Enjoy a Dying Medium to Counteract a Homicidal One at The Marriage of Figaro
Current world politics are feeling a little…spent.
A little stale.
Contemplating the cartoonish circus that will undoubtedly result in our obliteration in one violent way or another more violent way has become an exercise as lacklustre as the impotent, weapon-wielding clowns performing in it.
It’s time the curtains closed and opened on more appealing, virile players whose wickedness stems from emotions inspired by still-active hormones, not still-active Klan associations.
It’s time for The Marriage of Figaro.
Musically, this is the ultimate ensemble opera, with brilliant trios, quartets and even a fantastic sextet. Dramatically, it’s the opera with everything: lovers and liaisons, disguises and tricks, lust and laughter.
The Countess loves the Count, but he’s got designs on his pretty, witty servant Susanna. But it’s Susanna’s wedding day, and Figaro has no plans of giving up his bride. During one crazy day of disguises, duplicity, desire and utter madness, the Count is going to get his comeuppance.
Sir David McVicar’s naturalistic staging opens a “comic cauldron of sex and social politics” (Limelight), where the comedy has a dark, sharp edge.
“Pretty”, “witty”, “sharp”.
It’s interesting how in this political era of such rampant antiforeignism, the most inappropriate words to use when engaging in a discussion about politics are fundamentally English.