This performance marks my fifth opera attended in seven days. Even for someone who likes opera as much as I do, that's a bit much.
So, a moratorium on opera for me. No more opera attendance for one week. That'll show me.
So, Madama Butterfly. According to OPERA America's research, it is the most-frequently performed opera in the USA. It's also the most widely performed opera with American characters, although I doubt if patriotism is the reason for its popularity, as we don't come out of it looking all that well.
I've actually gone many years myself since I last saw Butterfly in the theatre. Not that I'm actively avoiding it, like I do Tosca. But I don't go out of my way to watch it.
San Francisco's current production of the opera is a revival of the well-known Harold Prince production. This production's (staged by Jose Maria Condemi) main conceit is the use of kuroko: the "invisible" stagehands dressed in black in full view of the audience. Additionally, the set (designer Clarke Dunham) is cleverly placed on a rotating stage, adding to the illusion that the opera is being performed in a house on a hill outside Nagasaki.
Kate Pinkerton actually comes off a bit more sympathetic than usual in this production, although B. F. is still a colossal jerk.
The Butterfly for this performance was Daniela Dessi, currently one of the top sopranos in this world in this particular repertoire. Early on in the opera, it sounded as though she were husbanding her resources--her entrance aria sounded rather tentative, though the love duet with Pinkerton was all right. "Un bel di" sounded a bit on the wan side, though "Che tua madre" and her death scene were very powerful.
Stefano Secco, heard last June as Gounod's Faust, was Pinkerton. He certainly sang all of Pinkerton's notes and portrayed his callow nature well, though the sound of his voice was a little thin to my taste. Daveda Karanas was a warm, ingratiating Suzuki, while Quinn Kelsey was a richly-sung, avuncular Sharpless.
The orchestra was conducted by Julian Kovatchev, a Bulgarian maestro making his debut in this production. The orchestra sounded just fine to me, particularly the one key moment for me: near the end, when Butterfly commands Suzuki to go outside and play with the child, there is a suddent, almost shocking orchestra fortissimo. Maestro Kovatchev sold that moment as well as I've ever heard it. The offstage chanting of the sailors during the Act II, Scene 2 Entr'acte was much quieter than I like, but that's purely a matter of personal taste.
The program notes reveal that he will be conducting this opera in Seattle (Seattle's next season hasn't been officially announced yet, but Butterfly is an easy guess, as it hasn't been performed there for a decade), so I guess I'll be hearing from him again soon.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Makropulos Case (San Francisco Opera), November 10
Honestly, there's not a whole lot of genre operas. The vast majority are tragedies (often very melodramatic ones) or comedies (usually very farcical ones). There are some historical dramas, some fairytales, a tiny handful of horror stories... and believe it or not, some science fiction.
The Makropulos Case by Leos Janacek is probably the greatest of all Science Fiction operas. The work originated with one of the fathers of science fiction, Karel Capek, best-known today for taking the Czech word "robot" and applying it to mechanical men in his play R.U.R. In The Makropulos Case, Capek explored the practicalities of immortality and a fountain of youth. The original play was a comedy (and there are plenty of humorous moments in the opera), but while the original play had Emilia Marty/Elena Makropulos laugh off the destruction of the Makropulos formula and go to live off whatever years she had remaining as a regular mortal, Janacek devised a grander, a more operatic conclusion to the story: Emilia's death is a regular coup de theatre.
San Francisco Opera is a leading exponent of Janacek's opera, having staged the American premiere of the work in 1966, with major revivals in 1976 and 1993. San Francisco's Emilias have been Marie Collier, Anja Silja and Stephanie Sundine.
And now add Karita Mattila to the list. Miss Mattila has had an amazing career, from her victory at the first ever Cardiff Singer of the World competition in 1983. Now a veteran soprano, she has left behind many of the lyrical roles of her earlier career for more dramatic ones, particularly in the works of Strauss and Janacek. The Makropulos Case is Miss Mattila's third Janacek opera, and it's probably the right time in her career for it. The role requires a singer of some gravitas and experience (not to mention charisma), but also a singer with undiminished vocal agility, particularly for the high tessitura of her final scene.
