By Jeff Grygny
An oddly-shaped pearl made by an oyster that didn’t feel like making a boring regular one is called “baroque.” This isn’t bad metaphor for Alcina, an opera by George Frederick Handel, now dusted off and polished by Milwaukee Opera Theatre and recently presented in collaboration with Early Music Now and performed in an antique shop. Witty and sparkling, it’s a weird old gem in an eclectic contemporary setting. And while the words “opera” and “fun” are rarely seen in the same sentence, this Alcina is enormously entertaining, because it takes such evident delight in spoofing the oft-clunky conventions of the form.
Handel was an 18th century Taylor Swift: he had his first huge success when he was 20; by 25 he was a bona fide superstar. He could go anywhere he wanted—and he wanted to go to England, where Italian opera was the rage, and his royal patron, George II, had just become the country’s first Hanoverian King. Alcina premiered at London’s new Covent Garden theater, to an audience of aristocrats and (literal) bigwigs. The story was adapted from a subplot in the enormously popular epic poem Orlando Furioso, which was the Marvel universe of its day: a sprawling action/fantasy/adventure that spun off multitudes of operas, plays, and poems. Characters like Bradamante, the lady knight, and her Saracen paramour Ruggerio could be lifted out and placed in new stories like action figures (indeed, they have appeared as marionettes.)
There’s just no point in trying to analyze the plot of Alcina; it’s completely—baroque, and very, very silly. The title character is a sorceress who, the program tells us, has turned a barren island lush by transforming her ex-lovers into rivers, animals, and . . . rocks? A whole island? How many exes would that take? In our literal-minded age, she would certainly be branded a dangerous psychopath (and honestly, I would be there for that interpretation). But under the spritely direction of MOT’s resident genius, the ever-sunny Jill Anna Ponasik, Alcina shows no such tendencies. She’s simply an incredibly powerful woman who’s been disappointed (a lot) in her search for love.
There’s a magic ring, that’s produced by a minor character who seems to exist only to bring it out to save Bradamante’s relationship. Arias are bracketed by many rushed entrances and exits, as one character after another falls in love, extols their love, agonizes that their lover doesn’t love them anymore, or runs off to find their lover. It’s like a night with a bunch of dizzy club kids. Anyway, it’s all just a rickety scaffolding on which to hang Handel’s music. Ponasik vaults gazelle-like over every narrative obstacle with the magic of camp; and it plays with the sweetness and lightness of cotton candy.
She’s coached her artists—trained singers all—to take their music seriously, and treat their characters’ feelings as real, but to have fun with them, while never stooping to buffoonery. To do something silly as if it were serious creates a most sublime comedy, like children playing pretend, and the audience can’t help but smile. There’s plenty of ingenious stage business, and the feverish action gallops along at a satisfying clip, moving in dynamic vectors that illuminate the character’s relationships. Far from the staid presence of stereotypical opera singers, these performers employ body language and facial expressions to great comic effect. It’s a tribute to Ponasik’s direction that everyone seems to be having a wonderful time
As Bradamante, the lady knight (who was, interestingly, played in the 1735 production by a castrato), Jackie Willis carries herself with bemused dignity, even at the most farcical moments. Kaisa Herrmann as the ensorcelled knight Ruggerio supports the drama with full commitment; Morgana, Alcina’s sister, who seems to be there just for romantic entanglement, is played by Kristin Knutson Berka with a barely-contained sense of wild mischief, as expressed by her leopard print skirt. And Celia Davis brings a surprising vulnerability to the character of Alcina. She certainly never seems like the villain of the story, and she performs even the most challenging ariatic feats with tenderness. Not to neglect the most glittering objet d’art: Esther Talopram as the narrator, in a fabulous ball gown and period wig, comments on the silliness in clever effortlessly-rhymed verse.
Played by the musicians of Early Music Now, with Fumi Nishikiori-Nakayama conducting from the harpsichord, the curated selections cast their musical enchantments. Charlie Rasmussen‘s cello is wonderfully expressive, and who can argue with a live harpsichord? Each piece seems to feature a different operatic technique or musical signature, offering much-welcome variety. And the show is a feast for the eyes as well as the ears: the players glisten with brocades and metallic fabrics, adorned with shiny bling to accent the period in a modern vernacular; James Zager contributes playful choreography that refreshes the baroque aesthetic; thrift store props enhance the sense of play. And the very setting evokes the mood of cluttered antiquity; artfully arranged vintage lamps, furniture, and brick-a-brac make us feel like aristocrats at a private performance in some eclectic salon.
This delightful production of Alcina forsakes the heaviness of opera to give us a lighthearted tonic for the dark of oncoming winter and our dark times. If, as Shakespeare wrote, music really is the food of love, then—play on!
Early Music Now and Milwaukee Opera Theatre present
Alcina
Music by George Frederick Handel
Text by Anonymous, from Orlando Furioso by Lodovico Ariosto