Rigoletto - "isn't that a type of pasta?" you ask...

Perhaps you're thinking rigatoni - the tubular pasta in small, ribbed pieces?

But Rigoletto, my beloved subjects, is Verdi's tale of the world-weary, luckless court jester.

Orchestra Victoria under the baton of Slovenian Maestro Marko Letonja, just as in The Marriage of Figaro, give a flawless performance of the score - however, Verdi's score couldn't be any more different to the light-hearted optimism of Mozart's romantic-comedy.

There's an unavoidable feeling of dread in the stomach of this drama, and we can sense it from the first few bars.



The Orchestral Prelude, charged with ominous energy, is juxtaposed by a quiet, intimate vignette: Rigoletto's barely-lit dressing room. The jester puts on his brave face. Imagine Heath Ledger's Joker in the Dark Knight, meets Tim Curry in Stephen King's IT.

Before we move on to other matters, I must briefly mention Mark Letonja's conducting once again. Like any good opera maestro, Letonja adds a sense of individuality to his reading of Verdi's score. I especially enjoyed the addition of the cor anglais during Rigoletto's Act III soliloquy "Cortigiani, vil razza dannata" - an unusual accompaniment to the solo cello, but one that worked brilliantly.

Michael Yeargan's revolving set is a masterpiece of visual art. Light-years away from the two dimensional painted backdrops of years passed, we're offered a truly 3D experience of Rigoletto's bleak world: from his cluttered dressing room; to the Duke's sparkling split-level ballroom, dripping in 1930's Art Deco opulence; to Rigoletto's middle-class residence (complete with two storeys!); to the assassin Sparafucile's sleazy, river-side inn.

Yeargan's austere, industrial palette is matched in genius by Robert Bryan's lighting, which mirrors the mood of the opera perfectly. Despite a certain nostalgic charm, a barely tangible warmth, this a world that is never more than half-lit: darkness is always at arms length.

Lurid and garish in his glowing white and red face, magenta dinner-jacket, sherbert-orange hair, bedecked with double-walking-sticks and pronounced limp, Michael Lewis' brilliant Rigoletto was as much the dichotomised "other" in costume as he was in character.

I warn you, my beloved subjects, there's a grave danger in becoming a hardcore opera fan: you get fussy - with voices, that is. After hearing the celebrated, definitive Rigoletto portrayals from the likes of Piero Capuccili, Sherill Milnes and Tito Gobbi, you tend to get a bit picky. Suffering all the symptoms of this "fussyness", I found Michael Lewis' Rigoletto to be inoffensive, yet burdened with a slightly forced tone and distracting vibrato. But, as I said, if I ignore my acute "aficionado-itis", Lewis gave a thoroughly enjoyable performance.

Within the opening minutes, the Duke brings us the opera's first big number - "Questa o Quella". Rosario LaSpina took a couple of bars to get his voice warmed up, but after this momentary lapse, he was definitely cooking with gas - his effortless, ringing tenor was in usual perfect form.
I cannot write enough about this young star. From the first time I heard him, at Melbourne's Classical Spectacular, I've had a feeling in my waters. With the dynamic oomph of Mario Del Monaco, the endearing nasal ring of Placido Domingo, and the effortless multi-layered timbre of Pavarotti, Rosario La Spina will go far.

In the opening of his love duet with Gilda (Emma Matthews), I got chills - the euphoric type that make you realise that opera has the same effect on you as chocolate, a nice massage and a G & T.

Despite being rather wooden in Opera Australia's Autumn Season production of Tosca, LaSpina's stage-craft has improved. His acting won't win any Academy Awards, but the performance didn't stick out like a sore thumb. Anyway, with that voice, he could stand as steadfast as a guard at Buckingham Palace and it'd still be a great show.

It takes two singers to pull off a successful love duet. I've already dissected the tenor half, but what of the soprano?
Mosquito's buzzing around your head when you're trying to sleep might almost match the annoyance of warbly, watery-voiced Gilda's.
Thankfully, Emma Matthews was as much a saviour to this problem as a giant can of Mortein!
Matthews' voice was voluptuous, full and rich in her middle and low registers; and, in the stratospheric high notes, her bright, charming vibrato was reminiscent of Renata Scotto's own recording of the role on Deutsch Grammophon with Rafael Kubelik.
Matthews' tackled the vocal gymnastics with as much ease as if she were Kathy Freeman at a primary school athletics carnival, or Tony Abbott at a Speedo's photo-shoot.
In her big number "Caro Nome", Matthews' personal touches to the rhythm and phrasing of the cadenza's was absolutely inspired.
As a scientifically lay-man, I've just one question - where does she keep her second set of lungs? I could've read the collected works of Tolstoy in the time she was holding those notes!

