Prima la musica, poi le parole: Alcina

Let us now praise Rachelle Durkin. Forget the usual introductions, there's no question that this woman is absolutely the best thing about Opera Australia's new Alcina which opened last night — so naturally her tribute should precede all else. Having heard advance praise from several trustworthy quarters, my expectations here were very high. And initially, not realised. Though she was unquestionably fabulous, seductively evil in her black lace and with a voice which likewise exuded a quality of dark and dangerous beauty, still some little spark was lacking. I was, say, 80% fascinated. Her "Di', cor mio" seemed a little shaky, and her hard, calculating "Si, son quella", which I've always thought of as something more tender, Alcina's Marschallin moment, left me rather cold. Ma basta! That was Act One. Act Two came and I was convinced. And terrified. This was a woman possessed. Not a soprano or an actress but an actual sorceress on stage, in touch with some seriously dark and frightening forces. To watch her fall apart was beyond riveting, her ferocious energy on stage matched at every turn by a voice of coolly penetrating beauty and demonic agility. Her "Ah, mio cor" was unexpectedly raw, punctuated with rasping sobs and ornamented not just with glittering and decorative high notes but several ominously low ones as well. "Ombre pallide" was a fully-fledged and electrifying mad scene — not so much an aria as an EXPERIENCE. To be repeated as often as humanly possible. The same can be said of her performance as a whole. Rachelle's Alcina is not a figure for whom, in even at her lowest point, one can really feel very much sympathy — she's a bit too intrinsically evil and threatening for that. Nevertheless it's impossible not to be drawn into her whirlwind of fury and desperate, clawing passion. You mightn't like her, but when she's miserable, when she's furious, when she's utterly ruined — you've no choice but feel it too.

I'm undecided about the production. Some aspects I like very much. After the relatively safe and traditional Traviata and Figaro I've been wanting something a little less conventional, and this one certainly provides it. There's a definite atmosphere of magic, a Gothic other-worldliness. Alcina's attendants have little white devil horns, the statues on stage alternate between flesh and stone, and Alcina herself is certainly a sight to behold in (and out of) her various costumes. Her realm is not so much an island as a decadent underworld in which Ruggiero is quite willingly trapped. All this I'm happy with, and the obligatory half-naked people are no problem either — though their flesh-coloured underwear does give them the slightly unfortunate appearance of being built like Barbie dolls. I have reservations, though, about the immense mirror. This hangs at the back of the stage and seems like it should reflect the stage itself, but in fact reflects all sorts of other things. So when Morgana sings "Tornami a vagheggiar", for instance, her "reflection" dances out her sentiments in slightly more explicit and physical fashion. Sometimes it's effective; sometimes a distracting excess. Then there's the enchanted ring, which looks like it came from a cereal box and causes its wearers to act as if they're in a bad science fiction film. And do we really need quite so much aimless writhing about? Never mind. Distractions and infelicities aside, the overall effect is of enchantment, illusion and lurking evil, which is in the end is probably just what's required.

Among the rest of the cast, I think it's only right that I first of all single out Sally-Anne Russell. I was not kind to her Cherubino. My feelings there haven't changed, and so I was not wild with excitement at the prospect of her Bradamante. Well, shame on me. Bradamante's lower tessitura suits her infinitely better — it's still not a hugely fascinating voice but she still sang superbly, with warmth, dignity and some of the most impressively precise and secure coloratura on show all evening. The acting was a bit cartoonish, yes, but gained in credibility when she shed her "Ricciardo" disguise and traded her silver Hvorostovsky hairpiece for something a bit more Harlow. I suppose with the voice she has, she'll always sing a lot of male roles, but I hope for her sake that she gets her fair share of heroines as well — she's much more engaging as a woman than as a man.

As her betrothed, New Zealand's Own™ Sarah Castle was a mostly excellent Ruggiero. Until now my only experience of Sarah Castle was as the effusive host of TV coverage of the 2002 Mobil Song Quest. I far prefer her (no surprise) as a singer. From her first mute appearance during the overture (yes, they staged it — sigh) she was a committed and persuasive Ruggiero. I have to confess I liked her best in Act One, when she was still under the spell and being brilliantly vile to "Ricciardo" and Melisso. Vocally she was her most appealing in Ruggiero's slower, middle-of-the-voice kinds of arias. "Mi lusinga" and "Mio bel tesoro" were particular highlights for me, "Verdi prati" not quite so impressive. I could have wished for a bit more adventurousness in terms of ornamentation, but then that was true of almost everyone; the voice is any case quite beautiful and nicely suited to this repertoire.

Another of the evening's surprises came from Hye Seoung Kwon as Oberto. After her pretty and ethereal Nannetta in Falstaff last year, I couldn't quite imagine how she was going to pull off a Handelian travesti role. But pull it off she did, with impressive power and technical facility, and unexpectedly persuasive boyishness. No surprises from Richard Alexander as her tutor, just reliably solid and attractive singing — and really, you don't need anything else from a Melisso, do you? Morgana was Natalie Jones, whose Gilda I got so terribly excited about. I have to confess she disappointed me here a little, though I chalk that up more to my own inflated expectations than anything else. I still think the voice is gorgeous but it's perhaps not blissfully happy in Handel. The best of her arias was probably "Credete al mio dolore", whose lilting lines suit her sweetly rounded sound; faced with arias requiring greater agility, such as "Tornami a vagheggiar" (which ought to be Morgana's moment in the sun) that sweetness was sacrificed to the technical demands of the music and the result was just a bit too dry and effortful for me. Rounding out the cast as Oronte was the always delightful Henry Choo, whose natural nobility of phrasing and bearing belied his grubby, thuggish appearance; he's to be congratulated also for singing one of his arias ("E un folle, e un vil affetto" I think) so impeccably while shaving off his stage stubble. Very impressive.

This fix of Handel has been a long time coming for me. The last — and first — Handel opera I saw on stage was Xerxes at the New York City Opera, all the way back in 2004. Sweetening things even further is the joy of having Richard Hickox at the helm. Richard Hickox just happens to be responsible for, among other things, one of my very favourite baroque opera recordings — Vivaldi's Ottone in Villa on Chandos' Chaconne label. I trust him with Handel and my trust was repaid on Friday night by the myriad glorious sounds coming from the (raised) orchestra pit, reminding me over and over again why I love Handel, and this opera, so very much.