San Francisco Opera's Elixir of Love

October 29, 2008

Toward the end of a season packed with ambition but also heavy with tragedy, SFO has landed on a welcome respite, a vivacious production of Donizett's L'Elisir, recast in 1914 Napa Valley and featuring the opera world's newest superstar, tenor Ramon Vargas.

Vargas announced his presence the moment he opened his mouth, revealing a strong, gorgeous lyric tone constructed of honey and an overriding tangerine warmth (forgive me if I wax poetic). He is Nemorino, of course, the sad pursuer of the popular girl, Adina, and this first introduction comes courtesy of his cavatina, "Quanto e bella!" in which he describes his sad plight.

Our Adina is Albanian soprano Inva Mula, who possesses the notable ability (and control) to take her lines to a crystalline lightness and grow them back out, fetchingly revealed in her first duet with Nemorino, "Chiedi, all'aura lusinghiera."

The supporting roles are no less stocked with talent. Italian baritone Giorgio Cauduro is all self-involvement and pomp as sergeant Belcore, determined to whisk away the charming Adina; in the second-act military duet with Nemorino, "Venti scudi," Cauduro demonstrates remarkable breath control and separation. Italian bass-baritone Allessandro Corbelli, meanwhile, flies through the rapid-fire patters of the potion-maker Dulcamara, and lends his character a finely tuned weasely presence. Korean soprano Ji Young Yang continues to make her bid as Next Adler Fellow to Make it Big, performing the town gossip, Giannetta, with beautifully direct lines and an assured stage presence.

Director James Robinson takes the Napa Valley setting and has loads of fun with it. The opening scene is a harvest festival, Adina wearing the witty title of "Crush Queen." The local youths enter as a hyped-up football squad, tossing balls around the stage, working on a statue-of-liberty play with Belcore and burying Nemorino under a dogpile tackle. The chorus is as lively as ever, painting little Norman Rockwell vignettes in the production's backgrounds, and the vehicular cast is just as colorful, Dulcamara rolling in on a motorcycle with sidecar, Nemorino entering in an ice cream truck.

Speaking of ice cream, what a pleasure to see SFO using genuine substances onstage. Nemorino doles out a dozen actual ice cream cones during the first act, Belcore smokes cigarettes that actually smoke, and they even have the thoroughness to switch the actual identity of the "elixir" from a cheap bordeaux to a cheap cabernet - much more suited to Napa.

But let's get back to Vargas, who doubles his value by adding a fine comic sense to that God-blessed throat. Vargas's face is immensely expressive, he has a lovely sense for slapstick, and mostly (as my companion put it), he just seems extremely comfortable in his own skin. At one point, he had Nemorino slicing up an apple and tossing the chunks into the air, attempting to catch them in his mouth, all during a rather involved aria - sometimes mid-note! Never mind that he missed every chunk, that only added to the gag.

When Vargas came out for the final scene, suitcase in hand, and the bassoon started into the melody of "Una furtive lagrima," I couldn't quite believe it. I had completely forgotten the context of this famed aria (hey, critics can't remember everything), and realized that Donizetti and Vargas were going to interrupt all this fine farce to offer up a gorgeous aria full of pathos. It just seemed ridiculously generous, and the results were almost predictable: one of the most stirring, rapturous moments of the season, the kind of moment that builds legends.

Through Nov. 26, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness, $15-$290, 415/864-3330, http://www.sfopera.com/.

Photo: Ramon Vargas. Photo by Terrence McCarthy.

Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov

San Francisco Opera, October 22

One of the more popular debates in opera circles is that of music vs. theater, and I have always been unwilling to give up the latter for the former. Sadly, this is not a problem for the Russian composers, and my first-ever viewing of Boris Godunov was no exception.

Mussorgsky's score is majestic and innovative, but he manages to take a terribly exciting plot (culled from the historical tragedy by Pushkin) and turn it into mush, pushing all the action offstage while those onstage spend their time philosophizing and psychologizing. In short, the title character is involved in a plot to murder the heir to the Tsar's throne, Tsarevitch Dimitri. Dimitri's death eventually opens the way for Godunov to become Tsar, but rumors circulate that perhaps young Dimitri was not actually killed. A monk, Grigory, approximately the same age that Dimitri would be, escapes to Poland and pretends to be the Tsarevitch, raising an army for an attack on Godunov. You've got to go a pretty long way to make this kind of a plot boring, but Mussorgsky, acting as his own librettist, does the job only too well.

