The twilight veil that shrouds "Le nozze di Figaro" and still moves us

As a rule, nothing ages as quickly as an opera production. The exception is "The Marriage of Figaro ‘by’" Claus Guth (and, if you like, a bit of Da Ponte-Mozart too), which premiered in Salzburg in 2006 – practically in the Pleistocene – and which the Rome Opera has had the brilliant idea of reviving. It is that famous production featuring a dual Cherubino who is Eros, busy breaking up couples and overturning adulterous schemes whilst popping up where you least expect him and vanishing through secret doors (a virtually unique scene by Christian Schmidt, absolutely stunning), leaving behind only the feathers of his Caravaggesque wings. The production has not aged a bit, perhaps because the second-generation Cherubino is, incredibly, the very same as back then – Uli Kirsch – and still just as acrobatic. The poetry of certain moments, such as the feathers falling from above during ‘Non più andrai’, or the final scene turned upside down just like the characters’ lives, is something difficult to describe; it really must be seen (it runs until the 23rd). Certainly, rarely has that melancholic eroticism so typical of Mozart been captured on screen: omne animal post coitum triste – and in this case, even before. Laughter is nonetheless abundant, as the gags from the finest comedy ever written remain infallible – for example, in the second finale, when the relationships between the characters become, in the projections, a map of affections or a hieroglyph of passions, much like when one has to summarise complicated librettos graphically. However, if this production moved me as much as it did twenty years ago, it is because of the twilight veil that envelops it as if in a golden dust (incidentally: lighting by Olaf Winter, which is also marvellous).

From a musical perspective, the main point of interest lies in the conducting of Emmanuel Tjeknavorian, the young prodigy of the Milan Symphony Orchestra, in his second opera following the somewhat lacklustre "Ballo in maschera" in Florence. Here too, ‘Tjek’ gives a curious impression of incompleteness. The symphony is fantastic, fast to the point of virtuosity, and offers a foretaste of a truly wild evening that ultimately fails to materialise; what one hears, if anything, is a rather classical style of conducting, not always perfectly in sync with the stage, with many very beautiful moments – especially the lyrical oases Mozart weaves even into the most frenetic passages – but not all of it is of the same standard. In short, there is no doubt that Tjeknavorian is a great conductor; nor is there any doubt that he is not yet a great opera conductor. Moreover, he was not particularly well supported by the cast, especially the Countess and Count duo: Roberta Mantegna was clearly having an off night; and Germán Olvera’s voice – which I had never heard before – also struck me as rather off, with a ‘potato in the mouth’, as they say in music-loving circles.

Elmina Hasan is a fine Cherubino – not least because there are no bad Cherubinos – though I certainly would have preferred to hear the second-cast Cherubino, Cecilia Molinari. A little past his prime but still charming, Erwin Schrott is a Figaro who is at times anarchic in his recitatives but still possesses a fine voice; he sings well and displays a rare reserve of stage charisma. While the supporting cast is uneven, the performance of young soprano Martina Russomanno, already hailed locally for a remarkable Amenaide and later at the Arena in the new XXL-sized *Traviata*, merits particular attention. Here she sings Susanna with superb control, delivering an enchanting fourth-act aria. Yet, as Stendhal observed, she ‘sings like a blonde’ in a role meant for a brunette – that is to say, one that calls for more colour and warmth of tone, and perhaps even more physical presence. Take it from a fool, madam: in The Marriage, your true character is not Susanna, but the Countess. There will be opportunities (I hope, at least).