Photo By Philip Groshong

Dalibor Jenis as Figaro and Jorge Lopez-Yañez as Almaviva in The Barber of Seville.

Surreal painter René Magritte's floating chairs and derbies and his featureless portraits are almost as clichéd as Rossini's most famous opera, The Barber of Seville, with its mounds of shaving cream and calls for "Figaro! Figaro!" The combination could have been heavy-handed, but thanks to one of the Cincinnati Opera's best ensemble casts in recent years, an inspired set design by John Conklin and stage direction that is elegance fused with wit, the current Music Hall production of Barber is pure delight. (It's being performed twice, on June 23 and 25.)

The story has the frothiest of plots: While visiting Seville, Count Almaviva falls for Rosina, the ward of Dr. Bartolo, who has plans to marry her himself. Almaviva enlists the aide of the wily Figaro, barber and self-appointed "factotum of the city," and after a series of the usual comic mishaps and misunderstandings, there's a happy ending.

The opera is a crowd pleaser, but it's a killer for singers. Rossini's score is filled with arias that challenge a singer's capacity for breath control, technique and ability to convey the comedy within. Five minutes into the first act, Almaviva sings a cabeletta, a solo number that must be a warm, ardent serenade that segues into passionately embellished lines. Tenor Jorge Lopez-Yañez began with a tight, reedy sound that seemed caught in his throat. His tone improved considerably throughout the evening, as did his sense of the role. The Count is often Figaro's straight man, but Lopez-Yañez's deft comic timing made for wonderful interplay between them.

Dalibor Jenis scored a triumph as Seville's favorite stylist, sailing through Figaro's aria with panache, and he was equally agile onstage, moving with waspish grace. His baritone was rich and assured, and although there were moments when he rushed the phrasing, the intonation was secure.

Ruth Ann Swenson demonstrated just why coloratura singing is often referred to as vocal pyrotechnics and why you want to stand up and cheer after hearing a great performance. Her Rosina was a marvel of clarity, gorgeous tone and flawless diction, especially in a classic scene about a music lesson. She tossed off showy vocal runs with ease and superb intonation. Small wonder that the Metropolitan Opera has kept Swenson busy for the past several seasons.

Hernán Iturralde was a delightfully frustrated Dr. Bartolo, and Burak Bilgili's sonorous bass almost gave the lie to Don Basilio's sleaziness. Jessica Vanderhoof's Berta executed an unseen striptease with gusto. Edoardo Müller drew a spirited performance from the orchestra, and he kept pace with the singers when they speeded ahead.

The performers are thoroughly at ease in John Conklin's marvelous sets, inspired by Magritte (1898-1967). The surreal artist's trademark blue skies with puffy white clouds, floating chairs and humans are an ideal setting for Rossini's comic masterpiece. And Rossini himself presides -- on the scrim curtain that greets the audience, in the skies at the end of Act I, and he appears as one of the busts in the music room. Set pieces slide in and out, filled with witty details: Figaro's home is a two-floor affair with a pole he slides down. The barbershop sports a huge comb and mirror. Berta gets her own room in dull gray that sets off her bright red nighty. And the busts in the music room are sly references to Rossini's rivals, one of whom wrote a version of Barber years before Rossini.

The pace never flags in Herbert Kellner's inventive staging. Slapstick is kept to a minimum, while comedy rules. The Act I finale, which is almost always has the singers lined up facing the audience, becomes a hilarious parody of opera performance itself. Figaro makes a show of getting dressed as he sings his great aria; Berta does her undressing under wraps. There are musical in jokes galore -- but don't worry if you they get past you. Short of the Marx Brothers, this is about the funniest night at the opera you're likely to have. And nobody dies.