Together, Matthews and LaSpina blended like strawberries and cream.

Given the emphasis Verdi put on the Chorus, and the strength of the tunes composed for them, you can pretty much consider them to be another "lead" role in the opera.
The Opera Australia Chorus, directed by Chorus Master Michael Black, were indeed a force unto themselves. As well a harmonising ability to match that of an Renaissance A Capella choir, the entirely male chorus, resplendent and suave in identical tuxedo's, brought with them an entirely masculine air of testosterone-charged energy (similar to that of Michael Bourne's all-male production of Swan Lake). The effect of this sexist, intimidating, jock-idiot group-mentality was at once frightening and exciting.

Their thoroughly entertaining re-enactment of Gilda's kidnapping for the Duke, complete with dance routines and jazz-hands, would be worthy of Australia's Got Talent.

Believe it or not, between these 20 chorus chaps, there was actual chemistry. Often opera choruses comprise of two dozen individual singers over-acting. Yet this was a true Boys Club and a rare delight.

I've said previously (points to Marriage of Figaro review written yesterday) that my fondness for modernisations of Opera is akin to my fondness for wine: I'll tolerate it, but begrudgingly.
However, having experienced Opera Australia's modern-ish (1930's) production of Rigoletto, I shall have to take a big swig of wine and eat my words.

What better time of year for a wedding than spring?

Opera Australia's 2010 Spring Season bring sus Mozart's most famous operatic comedy - The Marriage of Figaro....or if I want to embrace my inner aficionado...Le Nozze di Figaro.

Let's start where most things begin...at the beginning.

First, I must mention something I noticed just after taking my seat: like many greats in his field (Markus Steinz, Riccardo Muti and Andre Previn spring to mind), Maestro Marko Letonja possesses a quality essential to the aesthetic theatrics of conducting - suitably "flippy" hair.

Orchestra Victoria launched into the Overture under the baton of Maestro Letonja, his mop of hair flipping along jovially with the beat. The mood of this four-minute's worth of music is a delightful precursor for the next three hours and fifteen minutes: fast-paced, beautifully tuneful and laugh-out-loud funny. Instrumentally, Letonja and his forces were flawless. The pizzicato strings accompanying Cherubino is his second big number "Voi che sapete", (not often emphasized to the same degree in other recordings) was a particularly pleasant little idiosyncrasy, in the humble opinion of this Royal Highness.

Thankfully, after many a flopped attempt to modernise opera productions in recent years, opera companies around the glove, including Opera Australia are embracing the old-school.
Before the elitist purists hail me as their deity, I must add that I do like modernisations. Honestly. But there's just something so romantic about a period production, isn't there?

This years' Opera Australia Figaro is one such bringer of romance, albeit with a few contemporary touches (I don't think the Countess in Mozart's day had a hair dryer?). Actually, I'm not sure this production knows what period it's in but one thing is for sure - it is period, and beautifully so.

We open on a backdrop of patchy earthy brown (much like a book you'd find in your grandparents cupboard: antiquated and kinda grotty, yet warm).

It's not shabby, nor is it uber fancy. It's Figaro and Suzanna's bedroom. The set is minimal - an ironing board and a charmingly dilapidated red leather chesterfield chair.

In later scenes, we're a fly-on-the-wall in the Countesses' chamber - a picture of candlelit, silk and muslin draped beauty, with a bed, a chaise lounge, a dressing table and, of course, a large window for Cherubino to jump out of!
Before this turns into a Better Homes and Gardens blog let's talk about some singing, shall we?

The Countess, sung by Rachelle Durkin, is as gorgeous and easy on the ear as her boudoir is on the eye. Her light, fast vibrato is reminiscent of Mady Mesple, but nicely diluted by a creamy legato, not dissimilar to that of Dame Kiri Te Kanawa in her definite recording of the same role on Decca with Sir Georg Solti.