The highlight of the opera is Grigory, especially as sung by the forceful tenor Vsevolod Grivnov. He is aided by the comic relief of his traveling companions, two vagabond monks played by Matthew O'Neill and Vladimir Ognovenko, and by some exciting pistol-play at an inn near the Lithuanian border.

Then, halfway through, Grigory disappears, leaving it up to our Boris, the legendary bass-baritone Samuel Ramey, to fill in the details, notably in a long soliloquy at the beginning of the second act. At 66, Ramey admits that he is near the end of his singing career, but proves himself still capable (after a little warm-up) of delivering that lovely dark-lacquer tone, along with enough acting chops to instill his performance with the Hamlet-like torments that occupy the remainder of the opera. He is helped greatly by the town simpleton, played by SFO Adler Fellow Andrew Bidlack, who applies his lovely lyric tenor to the accusatory, haunting Simpleton Song, "Weep, Russian people, starving people." The Tsar's peril is also represented by the forbidding presence of his advisor Prince Shuisky (tenor John Uhlenhopp) and young Jack Gorlin, who gives an impressive performance as the Tsar's son, Fyodor.

Goran Wassberg's set designs are grand and inventive, particularly an enormous wooden ramp full of trap doors that unfurl brilliant, humongous icon banners. Ian Robertson's chorus carries the many hoi polloi scenes with aplomb, and Vassily Sinaisky's orchestra reveals the full range of Mussorgsky's score, particularly in the foreboding voicings of brass

Through Nov. 15, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Ave., $15-$290, http://www.sfopera.com/, 415/864-3330.

Photo: Samuel Ramey as Boris Godunov, John Uhlenhopp as Prince Shuisky. Photo by Terrence McCarthy.

Mozart's Idomeneo

San Francisco Opera, Oct. 15, 2008

One might consider Idomeneo a "connoisseur's opera." Giambattista Varesco's libretto is pretty much a slapped-together mess, and the dramatic pace crawls in comparison to Mozart's later works, but it's fascinating to see the progress the 25-year-old had made in reworking the conventions of opera seria (much influenced by the reforms of Gluck), and also how far he had come in developing his musical faculties.

The plot is an odd little amalgam. Take a Greek warrior mentioned briefly in the Iliad (Idomeneo), insert a command from Neptune to sacrifice a child (see Abraham and Isaac, Iphigenie), then sign a free agent, Electra, from the Sophocles United tragedy footballers club, just to add a little juice. Voila! A sort-of-Greek-tragic-opera.

Not that I'm complaining about that last addition. Spurned by the sacrificial son, Idamante, Electra goes on a rampage, and if her "storm aria," "Tutte nel cor vi sento," doesn't remind you of the Queen of the Night's "Der Holle Rache," you really should get out more often. The piece is delivered with all due fury by Georgian soprano Iano Tamar.

But the musical mix is also intriguing for the things we're not used to hearing from Mozart, especially the A-B-A aria form that brings the action to lengthy, albeit gorgeously musical, halts. You might even hear a few old-fashioned Handelian runs. But even within these confines, you can see the true Mozart developing, working on the concept that would centuries later be called "through-composing" - tying Electra's aria, for instance, into the following scene, a storm that wrecks Idomeneo's ship. (Afterwards, he vows to Neptune that he will kill the first person he sees on the beach as thanks for allowing him to survive - that's perfectly rational, right? - and who should be out beachcombing but his very own son, Idamante?)

San Francisco does a yeoman's job of providing the opera with every advantage enjoyed by more popular offerings - including some stellar voices. Tenor Kurt Streit lends power and presence to the title figure, endowing his passages with a superb sense of legato and portamento, particularly in the opera's best-known aria, "Fuor del mar." Performing the captive Trojan princess Ilia (another smuggled character, her name drawn from Troy's alternate designation, Ilium), Austrian soprano Genia Kuhmeier at first seems too understated, but the captivating sweetness of her tone draws the listener in, especially in her Act III aria, "Zeffiretti lusinghieri." (I keep mentally casting her as Figaro's Susanna, a role she has apparently not yet played.)

