Anna Netrebko (Louisa)

Yuri Shklar (Don Carlos) &
Gennady Bezubenkov (Mendoza)

The San Francisco Opera proudly presented a premiere of Prokofiev's "Betrothal in a Monastery" last Monday, and it was a smash success. Not original with the local company but new here, this production comes from the Kirov Opera of St. Petersburg by way of New York where it was played earlier this year on the Kirov Opera Festival. What was an ordinary buffa farce, the Russians inflated with glitter, glamour, and hoopla that wowed the audience.

Prokofiev took his text from Sheridan's little known comic 1775 opera, "The Duenna," brought to his attention in 1940 by a young girl, Mira Mendelson (soon to become his second wife, albeit common-law). The composer was attracted by the farcical subject just when he was suffering from the recent rejection of his Soviet opera "Semyon Kotko." He saw the potential for something frothy, "champagne a la Mozart or Rossini," but when he came to compose it, he subtly changed the tone. He wrote: "I had first to decide which element to stress in the music: the comic or the romantic. I chose the second." To capture the passion of the lovers he created some of his most bewitching melodies.

The story resembles many commedia plots. Three pairs of lovers in Seville want to get married, succeeding through a series of subterfuges, impersonations, and comic intrigues. Louisa's wealthy father, Don Jerome, insists she marry his business partner, Mendoza, but she prefers to marry Antonio, of good family but broke. Louisa's brother Ferdinand wants to marry another heiress, Clara, but is insanely jealous of her; besides, she runs away and is not to be found. While Mendoza expects to marry Louisa, he is pursued by her duenna, Margaret, who wins him in the end. The outcome is predictable, the comic business delicious. Like so many Italian buffa operas, the pleasure comes in defeating the pompous expectations of the buffo basses. (See Rossini, not Mozart.)

The stage is elaborate and enormous. What would normally occur behind a small proscenium in a small theater with a few characters, a few chairs and tables, now occupies vast territories, painted in attractive shades and populated with crowds of extravagantly gowned ladies and gentlemen, a few who look sort of Spanish. Ballet creatures, who have a brief moment of dance in the first act, reappear at every opportunity, pretending to change the scenery (stagehands in wigs really do that), flitting about during the dark moments between the scenes carrying colorful lanterns.

A giant crescent fan, made of a translucent material, lowers and rises, making discrete creaking noises. The backgrounds change - a street scene of immense proportion, a wild garden, a vista of the sea (in Seville?). The eye is entertained as at the circus. The costumes are gorgeous, extravagant. The extras parade around the singers with their giant skirts and buffoon adornments, resembling nothing so much as the eye-catching Folies Bergere visiting Nevada.

The music is wonderful, Prokofiev at his brightest and most attractive, conducted by Valery Gergiev with wit and charm. The singers were well-trained, many coming from the Kirov production and featured on the recent Philips recording of this opera. Anna Netrobko sang Louisa with pert attractiveness, Larissa Diadkova was the throaty Duenna, with an aptly exaggerated acting style. Evgeny Akimov was the persuasive Antonio, the tenor with guitar. Nikolai Gassiev played the obstinate father Don Jerome with great aplomb and panache; he also entertains his guests at the wedding party in the Finale by performing on musical glasses. A chorus of drunken monks, all of them acting to fine vaudevillian effect, makes a hilarious climax to the opera. (Even the supertitles get in on the act. When the monks sing hymns the text turns into Antique Gothic.)

Gennady Bezubenkov played the buffo part of Mendoza with overdone gestures and posturing, suiting the preposterous role of the rapacious villain who has an imposing sense of arrogance. Carefully erased from the opera is his identity as a Jew from Portugal. For instance, no one identifies him by his first name, Isaac. In the play, Sheridan is outrageously anti-Semitic, poking fun with hostility at Jewish stereotypes. Not much of that remains in the opera. A few remarks by Ferdinand hint that Mendoza is of a different sort--he is unwanted as a husband because he is "not one of us" - but that is all. The production wisely avoids all hints of religious prejudice; this character is simply ugly, greedy, pompous, and stupidly self-important. An Italian buffo.

Prokofiev was inspired to write some of his best and most attractive melodies for his lovers. One of the choice, witty moments comes when Antonio and Louisa, after having been separated for some time, finally meet in Mendoza's house, but offstage. How do they greet each other? We do not see, we only hear sublime music - as Mendoza is encouraged to peek at them through a keyhole. It's comedy, it's romance, it's great fun. The conclusion of the scene (preceding the second intermission) contains a vocal quartet that is among the most beautiful Prokofiev ever wrote.

Much comic dialogue is enhanced by musical forms running in counterpoint to the plot. In Act III, Don Jerome receives two letters fulfilling his expectations of his daughter's marriage (though not the way he thinks). Prokofiev elaborated this ordinary event as though it were taking place during a rehearsal of three musicians, playing a most platitudinous series of tunes; Don Jerome is supposed to be one of them. Farcical interplay between the members of the trio, intent on performing awful popular music, creates an unusual, tuneful event that transcends expectations.

Though the performance was considered a premiere, this was not the first time "Betrothal" has been given in San Francisco. In 1959, San Francisco State College, as it was then called, produced the work with orchestra, and called it the first performance in the U.S. Few remember it, but it's a sure bet that it had nothing in its staging, ballet, costumes, or colorful sets to match the Kirov version on display at the Opera House. This one is a winner!

(Marvin Tartak, a pianist noted for contemporary music, teaches a course in Opera at City College of San Francisco. He has written program notes for the San Francisco Symphony and Opera, has also has edited two volumes of Rossini for the Fondazione Rossini, and is soon to embark on a third.)

©1998 Marvin Tartak, all rights reserved