I imagine that she will be singing the role everywhere in the near future. It suits her vocally, and it gives her a chance to be glamorous in a way that few operatic roles do.
In face, she will almost certainly be singing in this production again in the future: the new production was co-produced with the National Opera of her native Finland. Director Olivier Tambosi added some interesting touches to the staging: there were implications early on that Emilia can tell that her death is near--that there is something obviously wrong with her body. In a touch that I didn't particularly care for, in Act 2, she rolled around on the ground with Hauk-Sendorf. Yes, sure, he's one of her few good memories, but what's she trying to do, give the guy a heart attack?
Frank Philipp Schlossmann, the designer, set each of the three acts to one side of the rotating stage--the main feature on each set was a giant clock (incidentally, the clocks were set to the (correct) current local time). The law office featured huge bookshelves on a gleaming steel wall (I did get nervous as Vitek climbed up the ladder and sang--it was in exactly that position that Richard Versalle died onstage while singing the role of Vitek at the Met premiere of Makropulos in 1996). The second act featured some chairs and a dressing table in front of a black and silver curtain. The third act set consited of a bed at the foot of a curving corridor--the whole set looking like a pen and ink drawing featuring a lot of hatching.
The costumes were quite elegant, particularly Miss Mattila's. Her Act 1 and 3 dresses were diva-worthy. Oddly, in Act 2, she was costumed as Pierrot, which made me think that you could cast most of Lulu using the Makropulos cast: Emilia as Lulu, Gregor as the Painter, Prus as Dr. Schon, Kolenaty as Schigolch and Janek as Alwa. Although that leaves out Vitek and Krista, and who will be Geschwitz. But that's just silly talk.
Onto the singing: Mattila singing was strong and secure throughout, with her trademark lush tone. She's the rare diva who is a great artist who sings beautifully always. Gerd Grochowski, Baron Prus, while not particularly distinctive of voice, did present a menacing, dramatic figure throughout. It really would be interesing to hear his Dr. Schon. Miro Dvorsky sang Albert Gregor with a rather plaintive, character tenor sort of voice. Dale Travis as Dr. Kolenaty had one of the more difficult assignments in the opera: he has huge amounts of text to sing in not very much time. Though there's little chance for lyric beauty in the role, he did at least not bark.
Jiri Belohlavek coaxed some lovely string playing from the San Francisco Opera orchestra. I imagine that several of the instrumentalists are veterans from the last time the opera was produced, when the orchestra was conducted by the late Sir Charles Mackerras, well-known as a Janacek expert, in whose memory the new production was dedicated.
The Makropulos Case by Leos Janacek is probably the greatest of all Science Fiction operas. The work originated with one of the fathers of science fiction, Karel Capek, best-known today for taking the Czech word "robot" and applying it to mechanical men in his play R.U.R. In The Makropulos Case, Capek explored the practicalities of immortality and a fountain of youth. The original play was a comedy (and there are plenty of humorous moments in the opera), but while the original play had Emilia Marty/Elena Makropulos laugh off the destruction of the Makropulos formula and go to live off whatever years she had remaining as a regular mortal, Janacek devised a grander, a more operatic conclusion to the story: Emilia's death is a regular coup de theatre.
San Francisco Opera is a leading exponent of Janacek's opera, having staged the American premiere of the work in 1966, with major revivals in 1976 and 1993. San Francisco's Emilias have been Marie Collier, Anja Silja and Stephanie Sundine.
And now add Karita Mattila to the list. Miss Mattila has had an amazing career, from her victory at the first ever Cardiff Singer of the World competition in 1983. Now a veteran soprano, she has left behind many of the lyrical roles of her earlier career for more dramatic ones, particularly in the works of Strauss and Janacek. The Makropulos Case is Miss Mattila's third Janacek opera, and it's probably the right time in her career for it. The role requires a singer of some gravitas and experience (not to mention charisma), but also a singer with undiminished vocal agility, particularly for the high tessitura of her final scene.
I imagine that she will be singing the role everywhere in the near future. It suits her vocally, and it gives her a chance to be glamorous in a way that few operatic roles do.
