Tall, shaven-headed, clad in Nike black from top to toe, the bass looks as if he might be about to play in goal for France at any minute. The baritone is practising a funny walk which is part Chaplin, part Monty Python. The tenor is doing tenorish things with his vocal cords and a bottle of water, the chorus is settled at its opening-scene sewing - three young things from the local sweatshop, as pert and sassy as anything Mike Baldwin ever tried to tame in Coronation Street - and somebody is checking the brakes on a large tricycle which has an old-fashioned projector mounted on its handlebars.
As the final rehearsals get under way for Opera Theatre Company's touring production of The Love Potion, aka Donizetti's comic masterpiece l'Elisir d'Amore, the emphasis is most definitely on fun. Effortless melodies, bubbly comedy, and the guy gets the gal in the end - no wonder this piece has been a constant favourite since its premiere in Milan in 1832. There's neither a dull moment nor a dud number in the entire score, which Donizetti liked to brag that he produced in a fortnight, though in fact it probably took him closer to, imagine, five whole weeks. But isn't it a little naff? I mean, get this for a plot. Village idiot is in love with local landowner. She, alas, is in thrall to the charms of a passing man in uniform. Up steps a travelling quack. Idiot purchases "love potion" which, being in fact stale red wine, allows him to unwind and play hard-to-get for a change; the lady is hooked; absolutely no prizes for figuring out the finale.
On paper - like most operas - it's ludicrous. Who believes in love potions at the beginning of the 21st century, for goodness sake? But opera itself is an improbable concoction, often unlikely and occasionally magical. And as the rehearsal moves into top gear, it becomes apparent that what this show is really about is something timeless, wondrous and endlessly relevant: the experience of falling in love. Yes, folks, it's all in here; the euphoria, the uncertainty, the torment, the self-doubt, the sheer, blazing, simple joy. "I love doing love on stage," confesses OTC's James Conway, who is directing the show.
"And the love in this is pretty good." The popular end of the operatic repertoire is unquestionably a change of operatic scene for Conway, who has, in recent years, been steeped in the rather more rarefied emotions of Handel operas, of which he has directed a series of stylish, internationally successful productions. Characteristically, however, he hasn't been content to settle for a soft-centred view of The Love Potion. "This is a great score.
It's so unembarrassed and sincere. I want to show how, in the opening scenes, something is awakened in Adina. In spite of herself, Nemorino's declarations of love spark a response in her; and like many people, her initial reaction is to get angry, shut the person out. I want to make the initial scene between them pretty hot - just for a moment." In that opening scene Adina - a pretty extraordinary character, as Conway points out; a landowner in a village where no one has property, an independent woman in a society dominated by claustrophobic family life - is reading under a shady tree. Her book - an odd choice for such a supposedly pragmatic woman - is the medieval romance of Tristan and Isolde, a story which, itself, swirls around the presence of a devastatingly potent love potion. At the request of her workers she reads some passages aloud, scoffing at the narrative's apparent naivety as she does so - but, hovering as usual in the background, her devoted Nemorino is listening.
As far as he's concerned the idea of a potion which, without any effort on the part of the lover, can woo and win a recalcitrant loved one is, far from being a rather naive plot device, the answer to a young lad's prayer. As it happened, Nemorino wasn't the only one to prick up his ears at the idea. Some 20 years later, when l'Elisir d'Amore, already a major international hit, was a firm favourite in the repertoire of the Dresden Court Opera, the opera's lighthearted summary of the story of Tristan and Isolde may well have struck a chord with a precocious young German conductor by the name of Richard Wagner - who famously turned it into the most searingly erotic depiction of human relationships in the history of musical theatre. It would be a mistake to read too much into a perceived connection with Wagner's vast meditation on the kind of love which leads to physical destruction and inevitable death - but still, l'Elisir d'Amore has its own, appropriately miniature, moment of erotic epiphany towards the end of Act One.
Having already swallowed the love potion and confident that it will take effect within 24 hours, Nemorino is devastated to learn that Adina's wedding to Sergeant Belcore is to take place not the following day as planned, but - following the arrival of new orders which will see the military leave the village at dawn - that very night. In the fragment - hardly an aria - Adina Credimi, he pleads with her to wait. "Just one more day," he repeats, over and over, to the tune of a scrap of melody so tattered and confused it would break your heart right down the middle. The power of cheap music? Never. Donizetti knew what he was doing with Adina Credimi; he was reaching right to the heart of a human truth.
On the whole, however, l'Elisir d'Amore is concerned more with illusion than truth, as OTC's interpretation of The Love Potion is designed to emphasise. "It's set somewhere on the back of a hill in southern Italy," says Conway. "The sort of place where the road going down goes somewhere and the road going up goes somewhere else - but not the sort of place you'd ever go to, for its own sake. The girls, even Adina, all want a way out of there - fast." He has assembled a strong and almost totally Irish - apart from Nemorino, sung by the Scottish tenor Iain Paton - ensemble cast for the show, which, with its accordion-tinged orchestral arrangement conducted by virtuoso accordionist Dermot Dunne, and sun-drenched yellow set by the Mexican-born designer Mauricio Elarriaga with lighting by Giuseppe di lorio, carries a distinctly Cinema Paradiso vibe.
In addition to her role as mistress of the local sweatshop Adina - sung by the stunningly slinky young soprano Elizabeth Woods - has a lucrative sideline showing open-air films in the local square. The bass, Gerard O'Connor, as the quack doctor, Dulcamara, sells the latest titles alongside his pills and potions; Paton is an unusually dignified Nemorino; and Martin Higgins makes a most un-suave Sergeant Belcore, mocked and tormented by the terrible trio of Gianetta (Catherine Hegarty), Sofia (Mary Edel O'Sullivan) and Luigiana (Fiona Murphy).
At the centre of the proceedings is a large Perspex tree - "polycarbonate, actually", says Conway - on to which, as Dulcamara outlines the efficacy of his "cures", he projects images of love scenes and of people recovering from illness. "He's a purveyor of illusion, in all senses," says Conway. In the biter-bit irony with which the opera closes, it is Dulcamara, the ultimate cynic, who leaves the stage convinced that he has managed, somehow, to bottle the very essence of love. Bottle it, nothing: OTC is selling it, at a theatre near you, wherever you are, between now and the middle of August. And if you drink, and drink deep, well - who knows?
The Love Potion opens at the Arts Centre, Mullingar on Friday July 1st and tours to Waterford (Theatre Royal, 24th), Kilkenny (Watergate Theatre, 26th), Cork (Everyman Theatre, 28th and 29th), Skibbereen (Town Hall, 31st), Clonmel (Regal Theatre, August 2nd), Galway (Town Hall Theatre, 5th and 6th), Sligo (Hawk's Well Theatre, 9th) Enniskillen (Ardhowen Theatre, 11th), Letterkenny (An Grianan Theatre, 12th), Armagh (The Market Place, 16th) and Dublin (O'Reilly Theatre, Belvedere College, 18th and 19th).
