The beginning is magical. You can see Cecilia Bartoli, artistic director of the Salzburg Whitzen Festival, in the film. Silent cinematography in the 1920s, Bartoli as a pirate, and Bartoli as a sadistic nun, as Joan of Arc, and Cleopatra. Finally, the advertisement brand newOnce upon a time in Seville. Plus, the show rages on and rages, led by Gianluca Capuano Musiciens du Prince – Monaco Tirelessly, he develops a rich sound, but it is always associated with the small agogic of a historically informed, highly detailed ensemble. What comes out of the hole here at Haus für Mozart is a source of joy from start to finish after hours performance.
This new production of Rossini’s “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” comes at the heart of the Whitsun Festival, and Bartoli gives the gift of singing and Rosina playing in it. Rosina is the bad Amber Bartolo (Alessandro Corbeli), who wants to marry her and locks her in a cage. But Rosina wishes to be Count Almaviva, who loves her, and with Figaro’s help it works out. Usually, Rosina is a flowering young girl, thanks to which Bartoli is now a flourishing woman. Cecilia Bartoli is a phenomenon, her colorful hues still sparkle as lightly and delicately as they have been for decades, and her energy is never exhausted. However, perhaps the most beautiful moment in this performance is when she feels that a woman who has seen so much of life desires this younger man singing songs outside her window. There is, for a very short time, a charming aura of gloom that quickly fades as it is about to get funny again. And you can understand Rosina very well, because Edgardo Rocha is really a wonderful tenor of Rossini. He thinks it’s Zorro. Basilio (Ildebrando D’Arcangelo), Bartolo’s friend, looks like Nosferatu.
Everything is set in a Hollywood studio, then the characters from the dropped films appear
Blame it on Rolando Villazon. The multi-purpose artist, infinitely respected in Salzburg, featured here, Rocafilm supplied him with the film materials he needed to make it happen, and Harald B. Thor built a movie studio on stage, Hollywood 1928, for example. Arturo Brachetti, brought in by Villazón, works as a business bouncer, showman, and multi-functional; The Italian is in the “Guinness Book of Records” as the fastest fast-changing artist, you can find out. Against the beautiful Art Deco backdrops lining the studio, he screens the films from which characters appear, such as The Purple Rose from Woody Allen in Cairo, except that the people who will exit the film, delve into the reality of the scenes. Here they remain theatrical characters.
First of all, this works great. In the film, you see a mariachi band sitting in a bar, before they pass through a gap in the scenery on the stage and escort the Count as he sings. Figaro shaves his clients into his salon, goes up on stage, sings briefly, then disappears again into the film, pats his face, and then returns. Everything is so imaginative and subtle, played with reality, Fortepiano player Andrea Del Bianco transforms in the pit from rigorous continuous playing to silent film accompaniment, some of the movie musical quotes skip the orchestra, and everyone involved radiates with great joy when allowed to play here.
BUT: The infinite source of Villazon’s ideas quickly becomes a never-ending state, the idea of cinema as an excuse to bring all imaginable to the stage. Lots of ideas, jokes, and prop games are pretty cool, but too many of them make your head spin and the story gets lost. At the conclusion of the first chapter, which lasts about two hours, all the additional movies come on stage, Romans, Visigoths, Ostrogoths and Middle Goths, and a Frankenstein monster watching. Right in the middle: the adorable Nicola Alemo as full-bodied Figaro. But he almost got lost in the hustle and bustle.