After the first major revision was staged in the 1980s with the Portland Gay Men's Chorus, also conducted by Hughes, Harrison undertook more revisions. A full-scale production of the work, planned for the New York City Opera in 2001 with direction by Mark Morris and a large orchestra conducted by Dennis Russell Davies, fell through owing to a series of what may euphemistically be termed miscommunications and disappointments.

Before he died in February 2003, Harrison shared his wish to further edit the score and remount the opera. Paiement, who had first met the composer in 1995 when she recorded a performance of his early, hauntingly beautiful 12-tone opera Rapunzel at the Cabrillo Music Festival, expressed a desire to work with him on the final revisions. After telling Paiement that he wanted both her and her Ensemble Parallèle to premiere the final version of Young Caesar, Harrison discussed his plans for revision with her. After his death, Paiement, working in close collaboration with librettist Gordon, did her best to fulfill Harrison's wishes.

Who knows how many revisions later, the "final" version, directed by Brian Staufenbiel and produced by Paiement, still clocks in at well over three hours. Some of the music, which begins with loud percussive blows reminiscent of Asian gongs, consists of gorgeous orchestral introductions and interludes, one so beautiful that Harrison borrowed part of it for a movement in his Varied Trio. The opera also features a host of effective arias. Long stretches resemble orchestral recitative, at times accompanied by movement onstage and at other times by narration. I imagine some of this music was originally conceived as accompaniment to puppet pantomime.

As it now stands, however, especially in the lengthy Act 1, the opera is dragged down by long sections of music with minimal development and interest. A curious incongruity can also be heard between music that resounds of the Far East and the dramatic action that takes place in Italy and what is now Turkey. (Then again, Puccini had no qualms about musically transporting Japan to Palermo.)

The set, thanks to the combined efforts of Frederic O. Boulay, Ruth Miller, and Legend Theatrical, consisted of a series of lavender and white hanging panels reminiscent of Japanese screens. Matthew Antaky's lighting was central to the success of this minimalist approach. Panels were often shifted around by the 19-member male chorus, all of whom wore white face and black, hooded robes. Many of the fine-sounding chorus members also displayed their talent with mime and movement.

As Narrator, veteran tenor John Duykers resorted to rather formal, somewhat anachronistic English pronunciation, a tendency echoed by some of the other principals, as well. Taxed a bit in the highest range, diminished in volume from his former glory days as a mainstay of contemporary opera, and somewhat (perhaps intentionally) limited in movement, Duykers left the distinct impression that his character is a holdover from the opera's roots in China's opera and puppet theater.

Only two women appear in the opera — Caesar's Aunt Julia and (briefly) Caesar's wife, Cornelia (soprano Seilla Willey, who hardly sang enough to make an impression). As Julia, the accomplished mezzo-soprano Wendy Hillhouse, assuming the role Harrison hoped she would play in 2001, was nothing short of magnificent. Her voice, perfectly suited to an aged aunt's, retains a fair degree of splendor. With her appropriately imperious command of the stage and seasoned mastery of dramatic nuance, Hillhouse transformed her cameo role into a major portrayal.

As Gaius Caesar, tenor Eleazar Rodriguez, aptly androgynous in appearance, exhibited a fine tenor, sabotaged only by what to my ears sounded like an overly self-conscious effort to produce steady tone in a manner that would make any voice teacher proud. While it would be nice to think that his lack of physical fluidity sprang from an attempt to appear youthfully insecure, uncertain of his power, and at times downright stupefied, he came across as somewhat leaden, even when in bed with the King.

By contrast, baritone Eugene Brancoveanu was impressive in both vocal mastery and histrionic ease. The Adler Fellow, set for a New York City Opera debut later this year, sang with a pearl on his far stronger, handsome voice, its production ideally suited to his feminine portrayal of the affected king. Especially arresting was his expressive use of sotto voce, the control and beauty suggesting a potential to mesmerize in song recital.

Adorned in blond curly locks, with golden raised eyebrows adding to the impression that the King was a royal queen, Brancoveanu entered in an androgynous outfit whose most eye-catching feature was a bright golden genital pouch that shone as if a beacon of things to come. His transformation to seductive lover and then defeated ruler, with vocal color and facial gestures altered to match circumstance, was profound.

A key feature of Lawrence Pech's Act 2 choreography was the use of two superb dancers, himself and the striking Peter Brandenhoff, to mirror and magnify the sexual interplay between Gaius and Nicomedes. Especially when Brandenhoff stripped to nothing but a white dance belt, which to some audience members passed for no covering whatsoever on his derriere, the dancers' graphically homosexual pas de deux proved riveting. Gaius didn't get any looser, but he surely made the point dressed in what, in another context, would pass for a white negligee. Once Act 2 began steaming forward, it became clear why the openly gay Harrison wanted so much to see the opera performed on a major stage.

Although the libretto does not clarify why Dionysus, Slave of General Thermus, suddenly emerges as a major giver of advice and commentary, tenor Jonathan Smucker invested his character with enough import and fluid, intentionally posturing gestures to make you happy to see him onstage. His was the queenly equivalent of the court jester, the campiness both intentional and appropriate.

Still, a good 20 to 30 minutes of Harrison's buildup to the affair and monotonous recitative needs to be cut. Perhaps Paiement and Gordon felt constrained by Harrison's death. Whether anyone could carry off yet one more revision of the work, especially in time for the performance in Santa Cruz, is doubtful. As it stands, Young Caesar remains a flawed work, one whose deeply communicative music and vital message are encumbered by several dull stretches of recitative and orchestral bridge passages.

(Jason Victor Serinus writes about music for such publications as San Francisco Classical Voice, Opera News, Stereophile, San Francisco Magazine, East Bay Express, and Bay Area Reporter.)

©2007 Jason Victor Serinus, all rights reserved