innovation: For this Spanish story, we saw three of the leading characters played by Hispanics: Evanivaldo Correa was Count Almaviva, Jose Adan Perez was Figaro and Jesus Ibarra was the old fool Bartolo.

The ancient craft of vibrato

Correa and Perez each sang with a pronounced fast vibrato that recalls the style of legendary Hispanic singers Conchita Supervia and Miguel Fleta, who both died young in the 1930s. Perhaps this style derives from flamenco, although not all Spaniards achieve it (listen to Domingo, for instance.) But here we have two young men, both attending the same music school at the same time, practicing the ancient craft of vibrato, vibrating between two tones quickly— Correa, especially. It is a custom considered essential in violin playing but often derided as old-fashioned when used excessively by singers. I find it fascinating. Its careful use adds expression to the music.

Correa is tall, dark and handsome– an ideal leading man. In addition to his vibrato, he exudes a ringing tone and good volume. He also takes chances with his phrasing and with some interpolated high notes, thus infusing his character with a sense of danger that enriches the story. Correa’s impersonation of the priestly singing teacher is hilarious; in this production he’s a new-age, flower-strewing mystic.

Perez’s vibrato is not as pronounced. Like Correa, he produces a ringing sound up and down a wide range, and he’s a commanding actor. Both men carried guitars and played them at key moments.

Rosina as a spunky teenager

The important character of Rosina was played by Elspeth Kincaid, who is not Latin but effectively portrays this adventurous, spunky teenager. Her mezzo voice is well-produced, and her dazzling smile makes it easy to understand why at least two men desire her.

Ibarra was touching as Bartolo, especially in his second act minuet. Ben Wager was funny as Don Basilio and Angela Meade was an unusually strong presence as the old maid Berta. Her aria was a model of subtle modulation from a singer who is destined for leading dramatic soprano roles.

All the singers were notable in the way they stayed together in intricate ensembles even while dashing all over the stage. The Barber, by the way, has many more complicated ensemble numbers than does the simple Cinderella.

Richard Raub conducted with fine nuance. He kept the orchestra supportive of the singers, not too assertive except for some trumpet passages that reminded us that Rossini’s use of brass in a pit band was unusual in its day.