A hungry horse eats the straw hat of a woman, who's having an assignation behind a tree with her lover, who threatens the horse's owner, whose wedding is supposed to be happening, but who's forced to bunk off on a frantic goose chase, to find a replacement hat so that the errant woman's husband, who bought her the hat in the first place, won't suspect her of anything.
If that brief résumé alone makes you breathless, try sitting through a complete performance of Nino Rota's Il Cappello di Paglia di Firenze ("The Florentine Straw Hat"), which adds further turns and twists to an already Byzantine template, and takes a good two hours doing it. By the end you're all farced out, and wondering if belly laughter may not be just a little over-rated in the first place.
Rota is probably best known for writing the music of the first two films in Francis Ford Coppola's Godfather trilogy, but has a large body of classical work to his credit, including ten operas. Il Cappello, from 1955, failed to establish a reputation outside Rota's native Italy, so the new staging at this year's Wexford Festival presents a timely opportunity for re-assessment.
It's certainly a colourful production, giant posters advertising the gaieties of 'la vie parisienne' panelled together to form an evocative period backdrop. A raked platform with trap-doors rises from stage level, facilitating the multitude of unexpected entrances and exits, including that of the hat-eating horse at the opera's conclusion.
Rota's music is also brightly variegated, and draws mischievously on several centuries of the comedic tradition in opera. There's more than a passing nod to Mozart and Poulenc in the fizzing, hyperactive overture, with a dash of Verdi's Falstaff in Rota's depiction of the father-in-law from hell Nonancourt, and affectionate references to the golden age of the Hollywood musical.
Most of all, perhaps, there's the palpable influence of Rossini, king of the Italian farsa, particularly in the Act Two and Act Four finales, with their frantically accelerated bursts of action fuelled by crazily obsessive motor-rhythms in the orchestra. Direct comparison with Rossini is, however, ultimately unflattering: Rota has little of the master's ability to involve you emotionally with individual characters caught up in the swirling mayhem around them, and none of his insight into the discombobulating influence crowd psychology can have on otherwise sensible, sentient people.
These deficiencies affect the opera's dénouement in particular, where a succession of false climaxes gradually saps the action of forward momentum. More could have been done by director Andrea Cigni to build some structural terracing into this sequence: instead too many of the performers are reduced to desperately ad-libbing comic gestures and grimaces, where something more concerted and organised could have been provided for them.
The singing itself, however, is often of considerable quality. Filippo Adami applies his pliant tenor and versatile acting skills to the central role of Fadinard, who wants to marry Elena, but can't until an exact replica of the chewed-up hat is located. Dublin singer Claudia Boyle has limited opportunities to shine as Elena, but grasps all of them, her bright, glimmering soprano making a vivacious impression.
Bass Salvatore Salvaggio is a specialist in buffo parts, and Nonancourt, the cloddishly interventionist father of Elena, should have been a busman's holiday for him. Even Salvaggio, however, is occasionally stumped by the pedantic clumsiness of the libretto (by Rota and his mother), and is not as funny as he might have been with more imaginative staging and direction.
Baritone Filippo Fontana, by contrast, shows what can be done with limited raw material by gripping the unpromising part of the cuckolded Beaupertuis, and turning it into a little comic gem of characterisation. Irascible, shambolic, railing at the marital injustices he suffers, Fontana has you both laughing at him and sympathising, and sings with firmness and authority, projecting confidently in a way which eludes some of the other performers.
Rota's score is exuberantly conducted by Sergio Alapont, an extravagantly shock-headed figure who would have slotted nicely into the on-stage action. The festival orchestra produces for him deliciously pointed, peppery playing, highlighting the many felicities of Rota's orchestration, and his witty references to different genres and composers.
Full as this Wexford staging of Il Cappello is of frothiness, colour and boisterous high spirits, much of it is grindingly unfunny. That is mainly Rota's fault, not Wexford's: tomfoolery and silliness are not automatically amusing, especially when void of more reflective, thoughtful content. The evening's saving grace is the music - when I closed my eyes and listened to that alone, I was instantly happier.
Terry Blain is an arts journalist and cultural commentator, contributing regularly to BBC Music Magazine, Opera Britannia, Culture Northern Ireland and other publications.