City Hall -- February 21, 22, 24 and 25.

The final programme of the Bermuda Festival's twentieth anniversary season ended with what has often been described as the most perfect opera ever written.

For those who are used to lavish opera house productions, the prospect of seeing "The Marriage of Figaro'' in City Hall, without the ballet, let alone a chorus, was not altogether reassuring. What a surprise, then, to be given this gem of a production -- scaled down and slightly cut, to be sure, but entirely credible, immensely enjoyable, and beautifully performed. This production was sung in English, with an updated and unusually witty translation which this gifted cast played to the hilt.

The Midsummer Opera Company scored a popular success when they appeared here four years ago in "Cosi Fan Tutte''; this time they have returned in triumph, with the welcome addition of a small, but excellent orchestra under the wholly sensitive baton of David Roblou.

"The Marriage of Figaro,'' was composed by Mozart in 1785, in the incredibly short space of just six weeks. Although it is a comedy (and a highly complicated one at that), the underlying theme is a serious one and, in the autocratic days of Imperial Austria, considered somewhat inflammatory, since the (banned) play on which it was based was a fierce indictment of the nobility. Echoing theatrical conventions of the time where mistaken identities, disguises (men dressed up as women, maids and their mistresses exchanging places) were the order of the day, the plot evolves around a valet (Figaro) who humiliates a philandering count -- a point certainly not lost on Viennese nobility.

Designer Paul Wilkins has placed this production firmly in Mozart's own century, drawing on the rococo world of French artist Jean-Honore Fragonard, an exact contemporary of the great composer. Indeed, the lusting Count is something of an artist in this version, which conveniently provides the setting of a studio, complete with enormous gilt frames filled with erotically entwined couples and luxuriously endowed maidens. This was a novel approach for a small-scale production, a little fussy in overall effect, however, and something of an obstacle course for the singers.

Gwion Thomas's pleasant tenor voice was matched by his acting ability in the pivotal role of Figaro, most obviously seen in his humorous rendition of the famous solo in Act I where he bids farewell to the page-boy Cherubino.

There was some splendid singing and suitably slimy acting from Jozik Koc, as the Count who feels it is his aristocratic right to share the favours of his servant's future bride.

As so often with Mozart, beneath the surface grace and gaiety and, in this case, buffoonery, there lingers a sense of melancholy which elevates this opera to profound heights, not only musically, but theatrically. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Act II where the appearance of the Countess marks an almost shocking change of mood, as she mourns her husband's infidelities.

Soprano Sandra Ford immediately established her mastery of the role as she swept effortlessly into her first glorious aria ( `porgi amor' ), and confirmed in Act III with the equally exquisite Dove sono .

The page-boy Cherubino was sung by Lorelle Skewes. Her aria, "Tell Me What Love Is ( Voi che sapete )'' is one of the most famous in opera, and this singer certainly captured its melodic grace.

There is only one solo for the role of lawyer Dr. Bartolo, but Brian Bannatyne-Scott's magnificent bass voice burns in the memory. In the lesser roles, David Skewes brought a skippily campy humour to the music master, Don Basilio, and a cameo of more earthy comedy to the role of the gardener, with Jenny Miller completing the cast as Marcellina, the elderly housekeeper who also has designs on Figaro.

Perhaps the most outstanding quality of this production was the marvellous ensemble singing -- absolutely vital if the unique genius that is Mozart is to be fully revealed. The trio between the Count, Susanna and Basilio attained that gossamer-like delicacy which sends a shiver down the spine, as did the marvellous quartet (usually a sextet) at the end of Act II, and the full company in the finale.

The audience who greeted Mozart's masterpiece on that first night in Vienna on May 1, 1786 were, by all accounts, stunned by the work's novelty: only on the second night were the cast forced to give repeated encores throughout the performance. So too, perhaps, was Bermuda's first night audience somewhat bemused. In any event, they sat in disconcerting silence at the end of every number in the first half, only after the interval, clapping with enthusiasm at every opportunity. It should be noted, though, that the often preposterous humour brought laughs all the way through -- the English text obviously compensating a great deal for the loss of the beautiful Italian libretto.

All in all, an evening of exquisite singing and perhaps, more surprisingly, an evening that was hugely entertaining.

PATRICIA CALNAN