In face, she will almost certainly be singing in this production again in the future: the new production was co-produced with the National Opera of her native Finland. Director Olivier Tambosi added some interesting touches to the staging: there were implications early on that Emilia can tell that her death is near--that there is something obviously wrong with her body. In a touch that I didn't particularly care for, in Act 2, she rolled around on the ground with Hauk-Sendorf. Yes, sure, he's one of her few good memories, but what's she trying to do, give the guy a heart attack?
Frank Philipp Schlossmann, the designer, set each of the three acts to one side of the rotating stage--the main feature on each set was a giant clock (incidentally, the clocks were set to the (correct) current local time). The law office featured huge bookshelves on a gleaming steel wall (I did get nervous as Vitek climbed up the ladder and sang--it was in exactly that position that Richard Versalle died onstage while singing the role of Vitek at the Met premiere of Makropulos in 1996). The second act featured some chairs and a dressing table in front of a black and silver curtain. The third act set consited of a bed at the foot of a curving corridor--the whole set looking like a pen and ink drawing featuring a lot of hatching.
The costumes were quite elegant, particularly Miss Mattila's. Her Act 1 and 3 dresses were diva-worthy. Oddly, in Act 2, she was costumed as Pierrot, which made me think that you could cast most of Lulu using the Makropulos cast: Emilia as Lulu, Gregor as the Painter, Prus as Dr. Schon, Kolenaty as Schigolch and Janek as Alwa. Although that leaves out Vitek and Krista, and who will be Geschwitz. But that's just silly talk.
Onto the singing: Mattila singing was strong and secure throughout, with her trademark lush tone. She's the rare diva who is a great artist who sings beautifully always. Gerd Grochowski, Baron Prus, while not particularly distinctive of voice, did present a menacing, dramatic figure throughout. It really would be interesing to hear his Dr. Schon. Miro Dvorsky sang Albert Gregor with a rather plaintive, character tenor sort of voice. Dale Travis as Dr. Kolenaty had one of the more difficult assignments in the opera: he has huge amounts of text to sing in not very much time. Though there's little chance for lyric beauty in the role, he did at least not bark.
Jiri Belohlavek coaxed some lovely string playing from the San Francisco Opera orchestra. I imagine that several of the instrumentalists are veterans from the last time the opera was produced, when the orchestra was conducted by the late Sir Charles Mackerras, well-known as a Janacek expert, in whose memory the new production was dedicated.
Cyrano de Bergerac (San Francisco Opera), November 9
Time for me to wax nostalgic. Fortunately, I received a case of Nostalgia Wax for my most recent birthday.
December 1990 was when I first attended the opera: that means I am just shy of having my 20th anniversary as a full-fledged opera fan.
1990, you'll remember, was also the year that a famous concert took place at the Baths of Caracalla, Rome. While the "Three Tenors" concerts would eventually turn practically into self-parody, the original concert featured some fine singing, and good-natured camaraderie between Luciano Pavarotti, Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo.
At the time, I had heard of all three singers before, but assumed that, since he was the most famous, Pavarotti had to be the best. However, after watching the tape time and time again, I realized that Domingo, with his rich, almost baritonal tenor, was my favorite of the three.
Twenty years later: Pavarotti has passed away. Carreras is still singing, although I haven't heard of him performing on stage. And Domingo is still going strong. Lucky for me, because, although I've heard him in recording after recording, broadcast after broadcast, video after video... I never was able to see him perform in person.
However, I was very happy to learn that San Francisco Opera's Fall 2010 season would include Maestro Domingo, for the first time since 1994, in the title role of Cyrano de Bergerac. And so I finally got my chance to hear my favorite living tenor.
Now Cyrano is not a commonly-performed opera--at least, it wasn't until about five years ago or so. Premiered in 1935, it was almost totally forgotten until Domingo started persuading opera companies to stage it. And Domingo is maybe the one singer in the world who has enough clout, box-office and otherwise, to have works staged for him.