In the trouser role of Idamante, mezzo Alice Coote is pleasingly powerful, particularly in her opening aria, "Non ho colpa." Her strength compensates for her movements, which are not quite up to modern standards of manly verisimilitude (perhaps some chewing tobacco? Boxers?) SFO Adler Fellow Alek Shrader, meanwhile, exhibits a driving lyric tenor as the king's advisor, Arbace, notably in the Act II Allegro, "Se il tuo duol." The aria seems a bit much for an older supporting character, a quirk that derived from the tremendous ego of the role's originator, Domenico de Panzacchi. Shrader takes full advantage.

The production design of John Copley does a beautiful job of acknowleding the fragmented nature of the opera, beginning with the fragments of classical ruins that fly about John Conklin's sets. Costumer Michael Stennett joins the dialogue with classic Greek drapes and robes that feature foofy Enlightenment accessories, as if Mozart and the denizens of Crete were having a fashion war. Interesting to note that Ilia and Idamante, two characters much less given to Crete's religious superstitions, walk around in costumes completely contemporary to the composer. Idamante's golden waistcoat is particularly majestic.

As for Donald Runnicles and orchestra, I keep going back to the strings, which do a superb job of exhibiting the young composer's innovations, especially the soft rain of pizzicato in the final scene as Idomeneo invokes the presence of Neptune. Ian Robertson's chorus is also superb, especially in the sumblime Act II chorus "Placido e il mar, andiamo," a prayer for calm seas. The opera's ensemble pieces in general give a profound indication of things to come, notably the famed quartet "Andro, ramingo e solo," which travels in captivating sequences among Ilia, Idamante, Idomeneo and Electra.

Through Oct. 31, War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Ave., San Francisco, $15-$290, 415/864-3330, sfopera.com.

Photo: Soprano Genia Kuhmeier as Ilia. Photo by Terrence McCarthy.

Confessions of an Opera Addict, Part VI

Visions of SFO

Along with the Academy of Jennifer, I felt I needed some "big-picture" background for my opera novel, which in my neck of the woods means the San Francisco Opera. Only (common writer problem) no money for tickets. Fortunately, my opportunity arrived as if I had placed a psychic order. An old colleague of mine had just started as an editor with a small paper in Santa Clara, California - the Vision, and she wanted me to write for her. Anything.

"I can only pay you twenty bucks a story," she said. "But you can write whatever you want."

"How about the San Francisco Opera?" I asked.

"Um. Sure?"

So that's how I snuck into the big leagues. Despite the smallness of the paper, I had twelve years' experience of brazenly requesting comp tickets, so the blessed folks at SFO bought my act and granted me a whole season's worth of world-class opera, with some of the world's best singers: Ruth Ann Swenson in Rigoletto, James Morris and Carol Vaness in Tosca, Patricia Racette in Guglielmo Tell, Frederica von Stade in Pelleas et Melisande, Richard Margison in Turandot, Renee Fleming in Streetcar Named Desire. I also arrived just in time for the re-opening of the War Memorial Opera House, finally repaired and retrofitted from the '89 earthquake - along with the accompanying gala, for which I received a single ticket, face value $500. Yikes! The night featured speeches from Joan Sutherland and Marilyn Horne, and performances from Deborah Voight and Placido Domingo.

Reviewing a world-class company, I had the luxury of taking the gloves off, because rather too often there arrived what I call Emperor's-New-Clothes moments. I refer to the "barking dog of a tenor" in Guglielmo Tell and the wobbly-voiced, needed-to-retire soprano playing the teenage ice princess in Turandot. I was not nice at all - but I was right.

Granted much freedom by my paper's tininess (imagine my opera reviews next to city council minutes and sheriff's reports), I began to apply some of the tools of fiction to my columns, creating fanciful nicknames for my companions and giving them little chances to express their opinions. My sister, whose married name is Carla Vaughn Breunling, went by The Baroness. I found it interesting that, at her very first opera, her appraisal of the tenor was dead-on (I find that laypeople, in general, can tell a good voice from a bad, even when they can't tell you why). I also had fun with little sis Linda, whose very first opera, the David Hockney production of Turandot, featured a total of 500 people onstage in the very first scene. I leaned over to whisper, "It's like this every night."

I also encountered the dangers of the Soprano Opinion. Quick! How many sopranos does it take to screw in a light bulb? Three. One to screw it in, one to say, "I could have done it better," and a third to kick out the chair. Jennifer was merciless, raking on Carol Vaness's breathing techniques and vocal style so ruthlessly that I included it as a rather comic scene in my novel. I told her that a critic can't go so deep as to go around reviewing breathing techniques, that he had to focus on results (besides, I thought Vaness was fine). Regardless, Jennifer was my mentor, the whetstone for my critical faculties, so I respected her opinion.

