It is Martin Kušej directing, so you can put away the periwigs. This is the sixth production of his I’ve seen, every one of them in a contemporary setting with a fair bit of sex and violence thrown in.
This is no exception: Count Almaviva is a gangland boss running an hotel in which not all the guests can expect to leave alive. Drugs are common, prostitutes come and go and in a particularly disturbing shot the maltreated countess, Rosina, poses beside an explicit nude painting, probably of herself. In the magnificent septet that closes act 2, each of the singers totes a pistol, all except Basilio—here a conniving, vicious, lecherous priest—who holds a semi-automatic.
Nor is our hero Figaro exempt from sin, although the worst that can be said of him is that he has a cocky attitude, especially when fuelled by drink.
Those fans with an aversion to modern reinterpretations may feel their fears justified at the very beginning when Figaro is measuring out what is to be his and Susanna’s bedroom in the hotel's current bar. It’s hard to relate his words "Cinque, dieci, venti" to the setting, but there is no disjuncture thereafter. Kušej’s conception is bold and brilliant, and works perfectly.
In this louche environment, Susanna is not entirely indifferent to the sexual attentions of the villainous count, and all the women have the hots for Cherubino.
The direction is meticulous and sure-footed: the scenes involving Cherubino caught in the countess’s bedroom are among the most deftly handled I can remember, and Kušej’s response to the revelation that Bartolo and Marcellina are Figaro’s parents is as funny as it is original—all three laugh in drunken hysteria.
Raimund Orfeo Voigt’s sets, including a bar, an underground car park and the ladies’ loo, Alan Hranitelj’s costumes (Mafia chic) and Friedrich Rom’s gloomy lighting all contribute to a consistent interpretation of the piece, and the close collaboration with conductor Raphael Pichon is exemplified in the fourth act garden scene as the sound of horns in the orchestra is picked up by the introduction of a procession of hunters in the background.
Krzysztof Baczyk is perfectly cast for this medallion-wearing bruiser of a Figaro, able to intimidate even Il Capo with his presence, and Sabine Devieilhe is a canny Susanna, with a voice as fresh as her personality. Adriana Gonzalez has a heart-stirring pathos as the Countess, and Andre Schuen is a steely, scary Almaviva. As Cherubino, Lea Desandre’s peachy mezzo, giving a slight crescendo to each note, won my heart too, and all the cast are exemplary, including Kristina Hammarström (Marcellina), Peter Kalman (Bartolo) and Manuel Günther (Basilio).
This radical vision overstates its case slightly, as a line of bloodied young women press against the windows of the hotel, and a further victim is dragged for burial while the principals sort out their differences in the finale. Overall, however, singers, creatives and musicians combine magnificently to create a well co-ordinated, original and satisfying production.