It so happens that, like Rossini, I am Italian. Is that the reason why I appreciate his art so much? I don’t think so. It is not a question of nationality, of consanguinity, but of affinity. I love the brilliance that constantly shines through in his music. I love the burlesque vein of his orchestration. The characters in The Barber of Seville are deeply rooted in the tradition of the commedia dell’arte and its types: the old man in love with a young girl (Pantalone), the ingenious servant (Arlecchino), Colombina, Il Dottore… These masks originated in Venice. This is not the only link between Rossini and Venetian theatre: some of his works – one-act operas, farces such as La scala di seta (The Silken Ladder) or Il signor Bruschino – were composed for the Venice Carnival.
I myself come from Venice. My family was very deeply rooted in this region which, until I was twenty, was my living environment, my horizon: I drank in this atmosphere, I absorbed it. This world, these characters are therefore very close to my imagination, to my fantasy.
That said, there is no question for me of simply putting a mask on the faces of the performers. I prefer to approach Rossini’s works by drawing on entirely modern references, because I am convinced that they speak to us about our world and that we need to draw on our everyday lives for the means to tell his stories.
I always start with an atmosphere: in the case of The Barber of Seville, that of a contemporary working-class neighbourhood in Spain. This image, which comes to me, is not connected to any precise representation of Spain. It could be a neighbourhood in any Mediterranean country. Above all, it is a pretext for getting to the heart of the libretto and bringing its characters to life.
Of course, everything that belongs to my personal culture comes through in my productions. Almodóvar, undoubtedly, since his cinema is for me an inexhaustible source of inspiration. But these cultural and artistic references are not primary in the creative process. At first, it is important for me to base myself solely on the libretto and the music. It is only afterwards that this framework is enriched with elements drawn from my imagination, which make it possible to nurture and give greater depth to the characters.
In The Barber of Seville, Rossini succeeded in creating a synthesis of a micro-society. The characters are so strongly defined that it is almost a caricature of opera: this makes it a delicate work to stage. To this must be added the intimidating number of renowned directors who have taken it on. In the production I have conceived, above all I wanted to move beyond stereotypes and emphasise the humanity of the characters: to tell the story as faithfully as possible, without overcomplicating it, without seeking a double meaning – so that my message is accessible to a broad audience – while preserving the rhythm of the score.
Rhythm is fundamental in Rossini, whether in the arias, the ensembles or the concerted sections. This is as striking in The Barber of Seville as in La Cenerentola. In order to maintain this rhythm, we imagined a complex stage device that develops in a crescendo throughout the performance: a set design that follows the accelerations and breathing spaces of the work.
I work with Paolo Fantin, who has designed the sets for all my productions. Starting from an initial idea that I communicate to him, the two of us then play a real game of tennis, with very intense exchanges, in order to arrive at an absolutely homogeneous whole. The aim is to intimately combine set design and staging, so that no one can say what comes from him and what comes from me.
That is my conception of opera: not an individual approach that seeks to translate an artist’s imagination, but rather an amalgamation of different talents in the service of a work…
For this Barber of Seville, for example, I imagined that the whole production would revolve around Bartolo’s building. That was the starting point. But starting from this principle, how do you sustain it over the whole performance, manage to tell the whole story without ever running out of steam, without ever giving the impression that you are repeating yourself, while managing to renew it with every scene?
After completing my studies in directing at the Paolo Grassi School of Dramatic Arts in Milan, I first directed prose theatre productions with small companies, before beginning to work in the world of opera.
Opera and theatre are two very distinct worlds. Actors and singers are psychologically very different. The former have the text as their only basis for their work, without a conductor or music. They have to create their own score, based on rhythm and intonation. The latter, on the contrary, sometimes protect themselves behind the score. My entire work is then to lead them to free themselves from this artificial protection, to step out of their musical shell in order to build a stage presence.
Do I have a personal style, a signature that would recur from one production to the next? It is difficult to say. The productions follow one another but are never alike. Each new production presents me with a new challenge. I like starting again from scratch, as if it were the very first opera I were directing.
Ultimately, this question does not interest me. I am wary of artists who claim to have a style. I prefer to speak of temperament: because a production is first and foremost about my relationship with the performers. I am facing them and I communicate my ideas to them, with my personality. I try to establish clearly the direction in which I want us to go. Then I encourage them to find their own way to get there.
To use a metaphor, it is a little as if I asked you to go to Milan, but you could go there by train, by car or by bicycle… What matters is simply getting there.
I tell them: “Feel free, let your imagination and your desires run free.” The singers I work with have already embodied these characters in other productions. They have played them countless times. Above all, I do not ask them to wipe the slate clean. It is important to make use of what is already there, to draw on this awareness.
I want everyone to feel responsible for what they are doing. In the end, they are the ones who will go on stage, not me. So I tell them: “You must be satisfied with what you are doing, proud of what you are doing, and enjoy yourselves.”
More than anything, I hate it when a performer finds themselves on stage without knowing why, when they do something simply because the director has asked them to.
That is what I mean by style: it is this relationship that I try to establish with the singers that determines the way I tell stories.