Franco Alfano, the composer, is best-known for his usually-excerpted completion of Turandot, though he composer a number of other operas, notably Risurrezione and La legenda de Sakuntala. Alfano composes in a refined, chromatic idiom that seems more indebted to Massenet than to Puccini. Appropriate then that Alfano should take a French subject, with a French libretto, and a librettist, Henri Cain, who also provided several libretti for Massenet. The opera is a straightforward adaptation of Rostand's play, though with much of the detail removed.
San Francisco Opera's production of the opera was originally staged by the Theatre du Chatelet in Paris, and very lavishly too, it would seem (sets by Petrika Ionesco). The first act, set backstage in a theatre presents a theatre with wonderful 17th-century stage equipment and costumes, while Ragueneau’s bake shop in the second act is equally as opulent. Spectacular cavalier costumes all around: the opera looked great (costumes by Lili Kendaka).
The staging, also by Petrika Ionesco, was a bit confusing at times: it was easy to mix characters up (Anthony Burgess had the right idea when he fused Carbon and Le Bret into a single character. Still, the staging of the two key scenes--the balcony scene and Cyrano's death--were simple and effective.
And with the singers, starting at the top: this is a great role for Placido Domingo, which suits his voice and theatrical temperament perfectly. Even twenty years ago, he had some trouble with the high notes: Cyrano has a lower tessitura and shows off his golden tone and mastery of legato. He also did a fine job acting the role of the emotionally fragile swordsman.
Soprano Ainhoa Arteta who, it could be said, was a Domingo discovery, was the lovely Roxane, singing with a strong spinto soprano. Christian is a tenor in this opera (it makes sense--otherwise, in the balcony scene, how could Roxane believe that Cyrano is Christian?) Christian was played by Thiago Arancam: well-cast in that he cut a handsome figure onstage and because his tenor has some of the same rich, baritonal qualities as Domingo's.
Of the large remaining cast, the one singer who made the biggest impression was Stephen Powell as De Guiche. Powell was convincing as a truly nasty villain as well as his change of heart late in the third act. He has a fine baritone. The conductor, making his San Francisco debut in this production was Patrick Fournillier.
December 1990 was when I first attended the opera: that means I am just shy of having my 20th anniversary as a full-fledged opera fan.
1990, you'll remember, was also the year that a famous concert took place at the Baths of Caracalla, Rome. While the "Three Tenors" concerts would eventually turn practically into self-parody, the original concert featured some fine singing, and good-natured camaraderie between Luciano Pavarotti, Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo.
At the time, I had heard of all three singers before, but assumed that, since he was the most famous, Pavarotti had to be the best. However, after watching the tape time and time again, I realized that Domingo, with his rich, almost baritonal tenor, was my favorite of the three.
Twenty years later: Pavarotti has passed away. Carreras is still singing, although I haven't heard of him performing on stage. And Domingo is still going strong. Lucky for me, because, although I've heard him in recording after recording, broadcast after broadcast, video after video... I never was able to see him perform in person.
However, I was very happy to learn that San Francisco Opera's Fall 2010 season would include Maestro Domingo, for the first time since 1994, in the title role of Cyrano de Bergerac. And so I finally got my chance to hear my favorite living tenor.
Now Cyrano is not a commonly-performed opera--at least, it wasn't until about five years ago or so. Premiered in 1935, it was almost totally forgotten until Domingo started persuading opera companies to stage it. And Domingo is maybe the one singer in the world who has enough clout, box-office and otherwise, to have works staged for him.
Franco Alfano, the composer, is best-known for his usually-excerpted completion of Turandot, though he composer a number of other operas, notably Risurrezione and La legenda de Sakuntala. Alfano composes in a refined, chromatic idiom that seems more indebted to Massenet than to Puccini. Appropriate then that Alfano should take a French subject, with a French libretto, and a librettist, Henri Cain, who also provided several libretti for Massenet. The opera is a straightforward adaptation of Rostand's play, though with much of the detail removed.
San Francisco Opera's production of the opera was originally staged by the Theatre du Chatelet in Paris, and very lavishly too, it would seem (sets by Petrika Ionesco). The first act, set backstage in a theatre presents a theatre with wonderful 17th-century stage equipment and costumes, while Ragueneau’s bake shop in the second act is equally as opulent. Spectacular cavalier costumes all around: the opera looked great (costumes by Lili Kendaka).
