By opting to set Figaro as a straight comedy, Rosetta Cucchi’s production glossed over the opera’s subversive edge.

Marcellina (Michelle Trainor), Count Almaviva (David Pershall), and Don Curzio (Brad Raymond) concoct a scheme in Boston Lyric Opera’s new production of “The Marriage of Figaro.” Photo: T. Charles Erickson.

By Jonathan Blumhofer

Boston Lyric Opera (BLO) ended its 40th-anniversary season much as it began it: with a canonic favorite updated to the third quarter of the 20th century. Instead of Carmen, this time it was Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro (through May 7). In place of a rethinking to 1970s Spanish North Africa, what we got was 1950s Italy (by way of the old version of the movie Sabrina). And, rather than at the Boston Opera House, this production happened at the cozier (but still acoustically-dry) John Hancock Hall.

BLO’s production was certainly cast with aplomb. The ladies, headlined by the formidable duo of Emily Birsan’s Susanna and Nicole Heaston’s Countess, shined. Both characters run the show: sure, there are a few missteps along the way, but the two manage the crises that come up adroitly and guide the plot home. Both suffer fools (mostly their respective mates) but for noble reasons. Intellectually and emotionally, if not socially, they’re peers.

All of that played out to grand effect in Friday’s performance. Birsan’s flexible, precise soprano neatly complemented the warm nobility of Heaston’s instrument. Her Susanna was a mix of brains and beauty: a far better bride than Figaro deserves, to be sure, but, then again, that’s probably true of many (if not most) wives.

That certainly is the case in the marriage of the Countess and the wayward Almaviva. In the former role, Heaston was spellbinding. Here’s a singer who commands the stage, not just with her voice but simply by setting foot on it: when she’s there, it’s hard to take your eyes off of her. And my how she can sing. Heaston delivered both of the Countess’s arias gorgeously, “Dove sono” particularly so: in it, holding the audience in the acoustically-challenged hall in rapt attention for its duration.

In the other small but significant parts, Michelle Trainor made a delightful Marcellina, equally fine trading barbs with Susanna and embracing her long-lost son (and former target-of-affections), Figaro. Sarah Womble’s brief turn as Barbarina was likewise secure: like a charming, bright ray of sunlight.

This is an opera where men, generally, don’t come off very well. On the one hand, there’s the vile, lecherous Count. On the other, there’s the well-meaning but bumbling (and somewhat oafish) Figaro. The supporting male roles – Bartolo, Basilio, and Don Curzio, respectively – are, generally, lackeys to their various masters. Only the impetuous Cherubino regularly comes across as sympathetic. But, at the same time, he’s a sex-obsessed adolescent (an Almaviva in the making?) so still, essentially, another stereotypical, one-dimensional guy.

The social leader of this rabble, David Pershall’s Almaviva, was a bit stiff, physically, but he sang strongly: his Act 3 “Hai già vinta la causa” was a tour-de-force.

Evan Hughes as Figaro was, in many regards, ideal: he’s got a robust voice and is a fine, convincing actor to boot. He had terrific chemistry with Birsan. Their scenes together sparkled, especially the Act 4 duet (“Tutto è tranquillo e placido”). On his own, he raged fiercely against the Count’s machinations in “Se voul ballare,” humorously fumbled to explain himself at the end of Act 2, and delivered a deliciously ironic “Tutto è disposto” in Act 4.

In the lesser roles, David Cushing was a solid Bartolo, Matthew DiBattista sang a charismatic Basilio, and Simon Dyer’s Antonio threw some well-calibrated cogs into the plot’s wheels. The trousers role of Cherubino, sung with pulsing intensity by Emily Fons, was also winningly done – nowhere more so than when the character leaps out the Countess’s bedroom window and makes his escape down the aisle and out the theater’s back door.

David Angus conducted the BLO Orchestra, which was in largely fine form. The hall didn’t afford the ensemble any resonant warmth and the resulting orchestral sound was a bit raw. But they played with rhythmic energy throughout and pliantly accompanied the voices onstage. It was especially nice to have a pair of valve-less trumpets on hand, adding a welcome kick to the instrumental textures. Brett Hodgdon accompanied the recitatives brilliantly, with a light, fluent touch.

Gail Astrid Buckley’s costumes were, for the most part, sunny and Mediterranean (Cherubino’s country music cowboy being a glaring exception) while D.M. Wood’s lighting of the stage (and theater, for the guests coming down the aisles in Act 3 for the double-wedding) didn’t draw undue attention to itself. John Conklin’s sets were bright, open, and airy.

As for Rosetta Cucchi’s production, it had its moments. The ’50s setting fit the opera’s overall mood. Some moments, like the bit with Cherubino leaping out of the Countess’s window in Act 2, were handled quite cleverly. And the final act, set on an indoor tennis court, worked smartly (and included a prominent role for the umpire’s chair).

But it was also busier than it needed to be. The whole Figaro-as-theater-in-progress tack – stagehands sitting off to the sides the whole time, sometimes supplying props mid-scene, the cast interacting with them when they walked off, etc. – smacked of Brecht but lacked any of his bite or purpose. It was unnecessary and distracting.

What’s more, by opting to set Figaro as a straight comedy, Cucchi’s production glossed over the opera’s subversive edge. It’s there, contrary to her program note that Figaro’s spirit of revolution is somehow “smoothed down by Mozart’s music.” Quite the opposite, actually. Figaro’s “Si vuo ballare,” for instance, is a minuet, a courtly dance, sung here by a servant in defiance of his master. Mozart (and his audience) would have been aware of this irony. These – and similar – subtleties pop up throughout the opera. But they don’t figure significantly in Cucchi’s conception of it.

Furthermore, the whole issue of class separation at the opera’s core isn’t nearly as powerful when reduced to an employer/employee relationship. The master/servant dichotomy is far starker (if, perhaps, more difficult for our society to relate to). But that austere contrast emphasizes one of Beaumarchais’ and da Ponte’s and Mozart’s fundamental moral arguments in Figaro: that polar social opposites are, in fact, each other’s equals. Surely that’s a relevant theme to explore today, even if one doesn’t go the full Peter Sellars/Trump Tower route. In this regard, the production is safe and acceptable, but also represents an opportunity missed.

Still, the brilliance of the music and the extraordinary depth and complexity of its libretto triumphed over any production flaws on Friday. This Figaro was exceptionally well-cast, -played, and -sung. From a musical angle, it’s a shining capstone to the BLO’s celebratory season. Perhaps, for this run, that’s good enough.

Jonathan Blumhofer is a composer and violist who has been active in the greater Boston area since 2004. His music has received numerous awards and been performed by various ensembles, including the American Composers Orchestra, Kiev Philharmonic, Camerata Chicago, Xanthos Ensemble, and Juventas New Music Group. Since receiving his doctorate from Boston University in 2010, Jon has taught at Clark University, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, and online for the University of Phoenix, in addition to writing music criticism for the Worcester Telegram & Gazette.