Scene directions from opera libretti are rarely high on the list of priorities for 21st century directorial teams. They seem rather to restrict the interpretive freedom that leads to contemporary views. But they can also inspire. And how. Nicola Hümpel and her congenial stage designer Oliver Proske prove it in a delightful way at the Staatsoper Hannover. Rosina's final abduction from the house of Doctor Bartolo via "la scala del balcone" only really works when both really exist. This is already the intention of the first scene by Cesare Sterbini, who in turn referred to Beaumarchais' comedy: In a piazza of Seville, we are supposed to catch sight of Bartolo's house at dawn - with a "practicable", that is to say: walkable balcony. The setting for Rossini's "Il barbiere di Siviglia" has looked like this or similar countless times. The director and her team acknowledge this, but avoid any danger of a dusty understanding of tradition in their concrete realization. For the constant cunning eavesdropping and spying, the opportunistic scheming and backstabbing of the characters also cries out for the erotic view through the keyhole, for quick changes of perspective - in short: for perfect comedy mechanics, which should appear improvisational, but must be absolutely perfectly timed. Through the use of the revolving stage, Rosina, Almaviva, Figaro and Bartolo constantly circle around each other and simultaneously around their own axis. The egocentricity, the narcissism, the search for advantage of all the protagonists is playfully revealed with ease; the desire and the very own interests of the personage never have to be questioned in an evaluative way. The spirit of commedia dell'arte unfolds with fundamental affection for all the characters' sensitivities and limitations. While Herbert Fritsch likes to use tempo-maximized over-excitement in Offenbach or Mozart, Nicola Hümpel listens much more sensitively to the pulse of the music in Rossini. The gestural vocabulary of each character is derived precisely from the very personal physicality of each singer-actor. Sunnyboy Dladla as Almaviva gets to languish in his performance cavatina "Ecco, ridente in cielo" with precisely exaggerated operatic gestures. The singer uses his tenore di grazia with delightful ease with the ideal dosage of sweet melting. Hubert Zapiór gives a gay barber Figaro who never falls into cheap cliché, but in witty agility and swagger of his knowledge overplays his own underdog complexes that plague him as a factotum in an academic society. His cavalier baritone has height, attack and eloquence. Beyond all bass buffo caricature, Frank Schneiders gives his antagonist Doctor Bartolo the features of a man broken in bitterness at an early age, who now takes out his disappointment on the Rosina entrusted to him with encroaching nastiness. Thanks to the self-determination of the true Commedia-Capricciosa Nina van Essen, a vamp of expansive soprano agility, this Bartolo, however, hardly stands a chance from the beginning. Figaro's emancipated sister in a shrewd spirit, who also raises the forbidden middle finger from time to time, would even almost start an affair with the barber, if he were not so clearly from the other side. In general, all possible and impossible pair-building variants are played out here with relish. The central means of the dramaturgical concept, which finds a subtle balance between ensemble racy and aria poetry, are the live video close-ups of the characters projected onto the back wall of the Palazzo, which reveals even the most inconspicuous eye blink to the audience. The cinematic level sharpens the Chaplinesque precision. It brings even the most intimate emotions to light, revealing in unusual proximity what would otherwise remain hidden from us on the grand opera stage. While in the first act we often find ourselves giving our eyes only to the video enlargement, the ensemble scenes of the second invite us to use the added value of both perspectives. Possibly the temporary renunciation of the medial doubling, especially in the sense of the unbroken emotional truth of the arias, would strengthen this fantastic evening even more. The most beautiful compliment, however, that must be paid to the production: The scene inspires the music; we hear again freshly and immediately how maximally inspired and humor-soaked this splendid score is. Eduardo Strausser conducts a bouncy, accented Rossini enriched with gallant pianissimi. At the fortepiano, Francesco Greco strikes sparks from the precisely crafted recitatives with improvisatory free spirit. Great!