Review: THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO, Royal Ballet & Opera

Mae West famously asked, "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?" Well, at the beginning of the relationship, they will no doubt be very happy to see you. But, at the end of the relationship…

And that, my friends, is as good a summary of Mozart’s The Marriage Of Figaro as any. 

Opera rarely troubles itself with sequels. Most composers arrive, set fire to their characters' lives then move on. The Marriage of Figaro is the glorious exception: a second chapter that actually matches the original's wattage. If The Barber of Seville was powered by raw, status-climbing aspiration, its follow-up is fuelled by the bittersweet realities of disappointment.

In the two decades since this production debuted at Covent Garden, director David McVicar has gained a knighthood and the RBO has taken this reliable thoroughbred out for a run every couple of years. Now under the baton of Bertrand de Billy, it has more than earned its place in the pantheon of 21st century greats. 

Figaro, the fast-talking barber-cum-fixer who originally helped Count Almaviva clamber his way into Rosina's heart and dowry, is now a faithful valet trapped under a faithless boss. Powerless, he is forced to watch as the Count's aristocratic eye wanders away from the Countess and straight toward the household staff, including Figaro’s fiancée Susanna. It turns out that helping a rich guy win a girl doesn't buy you loyalty; it just gets you a front-row seat to his next midlife crisis.

If all that sounds a bit heavy, then rest assured that this is a comedy that earns at least the first three hours of its running time. Many scenes aren’t so much a barrel of laughs as an entire brewery's worth. As well as keeping up with an ever-distracted employer, Figaro has to contend with the older Marcellina who wants either to have returned the money she lent him or the servant's hand in marriage. 

Susanna and the Countess, meanwhile, have their own plans and proceed to gaslight the increasingly exasperated Count, who spends most of the opera discovering that entitlement is not the same thing as competence. In the midst of all, horny teenager Cherubino ricochets through rooms and disguises like a pinball, usually only one wig away from disaster. The last act set in a dark garden sees an almost fatal mix of shotguns and mistaken identity before the final messages ring out: love conquers all, everything is forgiven and the nearest cloakroom is that way, sir, madam.

South African soprano Masabane Cecilia Rangwanasha is the heart and soul of this latest revival in her role debut as the Countess. The elegance of her singing is only matched by the emotional depth she imputes to Lorenzo Da Ponte’s libretto. When she takes the stage to lament the Count’s philandering ways in “Dove sono i bei momenti”, you could hear a pin drop in Bow, never mind Bow Street.

Her co-conspirator is another strong voice with Louise Alder being an old hand at playing the clever Susanna. Svetlina Stoyanova’s Cherubino brings the house down with her soulful “Voi Che Sapete” while Andrey Zhilikhovsky transcends pantomime villainy to make the Count a truly despicable figure. 

The opera is not without its faults, particularly when put through a #MeToo lens, and its final half-hour adds very little to anything other than the general desire to head home after three hours of superlative entertainment. This version is old enough to vote and came out before the first iPhone but, thanks to the sumptuous design, superb clowning and sublime comedy, it never shows its age. 

Both Mae West and Mozart understood the same truth: society likes to pretend desire follows rules, while comedy usually begins the moment those rules fail. McVicar, twenty years on, still knows it too.

The Marriage Of Figaro continues until 2 July.