The staging, also by Petrika Ionesco, was a bit confusing at times: it was easy to mix characters up (Anthony Burgess had the right idea when he fused Carbon and Le Bret into a single character. Still, the staging of the two key scenes--the balcony scene and Cyrano's death--were simple and effective.
And with the singers, starting at the top: this is a great role for Placido Domingo, which suits his voice and theatrical temperament perfectly. Even twenty years ago, he had some trouble with the high notes: Cyrano has a lower tessitura and shows off his golden tone and mastery of legato. He also did a fine job acting the role of the emotionally fragile swordsman.
Soprano Ainhoa Arteta who, it could be said, was a Domingo discovery, was the lovely Roxane, singing with a strong spinto soprano. Christian is a tenor in this opera (it makes sense--otherwise, in the balcony scene, how could Roxane believe that Cyrano is Christian?) Christian was played by Thiago Arancam: well-cast in that he cut a handsome figure onstage and because his tenor has some of the same rich, baritonal qualities as Domingo's.
Of the large remaining cast, the one singer who made the biggest impression was Stephen Powell as De Guiche. Powell was convincing as a truly nasty villain as well as his change of heart late in the third act. He has a fine baritone. The conductor, making his San Francisco debut in this production was Patrick Fournillier.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Hansel and Gretel (Portland Opera), November 7
There's two ways to present a fairy tale: the saccharine way and the Roald Dahl way. The saccharine way involves bowdlerizing the story, removing any content that a prudish adult might find objectionable, and adapting it for the zeitgeist.
The Roald Dahl way--well, I shouldn't call it that. Roald Dahl was not the first to write gruesome stories for children, and he wasn't the last, either. But it's a useful name to call it: when I say 'Roald Dahl', it conjures up images of horror, and children in dangerous situations, right? (If you don't recognize the name, please read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Witches, Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar.)
For many, many years, Engelbert Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel was subjected to the saccharine stagings: it was an excuse to put a giant gingerbread house on stage, put a mezzo in a pair of lederhosen, and recycle the local ballet company's props from The Nutcracker. But more recently, it's getting reimagined, and the Richard Jones production of the work currently being shown in Portland, previously seen in New York, at the Welsh National Opera, and other companies, is already the most famous reimagining.
Jones presents this opera as being about that most primal drive: for food. Hansel and Gretel's family is starving, and there are references in the text throughout to their hunger complaints, their desire to eat, and so on. Perhaps the point is laid on a bit thick (as the overture plays, a drop featuring a picture of an empty plate is spotlit), but it's certainly a valid point for the director to make.
The first act is set in a tiny, barren, but modern house, using only a fraction of the proscenium--most of it is curtained off. While Hansel (Sandra Piques Eddy) and Gretel's (Maureen McKay) hijinks are not all that different from a conventional production, the mother's (Elizabeth Byrne) anger at the children is all the most disturbing from being similar to public scenes that most of us have seen of parents on the edge disciplining their children in public. When the father (Weston Hurt) returns his drunkenness (and fit of anger where he threatens to hit his wife) are also disturbingly modern and all of a piece of our time.
The second act is set in a barren room: the only trees to be seen are a handful of supers dressed up as trees. There is also a long dining room table in the middle of the set. The Sandman (Daryl Freedman) is a creepy puppet manipulated by its singer, and when the siblings sing their famous prayer, rather than a vision of angels, they receive a vision of fourteen chefs presenting a gala dinner to the two poor children.
The witch's den in the final act is the creepiest set of all: an industrial kitchen, it looks similar to what you might imagine a serial killer's den to be like--that is, after all, what this opera's witch (Allan Glassman) is. Ultimately, the cake that the witch is baked into is eaten by all and sundry--I rather doubt that cannibalism is the usual end of this opera.
It's a very clever, very interesting production, and it really works in making the story a little scary again.
