It is hard to romp baroquely for three hours, but this production tries. The first revival of Richard Jones’s 2022 ROH/Met co-production includes most of the original cast, which is a good sign, and uses lush sets, by Antony McDonald, and wonderful costumes to relentless effect. The vibe is Quaker gee-whiz, campy-swanky excess – playful and inventive with a hint of anxiety about holding the audience’s attention. Accept it and enjoy it, but best not to think too hard about what it all means.
On an island: sorceress Alcina, her sister Morgana, and Morgana’s slightly thick lover, Oronte. Well-supplied with men by shipwrecks and strong winds, Alcina seduces one after another before turning them into animals. But she’s in love with Ruggiero, her latest, so when he’s brought back to his senses and the memory of his wife, Bradamante (who’s come to the island in disguise to win him back), Alcina’s heart breaks. A synopsis doesn’t convey the feeling of watching 18th-century characters approach each other like knights on a chessboard: no plot movement is ever direct.
The set changes relentlessly, like a flip-book, often with several transitions during a single da capo aria. These deploy a set of devices from garish to delightful: a four-poster bed, emerald forest islands, a white corridor, palm trees on wheels, a garden shed-cum-armoury, a disco ball. And there’s always an animal or two looking on, suspicious, peevish, afraid, silly. You might forget that they’re prisoners. The emotional tone changes fast too, and since cartoonishness struggles to breathe the same air as pathos, it introduces doubt. Don’t ask how much of it is serious, just be entertained.
The remarkable cast was well-supported (and occasionally overwhelmed) by the RBO orchestra briskly led by David Bates. Soprano Lisette Oropesa as Alcina was magnificently two-faced, camp and tragic; "Ah! mio cor!" was heartbroken gold and got the biggest ovation of the night. Mezzo-soprano Beth Taylor’s Bradamante had a few sticky gears at first but found incredible tone in “È gelosia” and bite in “Vorrei vendicarmi,” though it was bizarre to see this strong character end the night wearing Handmaid’s Tale white and a bonnet.
Photo Credit: Ian Hippolyte
Canadian mezzo Emily D’Angelo in the “mammoth role” of Ruggiero in ROH’s Alcina
Soprano Mary Bevan as Morgana sometimes pinched at the top of her range but could also bloom, like when she pleads with Alcina in “Ama, sospira.” Tenor Ru Charlesworth’s Oronte was a passionate bro, lunging from jealousy to post-coital contentment, and bass-baritone Edward Grint was a stolid Atlante pushing his Bible on everyone he sees.
The mammoth role of Ruggiero forced mezzo-soprano Emily D’Angelo to save some energy, but even an early aria like “Mio bel tesoro” had tasty, double-edged shading. She sings mostly in Europe but returns to Canada in January 2027 as Octavian in a concert staging of Der Rosenkavalier in Montreal.
12-year old Thomas Mayes was lovely as Oberto – it’s always a shock to hear a young voice with such control – but his tearful search for his father was reduced to a gag: he often roamed the stage holding a giant “MISSING” poster, appearing at inopportune moments to much laughter. Small souvenir copies were available at intermission so you could take the joke home.
When Alcina, the only powerful woman, pleads to the spirits who have abandoned her in a riveting “Ombre pallide,” everybody starts to change into the kind of puritan outfits worn to burn witches and violence feels jarringly imminent, only to be deflated quickly in a final twist. Atlante’s dour book is replaced by The Joy of Sex. This Alcina is more inspired in its details than in its overall dramatic coherence but then, well, that’s true for the original too.
Photo Credit: Ian Hippolyte
Lisette Oropesa as the sorceress Alcina, who has bewitched her former lovers into animals
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