Whereas Don Giovanni seems, for assorted reasons, to be unfloatable at present, The Marriage of Figaro is virtually unsinkable, with Così somewhere between. In general it seems that comedies go in and out of favour and fashion more than tragedies or ‘straight’ works, though Figaro may be a glorious exception, like Die Meistersinger. It is horrible to contemplate the possibility of a world which was indifferent to their charms and profundities.
Even so, the new production of Figaro at ENO gives some cause for alarm. Fiona Shaw, who has not previously produced a classic opera, sees the work as a maze, a harmless enough notion unless you take it that in the middle of a maze there must be a Minotaur, the only candidate for that in Figaro being the Count. Someone should point Shaw to Idomeneo; she seems to have them confused.
Peter McKintosh has obliged with a set, or sets, which consist of white walls with rectangular door-sized holes in them, even an occasional door where necessary, and flights of steps.
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