What’s this? There is an angel. Never, in my 50 years of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro delight-sampling has there ever been an angel. Check synopsis too, perhaps, correct momentary Biden lapse.
Nope. No angel. Pure invention. Not even as potentially fictitious as a Hunter Biden legal fee due to Faegre, a law firm specialising in Chinese litigation. Or, even as gossamer transparent as a 10 per cent holding in Angel Enterprises, reserved for the Big Guy.
This diminutive Puti, a Cherubimo, sporting stubby, white-feathered wings, a fixed grin and with an annoying addiction to cavorting distractingly about, was entirely the invention of Claus Guth, a cutting-edge producer who has built a thirty-year career on knowing better than composers and librettist.
