The British director reflects on the profound melancholy of Mozart’s most lyrical work.

I’m beginning to associate Sir David McVicar with winter. The British director is back in Sydney for his third frosty July in a row to complete Opera Australia’s Da Ponte trilogy and direct Così fan tutte. This is the third time we’ve talked Mozart, but when I point out that he might have enjoyed some more pleasurable downtime visiting during the summer months, he grimaces. He’s still chewing over the UK’s Brexit vote of two days previous, believing it will be disastrous for the British people, let alone for British artists, and he’s seriously considering selling up in London and moving back to Glasgow. And perhaps he doesn’t do downtime.

His rehearsal room is as tireless as McVicar himself, a hive of concerted activity. It’s early days in a schedule that the director describes as frustratingly tight. Consequently there seem to be at least three things going on at once. The production’s Fiordiligi, Nicole Car, is bashing through one of Mozart’s trickier recitatives at the piano, while Anna Dowsley, who plays her sister Dorabella, is trying to figure out how to recline any which way but...