Opening the story are Suzanna and Figaro. The Suzanna of Tiffany Speight certainly holds her own (and then some!) alongside her famous on-stage lover (Teddy Tahu Rhodes). In regards to both on-stage chemistry and vocal harmony, Tiffany and Teddy were, indeed, in perfect harmony. For this I am sincerely grateful! There's nothing worse than having to watch two "passionate lovers" fumbling around the stage like a pair of nervous teenagers on their first date.
Another relief, and a definite credit to their talent, was that neither voice needed a scene or two to warm up to its full potential - there was nothing but gorgeous sounds from the very get go!

Also gifted in equal measures of stage-craft and vocal talent was the Cherubino of Sian Pendry. Without doubt, Pendry's pubescent page, in all his door-handle-humping glory, was an absolute stand-out performance.
Evidently revelling in the "Pants-role", Pendry managed to violate nearly every prop on stage: the ironing board was humped, the door-handle was humped - only the chair was spared.

From his cry of teen-angsty despair at the thought of actually growing up at the end of Figaro's aria "Non piu andrai", to tunefully gargling water before serenading the Countess in his aria "Voi che sapete", Cherubino was as gold as his costume!

On top of the operas labyrinthine plot, Pendry pulled off, utterly convincingly, being a woman playing the part of a boy pretending to be a girl (think Nathan Lane in The Birdcage training to be straight)!

Warwick Fyfe was right on the money as far as stage-craft is concerned as well, giving us a delightfully stuffy and hilariously flustered old Dr.Bartolo. However satirically spot-on his Bartolo was, the voice (although not bad) could not please in the same league as Teddy, Tiffany, Rachelle and Sian.

Obviously, a persons taste for operatic voices - their fondness for certain voices over others - is entirely subjective. With this necessary preface out of the way, I have to say that I found Peter Coleman-Wright's Count Almaviva to be rather underwhelming. As I said of Fyfe's Bartolo: he wasn't bad, he just wasn't on the same tier as the others.

On the subject of the Count, I must give the costume designing team due credit. All the costumes, especially that of the Count and Don Basilio, in the opinion of this humble Queen-come-fashionista, were absolute master-strokes: the former resplendent in floor-length robes of gorgeous plush maroon velvet made him every bit the sleazy pimp-of-a-nobleman he needed to be; the latter an image of camp sleakness in well-fitted sparkling sequined black.

Speaking of Don Basilio, we opera fans will have to keep an eye out in the near future for the emerging talent of Kanen Breen. Given the solo, yet not lead role of Don Basilio, Breen's sublime lyric tenor (with the slight ring of Renato Cioni, and the sweetness of Leopold Simoneau) was an unexpected highlight and so much more than mere comic relief.

Just like the eating habits of a ten-year-old, I've saved the best bit, the highest praise, til last. Arriving late, and without a program in hand, I was unsure as to who would be singing the title role. In all my myopic splendour, I couldn't accurately make out his face - it was the voice I recognised!
That stunning bass-baritone of Teddy Tahu Rhodes, with its epic, effortless range - lyric in the stafe, creamy and robust below it and possessing those gorgeous sweet soft pianissimo's that make us thing of a male Monserrat Caballe.

Rhodes stage-craft is superb. He's seemingly as comfortable and confident on stage as he would be in his own home.

I've said this pretty much every single time I play him on the show, and I'll say it again now, whilst trying hard to contain my crush: Rhodes is gifted with the operatic trifecta, the Holy Trinity of opera-singer talent: voice, stage-craft and looks. He is as pleasant on the eye as he is on the ear.

A year or so ago, my Nana had tickets to see A Streetcar Named Desire in Sydney. Starring Tedddy...without a shirt!

What do they say about a man who would steal from his Grandmother? Consider me guilty as charged!

Bringing us back to the opera at hand (and to Teddy in period costume), is it wrong to find a guys forearm attractive? Or his calves in 18th century leggings?

If I got hot under the collar seeing Teddy in period costume as the gentle Figaro-next-door, I imagine I'll need a stiff drink when I see him next year, in period costume, as a tall, dark, smokin' hot bad boy!...

Bring on Don Giovani 2011!

This production of The Marriage of Figaro was my mates first opera experience, and what a truly perfect choice to begin with - no one dies, it's never without a pretty tune and it's funny (not to mention having Teddy Tahu Rhodes popping your opera cherry)!

- Tim Perry (The Queen of the Night)