The Gretel of this production is as unconventional as the production itself: Miss McKay's portrayal is that of a massive tomboy, unlike the goody two-shoes portrayal the character is sometimes saddled with. Miss Eddy's Hansel is almost surprisingly boyish--at the end, it's surprising how easily she fits in with the boys of the children's chorus. Both sang well.
Miss Byrne, a soprano with serious Wagner experience was very musical, accurate, and dramatic as the mother. Mr. Hurt's drunkenness was realistic without any of the vaudevillian about it.
Stealing the show was Mr. Glassman as the witch, who was got up like a cross between Julia Child and Ignatius J. Reilly. Though I think casting a tenor in the role is a little gimmicky, and I believe a mezzo can bring a sense of urgency to the witch's music that a tenor can't, I certainly can't say anything against Mr. Glassman's performance.
In their cameo roles, Miss Freedman was scary as the Sandman, while Jennifer Forni seemed to be channeling the recently-deceased Barbara Billingsley as a Dew Fairy looking like a 50's TV sitcome housewife.
The production, originally by Richard Jones was staged locally by Benjamin Davis, using John Macfarlane's designs. Conductor Ari Pelto played up the Wagnerian music in the work, but did not drown out the singers.
The Roald Dahl way--well, I shouldn't call it that. Roald Dahl was not the first to write gruesome stories for children, and he wasn't the last, either. But it's a useful name to call it: when I say 'Roald Dahl', it conjures up images of horror, and children in dangerous situations, right? (If you don't recognize the name, please read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Witches, Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar.)
For many, many years, Engelbert Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel was subjected to the saccharine stagings: it was an excuse to put a giant gingerbread house on stage, put a mezzo in a pair of lederhosen, and recycle the local ballet company's props from The Nutcracker. But more recently, it's getting reimagined, and the Richard Jones production of the work currently being shown in Portland, previously seen in New York, at the Welsh National Opera, and other companies, is already the most famous reimagining.
Jones presents this opera as being about that most primal drive: for food. Hansel and Gretel's family is starving, and there are references in the text throughout to their hunger complaints, their desire to eat, and so on. Perhaps the point is laid on a bit thick (as the overture plays, a drop featuring a picture of an empty plate is spotlit), but it's certainly a valid point for the director to make.
The first act is set in a tiny, barren, but modern house, using only a fraction of the proscenium--most of it is curtained off. While Hansel (Sandra Piques Eddy) and Gretel's (Maureen McKay) hijinks are not all that different from a conventional production, the mother's (Elizabeth Byrne) anger at the children is all the most disturbing from being similar to public scenes that most of us have seen of parents on the edge disciplining their children in public. When the father (Weston Hurt) returns his drunkenness (and fit of anger where he threatens to hit his wife) are also disturbingly modern and all of a piece of our time.
The second act is set in a barren room: the only trees to be seen are a handful of supers dressed up as trees. There is also a long dining room table in the middle of the set. The Sandman (Daryl Freedman) is a creepy puppet manipulated by its singer, and when the siblings sing their famous prayer, rather than a vision of angels, they receive a vision of fourteen chefs presenting a gala dinner to the two poor children.
The witch's den in the final act is the creepiest set of all: an industrial kitchen, it looks similar to what you might imagine a serial killer's den to be like--that is, after all, what this opera's witch (Allan Glassman) is. Ultimately, the cake that the witch is baked into is eaten by all and sundry--I rather doubt that cannibalism is the usual end of this opera.
It's a very clever, very interesting production, and it really works in making the story a little scary again.
The Gretel of this production is as unconventional as the production itself: Miss McKay's portrayal is that of a massive tomboy, unlike the goody two-shoes portrayal the character is sometimes saddled with. Miss Eddy's Hansel is almost surprisingly boyish--at the end, it's surprising how easily she fits in with the boys of the children's chorus. Both sang well.
Miss Byrne, a soprano with serious Wagner experience was very musical, accurate, and dramatic as the mother. Mr. Hurt's drunkenness was realistic without any of the vaudevillian about it.
