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I am still in France. The first reviews of SFO productions will appear at the end of September.
Please scroll down for review of Das Rheingold
Lucia di Lammermoor in San Francisco
The well traveled Lucia production of veteran English director Graham Vick landed on the stage of War Memorial Opera house in the hands of assistant director Marco Gandini. Typical of brand name opera it was theatrically sound, and quite beautiful to look at in the production design of Paul Brown, another English brand name among the world's important opera houses.
If Graham Vick sometimes takes chances, and stretches sensibilities, as example those purported in his Lisbon Ring cycle project, this Lucia di Lammermoor was an exercise in staging a numbers opera in storytelling terms that did not strain sensibilities. Its scenes unfold in a succession of arias and duets in which one character confronts and reacts to another, with the apparent risk of tedium inherent to anything unrelentingly sequential. To avoid such risk this production worked overtime to engage the audience through visual character magnification and scenic movement.
The risks of tedium are in fact very real, that is unless Donizetti's bel canto takes flight, as it did in San Francisco. Thus Vick's exaggerated production values became superfluous making the miracle of this production that its excessive means did not themselves become boring, and that finally the production was probably helpful. This was much the same case as the Graham Vick production of Tannhauser last fall.
The visual concept exploited the always useful technique of geometrically modifying the visual field of the stage through the use of shutter flats. Though the succession of shapes risked becoming a compendium of nifty geometric shapes they all, of course, flowed easily. The Vick production was effectively (what else) lighted by English designer Nick Chelton ranging from very dark to very bright values with possible emanation from any number of directions, and at crucial moments making use of shadow puppet effects. These copious techniques again risked becoming a catalog of tricks though of course it all flowed beautifully.
This Lucia di Lammermoor was bel canto, and if not of definitive style it moved to a level of lyricism that transported body and soul to another sphere. Conductor Jean-Yves Ossonce (said to be making his American debut though the program booklet strangely mentions Minnesota Opera) was the primary force contributing to the musical effectiveness of the performance. Mo. Ossonce kept his tempos lilting, never allowing Donzetti's continuum to touch ground, with ample license given to fine flights of horn, harp, flute, clarinet and of course voice. This French conductor placed no barrier before the stage (unlike much of the conducting in the recent Das Rheingold) participating wholeheartedly with the lyricism of his stage to the degree that his presence melded itself into that of the singers.
Italian tenor Giuseppe Filianoti gave reason to re-title the opera Edoardo di Ravenswood as he offered a no-holds-barred vocal performance in flights of lyricism that were bel canto raptures, be they of pleasure or pain. Extraordinary in Mr. Filianoti's performance was his willingness to move to the edge of his technique, and blurring sometimes the boundary between bel canto and tenorismo. Bel canto is a performers art, and one could only be grateful to Mr. Filianoti for revealing himself as a singer rather more than as the lovesick, impotent Scottish estate heir. His stagger and lurch approach to acting was equally singerly, right at home in and appropriate to bel canto.
At the bow of French super-star Nathalie Dessay the audience leapt to its feet, suitably impressed that the world's reigning Lucia had graced its stage. In so many ways she herself embodies the role, her wide-eyed, frail figure that of Donizetti's vulnerable heroine, her voice able to soar in beautiful lines to bel canto's heights, her temperament able to project real madness. Though her famous Lucia is obviously quite mannered by now it was never at odds with this production, except perhaps in the weird celeste/flute duet in her mad scene (what was that?!). Surely her original Lucia was more real than it is now, and it is scary to imagine what it will be twenty years from now -- given the stalwart nature and secure vocalism of this excellent artist she will still be singing it.
Competing with these two vivid performances the Ashton of Italian baritone Gabriele Viviani in his American debut was pale by comparison, yet he capably and securely upheld up the musico-dramatic needs of the villain of this production. The American contingent of San Francisco's international cast competed less well. The Raimondo of Oren Gradus was indeed competent while the rough voiced Arturo of Andrew Bidlack betrayed his youth and lack of finish. It is rare that the Adler Fellows hold their own against more experienced artists, placing the audience at the disadvantage of having to forgive youth and inexperience while paying international opera house prices for tickets.
The exhortation to search out the closest exit in the event of emergency evacuation of the theater reappeared after it mercifully had disappeared in Das Rheingold.
Das Rheingold in San Francisco
One wishes, but only every so often, for the good old days when a Ring was a very special event. Now it seems the Ring may have overtaken Aida as the most produced mega-opera, at least among the big companies around the world. This does gives us the advantage of seeing it in many different ways, clarifying its mysteries, laying bare its weaknesses, with the result that one approaches any new Ring with skepticism rather than blind enthusiasm.
