Prague Culture

When a Rolling Stones song shows up in the middle of a Mozart opera, you know you’re in uncharted territory. That’s just one of the many quirks, anachronisms and additions to the National Theater’s new production of The Marriage of Figaro, which is not so much a reimagining of the opera as a complete reinvention.

Director Barbora Horáková Joly opens with Figaro and his bride-to-be Susanna preparing for a boring life in cookie-cutter suburbia, which they quickly cast aside for a lustful romp with contemporary stereotypes: a sleazy real estate developer (Count Almaviva), a punk rocker (Cherubino), a pompous Western windbag (Bartolo). This has all the makings of a madcap comedy, though Joly undercuts herself by pursuing a parallel theme – violence, specifically interpersonal violence. Arguments abound, the Count has a gun, and the characters spend much of the evening literally jumping on each other, welcome or not. Absent the conceit of the original – clever servants outwitting their master – it all comes off not as farcical delayed nuptials, but as a group of horny people trying desperately to get into each other’s pants.

Confusing matters further, Joly and her team spice up those dull recitatives and interludes between scenes and acts with invented characters and additional music, modern snippets of disco, jazz and rock. These initially add variety and flavor, with the strolling accordion accompanist a particularly nice touch. But eventually they become a focal point rather than a supplement, epitomized by Barbarina (Marie Šimůnková) and Cherubino (Jarmila Balážová) teaming up in front of the curtain for a torch version of “Tutto Nero,” an Italian cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Paint It, Black.” One can only wonder, how exactly did we get here?

Which is a shame, since most of the other elements work very well. Joly likes to fill the stage with bodies in motion, giving the piece a kinetic quality ideally suited for comedy. Choreographer Jan Adam keeps the constant running and coupling smooth and spot-on in the timing. The sets by Falko Herold are strikingly imaginative, even magical when Susanna calls for a room in the second act that materializes out of thin air. The “garden” in the fourth act is a phantasmagoric forest of giant mushrooms and other strange fauna in lurid colors, hardly conducive to romance but a surreal touch worthy of Dalí.

The cast in the premiere was uniformly strong, with outstanding performances in particular by the female leads. Ekaterina Krovateva was a vivacious Susanna, managing smart, sensitive vocals while darting around the stage. As Countess Almaviva, Barbora Perná nearly stole the show with a tender, glowing “Porgi amor” to open the second act. Her subsequent duets with Krovateva were a delight. Lukáš Bařák was a competent if lightweight Figaro, and Pavol Kubáň made for a compelling Count, offering a sly combination of swagger and buffoonery in both his acting and singing. Adding nifty characterizations were Kateřina Jalovcová (Marcellina), Tomáš Šelc (Bartolo) and Josef Moravec (Basilio). And the ensemble work was razor-sharp, especially the closing “A tutti contenti saremo cosi,” which gave the performance an electric finish.

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