Barber: Best of 3 operas; Cassi, Gerodias awe crowd
Before the curtains opened at the CCP main theater for Rossini’s “Barber of Seville”, speeches by CCP President Raul Sunico, Ambassador Luca Fornari and Rustan President Nedy Tantoco pointed to 65 years of Phl-Italian diplomatic relations, Rustan’s 60th anniversary and Phl-Italian Association’s own 50th.
The audience waited a long time for V-P Binay to finish his speech and for Conductor Ruggero Barbieri to come out and start wielding the baton over the PPO.
Notwithstanding, the spectacle matched expectations; in my humble opinion, of the three Italian operas successively presented at the CCP — La Traviata, Madame Butterfly and The Barber of Seville — the last-named, with minor reservations, was the best produced, staged, directed, acted out and vocally interpreted. Antonio Petris was director; Loretta Bonamente, his assistant.
The sets designed by Greta Podesta were outstandingly appropriate for each scene and act. Petris infused the opera with amusing, cleverly imaginative, stylized innovations which, retaining the essence of the opera, enriched its comic quality, with Act I and II, each ending in an arresting tableau vivant. Indeed there was not a single lapse in spirit in either major or minor episodes, or in the unified action of the entire cast.
Briefly, the plot has Count Almaviva deeply in love with Rosina, ward of Dr. Bartolo who himself wants to marry her for the fortune she is to inherit. The barber Figaro, everybody’s factotum, intervenes; so do Bartolo and Rosina’s music teacher Basilio. Count Almaviva disguises himself as Lindoro because he does not wish Rosina to fall for his rank and stature atone; he later disguises himself as a soldier. Through the many twists and turns, the Count and Rosina end in each other’s arms.
Baritone Mario Cassi was the pompous, presumptuous, meddling barber Figaro. Fluent — as an Italian should be in his own language — he was magnificently flamboyant, both vocally and dramatically, especially in the exceedingly rapid aria Largo al factotum (Room for factotum), strutting and gleefully announcing to all and sundry that he is everybody’s confidante in Seville. How superb, how ideal he was in the role!
For an inexplicable reason, Arthur Espiritu as Count Almaviva was not in his usual remarkable form vocally, his volume sounding somewhat smaller, his timber less resonant, rounded and pleasant. But posing as a drunken soldier, he too was magnificent, walking and swaying unsteadily, looking absently around him like a lost sheep. His was an acting feat!
As Rosina, soprano Rachelle Gerodias was beyond compare. She was charming, vivacious and refined, betraying a tendency to mischievousness. She sang Una voce fa (A little voice I hear) brilliantly, her technical elasticity rendering, without effort, the aria’s rapid scales and arpeggios, its contrasting rhythms and dynamics (in which latter she excels) with no close rival in sight. Gay and expansive, she held the audience in absolute awe.
Italian baritone Marco Filippo Romano was a hugely amusing Don Bartolo, the persuasively cranky and eccentric guardian of Rosina, alternately scolding her and his housekeeper, Berta, and casting a hypnotic spell on the characters. His voice firm and forceful soared exuberantly in the aria A un dottor della mia sorte (To a doctor of my stature). In her brief appearance as the maid Berta, mezzo-soprano Clarissa Ocampo conveyed tonal richness as well as emotive talent, her movements brisk and funny.
Baritone Andrew Fernando, in typical fashion, exhibited admirable legatos and cantilenas, as also forte to thunderous fortissimo transitions. Baritone Noel Azcona, servant to the Count, sang and acted with distinction.
Under the direction of Fidel Calalang, Jr., the 25member male choir, attractively garbed in red soldiers’ uniforms, sang with throbbing cohesion, thus vastly adding visual and auditory dimensions to the opera.
The costumes were elegantly eye-catching but Rosina’s was most unflattering, cutting her already tiny figure into half, its color combination seemingly that of a maid’s uniform. Further, Basilio’s black, priestly robe cast a pall of gloom on the opera’s merry confusion.
Barbieri’s reading of the score fully captured the rollicking character of Rossini’s masterpiece.