There is much more than faint praise possible for Nosferatu, an opera about the damned. This music drama of the Undead is lively, indeed. The premiere Saturday night drew an audience of more than 1,200 to Morrison Center, the event creating a great deal of excitement in a town not previously known as a hotbed of opera. The only other work offered this season is Carmen, advertised as a package with Nosferatu as "Two Maneaters."

The new work, under construction through several years of workshop excerpt performances from California to the East Coast, is based on F.W. Murnau 1922 film, "Nosferatu," which, in turn, used Bram Stoker's "Dracula" story (changing the title to avoid a legal battle). From the uncut version of Murnau's film, Gioia has crafted a poetic, impressive libretto. Henderson's vocal writing is excellent, his large-scale musical interludes are pleasant and entertaining. There is nothing faint about this praise for the opera: it's a work you want to hear again . . . and music critics attending the premiere actually had a chance to do that, as a matinee featured the second cast in a performance before the official opening in the evening.

The best word to describe Henderson's music is "pretty." Purists and snobs notwithstanding, there is nothing wrong with that. Without direct quotes or outright imitation, the music has the feel of a late-19th-century Romantic work, with the addition of some three-quarter time beats, gentle but firm ostinato, a touch of Poulenc and the early Schoenberg of the Gurrelieder period, and the sound of two Bernsteins — Leonard and (especially) Elmer. All that, and orchestration right out of "Fantasia."

Henderson (who also composed Medea and The Last of the Mohicans) is most impressive in the big peak moment of a ferocious Dies Irae in the plague scene, the soprano singing the English words against the chorus' Latin. Another plus for the composer is his use of the unexpected, such as accompanying Dracula's climactic appearance in the last scene with quiet music, not a big, primitive outburst in the orchestra.

The orchestra, under Turner's direction, played excellently well. Twenty-nine musicians sustained fine performances of the demanding score TWICE, at the matinee and in the evening. Woodwinds excelled, concertmaster Geoffrey Trabichoff had some notable solo work, strings and percussion played well , the brass managed most of the time.

Nosferatu opens in the "counting house" of a Baltic seaport, with Heinrich Skuller, the owner (Dennis Hupp, bass), offering a job to young, down-on-his-luck Eric Hutter (Robert McPherson, tenor). It is to travel to Hungary and sell a local property to the Count Orlock (Nagel), who wants to leave his estate for some unknown but obviously nefarious reasons. The second scene introduces the newly-married Eric's young wife, Ellen (Gundunas), who is ill and appears psychotic, mixing up her nightmares and reality — a handy setup for spectacular mad scenes, a la Donizetti's Lucia or Hamlet's Ophelia.

Scene three takes place in Orlock's castle; the long duet between Eric and Orlock becomes a trio as an image of Ellen persuades the Count to spare Eric's life, even as Orlock takes a good sample of the young man's blood, and declares his love for Ellen. Act two opens in the harbor, as Skuller is revealed as Dracula's servant and agent; he tells Ellen that she belongs to the Count. Dracula arrives, on a ship bringing the plague, which devastates the town in the next scene, demonstrated with the funeral march to music of the Dies Irae. Eric, having returned ill and insane, is in the madhouse, being visited by Ellen. Skuller reveals to her the secret of killing Dracula: seduce him long enough to expose the vampire to sunlight. And that, in brief, is the burden of the final scene.

Nagel, who is artistic director of both Opera Idaho and Billings' Rimrock Opera Company, is a sturdy over-achiever: he sang the title role both at the matinee and in the evening. He has a large, rather hollow voice; he played Dracula as a large, near-immobile stick figure — either on his own or because of stage director Charles Maryan's idea of "dehumanizing" the character.

Boise's little opera company has something rare and special: not one but two terrific young tenors. McPherson in the evening and Christopher Bengochea at the matinee both sang rings around everyone else: strong, youthful lyric voices, excellent diction — and, like true tenors, neither particularly effective as an actor. Both voices have clarity, and the promise of at least a semi- heroic sound.

The evening's surprise and disappointment was Gundunas's performance. Having heard her before, I couldn't figure out why this fine, experienced singer would sound shrill and even off-pitch, why she would scamper awkwardly on the bed in the grand Gothic-romantic final scene. On the other hand, her cover, Sandra Rubalcava, sang well and true at the matinee, making the most of her voice, sustaining the long, demanding performance, and acting the pivotal role believably.

The physical production was simply not in the same category with the major-league musical effort, more reminiscent of a play in the gym of an impoverished high school. On the other hand, Edward Harris' small, all-local chorus acquitted itself well. On the whole, for anyone who has attended "problematic" world premieres in New York, London or Vienna, Idaho's effort — especially in the all-important music department — could not fail to impress.