Like its operatic sibling The Marriage of Figaro, Rossini’s The Barber of Seville is so perfectly formed a comedy that it almost directs itself and a good performance is virtually guaranteed. But such is its familiarity that a director can afford to take some creative risks in adapting the scenario, and the result may be all the more entertaining and rewarding. Such is the case in Louise Bakker’s production which appears to take inspiration from several British television sitcoms without being a mere slavish imitation of them (though it is comprehensible without any explicit references or derivations) and maintains its own irrepressible pace and style.
The vigorous choreographic rush during the Overture – quite an achievement in itself – sets up the general insalubrious atmosphere of modern mass tourism in Spain, as various undiscriminating tourists pour into Seville, interacting with, and served willingly or unwillingly by the locals, honest employees or hucksters. It parodies, with the acerbic wit of a farce, the same social and economic phenomenon that Franco’s Spain first made possible with the opening of the country’s resorts to low-cost package holidays, which Calixto Bieito’s production of Carmen (widely seen across Europe, including for English National Opera at the Coliseum) critiques in more serious terms. What might once have been the grand Sevillean mansion of a Dr Bartolo has now been turned into a block of tourist apartments. Bakker’s hilarious vision of the opera’s adapted setting is therefore rather like that of the series Benidorm, while the moustachioed waiter in white jacket and bowtie is surely meant to make one think of Manuel. The idea occurs that perhaps a Fawlty Towers scenario in reverse will ensue, a cantankerous Spanish Basil Fawlty metamorphosed as Bartolo. But it turns out here that Bartolo is not even the proprietor of the apartment block but is merely another outlandish English tourist (socks with sandals, shorts over pasty white legs, white cap) jealously guarding his younger ward Rosina (or perhaps even his disaffected fiancée or trophy lover).
The opera’s satire is nothing if not rooted in class hierarchies and its characters’ social pretensions, and the air of the late 1980s or early 1990s in Rosina’s apartment gives the faint whiff of Keeping Up Appearances, even if her character and Bartolo’s correspond at least as much to a more proactively aspirational version of Daisy and Onslow, than Hyacinth and Richard. As mentioned, these sitcoms are not directly quoted or imitated, however, and it is their spirit of energetic farce and satire that pervades this production and proves to be such a dynamic and winning formula. Rather than pretend that there should always be a realistic chain of cause and effect, or that each episode should be believable in terms of real life, it’s the strength of this production that it isn’t earnest in seeking to maintain any such naturalism or sentimentality of emotions, but upholds with consistent briskness the irreverent tempo and vigour of the buffa genre – of which the creators of those television series were the ingenious modern-day exponents.
The lively pace of a farce continues with, for example, the parody of a baroque pantomime or dance sequence which accompanies the storm in Act Two, where Rosina is briefly misled into believing that her inamorato, Lindoro, is unfaithful. Her distress is staged as a camp choreography in twilight, of her swooning figure being borne by the wild motions of a chorus of resort attendants in pink boilersuits, swirling around like furies from the underworld. The comedy is enhanced by Nick Fowler’s idiomatically modern and informal English surtitles, whose slang amusingly echoes the social milieu adopted for the production.
Elaine Kelly conducts a sparkling account of the score, breathing caustic liveliness into the music with its colour and brio, while avoiding the temptation simply to rush through it, spurring the singers on to capture the opera’s wit in turn, who do so unflaggingly. (It says much for Kelly and Bakker’s skills that they evidently inspire the actors to so much choreographic fervour, without the input of a separate movement director which some productions or opera companies employ for a fraction of the action that has to be executed here.) The cast is led by Henry Neill’s confidently swaggering Figaro, who brings heft and alacrity to the role. Joseph Doody is a somewhat dry Almaviva, but there is certainly also enthusiasm and charm in his voice. By contrast, Lauren Young imposes a deliberate coarse brazenness to her singing and demeanour as the rough diamond Rosina – the shiny brilliance of her higher register vocal runs shows the delicacy she is capable of, and that her portrayal of the character is skilfully contrived.
Benjamin Bevan convincingly blusters, conveying the unashamed character of the dullard Bartolo, and his cringe-makingly outdated musical preferences when his rendition of Rossini’s hackneyed old-style aria in galant style is recomposed here as Tom Jones’s Delilah. Trevor Eliot Bowes is a sly but likable Basilio, not the sinister, calculating schemer he is sometimes made to be, delivering his music volubly and discreetly. Shafali Jalota is a delightfully characterful Berta – cast here as the apartments’ housekeeper or cleaner – and brings an aptly Despina-like knowingness and coquettishness in her whimsically spun aria. Kieran Rayner’s Fiorello is lithe vocally and on stage.
Overall, this production is uproarious fun, impeccable in its satirical logic, and refreshing a ubiquitous work with which it is all too easy to become jaded. The performance has one’s attentions wittily engaged, and expectations mischievously dashed all the way through.
Further performances to 13 July
The post Longborough Festival 2025 – Rossini’s The Barber of Seville – with Henry Neill, Joseph Doody, Lauren Young & Benjamin Bevan; directed by Louise Bakker; conducted by Elaine Kelly appeared first on The Classical Source.