Next: The Case of the Missing Musetta

Photo: War Memorial Opera House. Photo by MJV.

Verdi's Simon Boccanegra, 9/9/08, San Francisco Opera

Primed on two dozen Rigolettos, my first-time Boccanegra had me thinking, This guy really has a hangup about the father-daughter thing. For good cause, too - the composer lost a daughter, son and wife to disease, all at a shot. It's a wonder he didn't do King Lear, too (and yes, he was considering it).

The more direct connection to Boccanegra is Il Trovatore, both of them inspired by the work of Spanish playwright Antonio Garcia Gutierrez, both sporting massively convoluted plots. Behold the young pirate Boccanegra swinging about the piazza of his lover's house spouting exposition: "Yes, Maria is my lover, but I cannot see her because she is of high station and I but a lowly buccaneer, but I am running for doge so that someday I may see her, and she did bear me a daughter who I managed to lose somewhere but that's another story and... Maria is dead? Egad!" Even with supertitles, this thing is harder to track than a greased pig on steroids.

As with much of Verdi, the opera is really about power, and the master corrals his forces with aplomb, a city-feud between plebeians and patricians with the doge - the 25-years-older Boccanegra - at the center, trying to keep some peace.

25 years after its initial lukewarm reception in 1857, Verdi updated the opera, adding some stunning musical strokes to the final scene of Act I, in which the city'ss factions are all gathered in the council chambers, brawling like the Jets and Sharks of West Side Story. One chorus passage ends abruptly, leaving the rediscovered daughter, Amelia, alone with a brilliant trilling cadenza. The coda - in which Boccanegra tricks his suspect lieutenant Paolo into cursing himself - is preceded by powerful bursts of brass that crash to a halt on the edge of a quick-muted gong. (The scene also displays all the hurly-burly energy that may be extracted from chorus members who can actually act.)

The title role offers no arias, laying the focus on acting - a demand filled brilliantly by baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky, who is utterly possessed by his character. His confrontation with Paolo (the curse yet another nod to Rigoletto), a drilling recitative spooked by woodwinds, is absolutely chilling.

Other chills are offered by Vitalij Kowaljow, who delivers awesome bass resonances as Maria's vengeful father Fiesco. The passion comes from tenor Marcus Haddock as Amelia's rebel lover Gabriele, especially in the second-act betrayal aria, "Sento avvampar nell'anima" (mistaking Boccanegra as Amelia's lover, hello again Rigoletto), and from baritone Patrick Carfizzi as Paolo, who did everything but telepathically set the furniture ablaze in his own vengeful recitative at the opening of Act II. (Genoa is a vengeful place!)

As our only female lead in this Genovese frathouse, soprano Ana Maria Martinez gives Amelia the fine touches: artful decrescendos and lovely high pianos. The reunion cabaletta between Boccanegra and Amelia, "Figlia! a tal nome io palpito," is a delicious creme brulee of vocalizing.

Boccanegra's palace is outfitted with massive columns, adapted by Michael Yeargen from a 1991 Covent Garden production. My personal favorite among Peter J. Hall's 14th-century costumes is Gabriele's first-act ensemble, a gray cloak over a tan leather vest with beige underpinnings. Donald Runnicles directed his orchestra and singers with propulsive energy, bringing a resounding muscularity from the brass. And give extra credit to stage director David Edwards, who instilled some plausibility in a sometimes-preposterous libretto.

Trivia: During his 1881 rewrite, Verdi made use of librettist Arrigo Boito, who would soon after collaborate with him on Otello. Amelia was previously sung at SFO by Tebaldi, Te Kanawa and Vaness ('56, '75, '01), Fiesco by Pinza, Tozzi and Ramey ('41, '60, '01) and the title role by Tito Gobbi in '60.

Unintentional Laugh Zone: The populace shifted loyalties like a ball at a tennis match. Late in Act II, as yet another acclamation of "Viva Boccanegra!" sounded from backstage, the audience just had to laugh. Early in Act II, Paolo placed a pitcher of poisoned water in the doge's chambers. It sat there and sat there for frickin' ever. When Boccanegra announced, "My throat is parched," the patrons let out with a knowing titter.

Info: Through Sept. 27, War Memorial Opera House, http://www.sfopera.com/, 415/864-3330.

Photos: Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Boccanegra, Marcus Haddock as Gabriele.