Boston Baroque's previous semi-stagings have followed at least some conventions of baroque operatic practice. This time, guest director Sam Helfrich went contemporary. Yes, there were sunglasses and trenchcoats, and Agrippina tucked a pair of nickel-plated revolvers in her purse. Nero lolled petulantly, listening to his iPod; the minx Poppea, in clinging silk, idly paged through an issue of Cosmo.
At points Helfrich seemed to be staging the libretto more alertly than he was staging the music, but he is a smart, musical, and theatrically savvy guy. He drew terrific performances and real shadings of character out of his cast, while earning cascades of laughter from the audience -- as when Nero pursued Poppea on his hands and knees, his fingers making his intentions clear by simulating a bull's charging horns. Helfrich supplied a new surprise ending of mass poisoning, and the last sight gag was justification enough.
The singing was mostly first-rate, even in the small parts taken by contralto Eudora Brown and baritones Aaron Engebreth and Sumner Thompson. The most ravishing tone came from mezzo Margaret Lattimore, who sang with her familiar musicality and with a large, deep, and opulent sound. Hers was the only tragic aria of the opera, and with it she stopped time. As Claudius, the roving consort of Agrippina, bass Kevin Deas sang flexibly and resonantly, and his portrayal of frustrated imperial randiness was amusing. Soprano Sari Gruber's coloratura was as clean and bright as a whistle, and her quick-witted duplicity as Poppea was fun to watch. It took an aria or two for soprano Twyla Robinson to warm up in the title role, but once she got going, she offered vibrant, thrusting tone. She may not look like Joan Collins or Nicollette Sheridan, but she's got the vixen thing down; it's all in the attitude.
The most unusual singer was Michael Maniaci as Nero. He's a male soprano, with a strikingly pure, powerful, and beautiful voice; his timbre is unmistakably soprano, not countertenor, but also unmistakably masculine. He can purl a long and eloquent line and click off coloratura with virtuoso aplomb. He really threw himself into Nero's pouting, petulant lewdness, and he pursued Poppea so passionately he ripped a hole in his pants.
Conductor Martin Pearlman seemed energized by Helfrich and his cast and conducted with real vigor, style, and purpose; the Boston Baroque Orchestra and its continuo section played with uncommon vitality and attention to detail. This production may have had no set and no real costumes, but it had all the qualities that matter more.
