The Elixir of Love

Scottish Opera's two November offerings of The Italian Girl in Algiers and The Elixir of Love are apparently a musical attempt to make us all a bit less crabbit in the midst of a year of crap weather – Alex Reedijk opens the programme by explaining that "having endured another wet summer, we bring you two warm, Italianate operas designed to cheer you up." And so on come the sun-baked melodies of Rossini and Donizetti's delightful two exercises in opera buffa, both shimmering, sumptuous and totally out of place in the relentlessness of our wind and rain.

In contrast to The Italian Girl's radical absurdity, the company are using Giles Havergal's definitive 1994 production: classic, simple and effective, it allows the raw qualities of the music and libretto to shine through in a way it's sister production missed out on. The stage is envisaged as the epitome of the pastoral idyll, with smiling peasants in green and red singing, dancing, and collecting fruit. However, the centrepiece of the production is the gigantic picture frame that encircles the stage, a visual pun on the picturesque rural landscape created. Through this the production manages to get away with its twee, smiling peasants, its bright colours and apple carts. More importantly, it adds an extra dimension of intimate emotional intensity when the leads step forth from the action, and come face to face with the reality of the theatre.

Of the two, it's Donizetti that wins out because he seems to have the best tunes, of which the excellent cast manage to celebrate every minute. Elena Xanthoudakis navigates the fluctuating attitudes of Adina with style in a very believable and humane representation, but it's the power of Edgaras Montvidas' performance as Nemorino that really bolsters the show with it's all-important emotional weight, giving the audience no choice but to fall face-first in love with his sincerity and naivety. This is a rare show that's well worth seeing. It embraces the romantic ideal, but, along with the constant presence of the picture frame that reminds us of it's falsehood, the libretto repeatedly undermines and ridicules our overblown notions of heroic love. As cynical as it is celebratory, it manages to do something very smart in a very subtle way, leaving the joy of the music to wash over you hours after the curtain has come down.