Das Rheingold is surely the producers nightmare of the four, as it has eleven roles requiring major voices, not including the Rhine maidens. One should expect any major American company to ably fill these spots, as San Francisco Opera has done though without great distinction. At the same time Rheingold has little of the musical-emotional payoff we expect from Walküre and Götterdämmerung thus it generates less excitement at the box office. There was the disappointment of visible empty seats at its opening.
Nonetheless the Eb major rumble of the Rhine never fails too ignite shivers of anticipation for the huge and indeed magical exposition to come of the nineteenth century's socio-economic problems, and Wagner's effective but naïve denouement. San Francisco's gold rush was simultaneous with the genesis of Wagner's Ring treatise, thus the famous prelude seemed to belong in San Francisco and in its opera house, the gray, gold and pale blue colors like the Sierras. Gold lights bounced from the reflecting surfaces of the polished woods of the strings and the luster of the silver and brass instruments, seeming to betray the placement of the Rhine gold.
Once these initial conceptual shivers had dissipated we were left with a scrim on which throbbed two dimensional colors, lots of them, naively illustrating Wagner's river. Moving into the river generated some excitement, with a transparent blue floor, three gold clad river nymphs, and a huge black and white projection of a mountain stream tumbling over stones. Maybe this is the Sierras, San Francisco will be Valhalla, and there was another conceptual shiver and more fog than ever before flowed onto the War Memorial Opera House stage. Alberich appeared slipping and sliding on the damp stones, dressed as a forty-niner, a strong, physical performer, Richard Paul Fink. Alberich and the Rhine maidens ceremoniously floated a large gold silk cloth around the stage, then Alberich wrapped himself in it and fled the stage.
The temporary residence of the gods was filled with lounge chairs, tables, architects' blue prints, one had the impression that it might even be a construction trailer or a trailer park. Its inhabitants, Teutonic gods, trailer-trash even if dressed in what appeared to be post-Victorian garb. Within this context there were excellent performances, Jennifer Larmore as a truly convincing trailer-class Fricka, Jason Collins and Charles Taylor were the handsomely voiced, handsome, if no-good hangers-on Froh and Donner. Tamara Wapinsky made a vibrant, beautifully sung and acted, young adolescent Freia. Mark Delavan was the appropriately vain, thin-voiced, head-of-household Wotan. The several extended family squabbles of Das Rheingold unfolded in sometimes amusing, always un-focused staging.
Adding yet another conceptual dimension Fasolt and Fafner were giant cartoon characters complete with stainless steel fingers. Descending from the steal beam construction of this disfunctional family's new high-rise dream home, the sympathetic Andrea Silvestrelli (Fasolt) and the rough Gunther Groissbock (Fafner) were comic book heros. The sleazy story unfolded as it always does in the lively, well staged Nibelheim scene with some fine, if perhaps too cheap Disney special effects. The especially effective Loge of Stefan Margita brought the sparks of intrique and deception that define some of those seedy friends we all have, particularly those of us who live in trailer parks.
The real, the mythical, the symbolic, and the cartoon were intermixed in the production's storytelling. Two dimensional, color saturated projections on an upstage scrim sometimes illustrated the story while flat colorful shapes throbbed on the downstage scrim during the orchestrally accompanied scene changes. These scene shifts introduced a further conceptual dimension as back-stage shouting emerged through the scrim and over the orchestra, a rich idea that enhanced the duties of the underworld Nibelungen. When visible on-stage the Nibelungen were not these vocal stagehands but an impressive group of children that added piercing squeals from time to time. If there was no shortage of ideas or means to realize them in this production, there was the suspicion that this was but a list of ideas, not a production concept.
Though Freia had expressed real regret at being separated from Fasolt she is reconciled to the trailer-trash gods, and finally all ascended a gangplank, clinking their glasses of champagne, presumably climbing towards the next episode of their story, or onto a cruise, or something.
Through all of this the San Francisco Opera Orchestra delivered Wagner's score from the eloquent pit, Donald Runnicles at the helm. It is an excellent orchestra, expanded for Wagnerian requirements, amply fulfilling all musical requirements in a hall sympathetic to large orchestral sound. Runnicles is famed for Wagner, and if this Rheingold's musical points were seemingly pallid it was perhaps because the stage was not sure what it was doing.
Of important note is that prior to the performance we were spared the condescending exhortation to seek out our route to the nearest exit (though many of the audience perhaps wished they had a way out during this performance). Of more important note is that the stage director and designers did not take bows. Millions of dollars and massive energy were expended on this production, and as we, the audience needed to express our appreciation to the performers for their work we also needed to express our appreciation, or lack of, to the producers, here left unmentioned as they apparently prefer to remain anonymous.
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