Stealing the show was Mr. Glassman as the witch, who was got up like a cross between Julia Child and Ignatius J. Reilly. Though I think casting a tenor in the role is a little gimmicky, and I believe a mezzo can bring a sense of urgency to the witch's music that a tenor can't, I certainly can't say anything against Mr. Glassman's performance.
In their cameo roles, Miss Freedman was scary as the Sandman, while Jennifer Forni seemed to be channeling the recently-deceased Barbara Billingsley as a Dew Fairy looking like a 50's TV sitcome housewife.
The production, originally by Richard Jones was staged locally by Benjamin Davis, using John Macfarlane's designs. Conductor Ari Pelto played up the Wagnerian music in the work, but did not drown out the singers.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Elixir of Love, Tacoma Opera (November 5)
There are few operatic comedies as sweet as Donizetti's Elixir of Love. While most operatic romantic comedies are about a pair of lovers who others (usually a vain old man) stand in the middle of, Elixir is a simple story about Nemorino, a simple boy (very simple) who is desperately in love with a girl, Adina, who thinks he's a nice guy, but she really isn't interested in him. Then Adina is swept off her feet by a smooth-talking man in uniform, Belcore. Adina can tell Belcore is a dimbulb, but he makes her laugh, and he's a lot more fun to be around than Mr. Simple Earnest Nemorino.
Up to this point, the plot to Elixir sounds like virtually every modern romantic comedy. So, it's time to add the wild-card: the charlatan snake-oil salesman, Dulcamara, who is happy to peddle the title love potion to Nemorino, parting the fool from his money. Through the deus ex machina of a rich uncle dying, Nemorino suddenly becomes irresistible to the village women, which makes Adina jealous, which brings the plot to its happy ending.
A silly plot, but one that works: Nemorino is one of the all-around nicest characters in all of opera, and because of that, the audience wants him to get his love--he's certainly more sympathetic than, say, the rather obnoxious and at times abusive Count Almaviva in The Barber of Seville. Adina is also deeper than most characters of her genre: she knows that she has a petty streak, but she's not bad, and she genuinely wants Nemorino to be happy--even though she thinks he shouldn't be happy with *her*. Okay, Belcore is a ridiculous buffoon, and Dulcamara is a typical buffo patter role, but the main pair is one of the best couples in all opera.
Elixir works well as a small-scale opera, so it was a good choice for the annual Rialto Theater production for Tacoma Opera (the season's other mainstage Tacoma Opera production is in the larger Pantages). The production, by Christopher Nardine, was updated to post-WWII Italy, perhaps in the 50's or 60's. Rather than peasant garb, Nemorino wears clamdiggers, most of the men have scarves tied rakishly around their necks, and Dulcamara has a zoot suit (costumes by Kathleen Anderson). Apart from the costumes, there weren't any particularly radical touches in the staging, apart from characters occasionally interacting with the orchestra (who are onstage, as the Rialto has no orchestra pit), and the audience (Dulcamara makes his initial entrance from the aisle).
Nemorino is by far the most important role in any production of Elixir: he is onstage for nearly the entire opera, has two major arias, and is in most of the ensembles. In Tacoma, he was played by Marcus Shelton as a bit of a nerd who knows nothing about women, but who desperately wants to be loved. Shelton's voice sounds made for bel canto: it gets louder and has more squillo the higher it goes. He brings the kind of prosciutto necessary for his drunken scenes.
Megan Hart, in her first Tacoma Opera performance, was Adina. Her characterization was kind and gentle, but cruel when necessary. High notes held no terrors for her, as she appeared to take every high note option in the score. While Adina is generally played by piping soubrette sopranos, Miss Hart's soprano had a rich, almost fruity sound that was most pleasing.
Tacoma Opera veteran Barry Johnson, last heard by this reviewer as the Steersman in Seattle Opera's Tristan und Isolde, was Belcore. He was a sergeant without troops in an over-the-top fancy uniform, and looked like a young Ned Beatty. His vocal highlight was the "Venti Scudi" duet with Nemorino, though in his first act appearances, he did not make much of an impression--although that is more the fault of Donizetti.
Charles Robert Austin, who first appeared with Tacoma Opera as Mephistopheles in the 2009 Faust production played the completely different role of Dulcamara. He was clearly having a good time as the swindler, though he did not appear to be in the best voice: in his first act patter song, he sang many of his lines an octave lower, some parts being inaudible.
Giannetta, one of the girls in the village was played by Megan Chenovick with charm and a sweet soprano. The chorus was boisterous, well-prepared, and clearly having a great time onstage. The tiny orchestra of 13 players, in a reduced orchestration prepared by conductor Bernard Kwiram, produced a surprisingly full sound, certainly adequate for the tiny auditorium. Kwiram kept a good balance between singers and orchestra and led at a good brisk pace.
Up to this point, the plot to Elixir sounds like virtually every modern romantic comedy. So, it's time to add the wild-card: the charlatan snake-oil salesman, Dulcamara, who is happy to peddle the title love potion to Nemorino, parting the fool from his money. Through the deus ex machina of a rich uncle dying, Nemorino suddenly becomes irresistible to the village women, which makes Adina jealous, which brings the plot to its happy ending.
A silly plot, but one that works: Nemorino is one of the all-around nicest characters in all of opera, and because of that, the audience wants him to get his love--he's certainly more sympathetic than, say, the rather obnoxious and at times abusive Count Almaviva in The Barber of Seville. Adina is also deeper than most characters of her genre: she knows that she has a petty streak, but she's not bad, and she genuinely wants Nemorino to be happy--even though she thinks he shouldn't be happy with *her*. Okay, Belcore is a ridiculous buffoon, and Dulcamara is a typical buffo patter role, but the main pair is one of the best couples in all opera.
Elixir works well as a small-scale opera, so it was a good choice for the annual Rialto Theater production for Tacoma Opera (the season's other mainstage Tacoma Opera production is in the larger Pantages). The production, by Christopher Nardine, was updated to post-WWII Italy, perhaps in the 50's or 60's. Rather than peasant garb, Nemorino wears clamdiggers, most of the men have scarves tied rakishly around their necks, and Dulcamara has a zoot suit (costumes by Kathleen Anderson). Apart from the costumes, there weren't any particularly radical touches in the staging, apart from characters occasionally interacting with the orchestra (who are onstage, as the Rialto has no orchestra pit), and the audience (Dulcamara makes his initial entrance from the aisle).
Nemorino is by far the most important role in any production of Elixir: he is onstage for nearly the entire opera, has two major arias, and is in most of the ensembles. In Tacoma, he was played by Marcus Shelton as a bit of a nerd who knows nothing about women, but who desperately wants to be loved. Shelton's voice sounds made for bel canto: it gets louder and has more squillo the higher it goes. He brings the kind of prosciutto necessary for his drunken scenes.
Megan Hart, in her first Tacoma Opera performance, was Adina. Her characterization was kind and gentle, but cruel when necessary. High notes held no terrors for her, as she appeared to take every high note option in the score. While Adina is generally played by piping soubrette sopranos, Miss Hart's soprano had a rich, almost fruity sound that was most pleasing.
Tacoma Opera veteran Barry Johnson, last heard by this reviewer as the Steersman in Seattle Opera's Tristan und Isolde, was Belcore. He was a sergeant without troops in an over-the-top fancy uniform, and looked like a young Ned Beatty. His vocal highlight was the "Venti Scudi" duet with Nemorino, though in his first act appearances, he did not make much of an impression--although that is more the fault of Donizetti.
Charles Robert Austin, who first appeared with Tacoma Opera as Mephistopheles in the 2009 Faust production played the completely different role of Dulcamara. He was clearly having a good time as the swindler, though he did not appear to be in the best voice: in his first act patter song, he sang many of his lines an octave lower, some parts being inaudible.
Giannetta, one of the girls in the village was played by Megan Chenovick with charm and a sweet soprano. The chorus was boisterous, well-prepared, and clearly having a great time onstage. The tiny orchestra of 13 players, in a reduced orchestration prepared by conductor Bernard Kwiram, produced a surprisingly full sound, certainly adequate for the tiny auditorium. Kwiram kept a good balance between singers and orchestra and led at a good brisk pace.
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