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OPERA REVIEW
A Masked Ball Die Fledermaus September 8-9 2006
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Having a Ball ... or Two
By Janos Gereben
San Francisco Opera opened its 84th season Friday with Verdi's A Masked Ball, but the real party began the next night, with Johann Strauss' Die Fledermaus. In hindsight, the order should have been reversed, which might have provided the gala audience with a livelier evening.
Masked Ball ("Un ballo in maschera") received a decent but unexceptional treatment. Opera is among those few human ventures in which "good enough" isn't, unfair as that may be to the hardworking artists. (Except, as one wag observed, in the case of Mussorgsky's best-known opera, Boris.) This "Ballo" was definitely adequate, but that rings few chimes. War Memorial Opera House audiences on opening nights lack the expertise of the real fans in the standing room, but these bejeweled society patrons responded appropriately: with scant, polite applause, even after the opera's few "big numbers."
The most consistent and interesting performance came from the pit, under Marco Armiliato's excellent direction. The instruments conveyed the bravura and excitement that was otherwise lacking. On the stage, sadly, the much-expected "homecoming" star, Deborah Voigt, had an off night. Those who have had the pleasure of listening to Voigt since her 1985 Merola year might have been surprised to hear her in such trouble during Amelia's Act 2 aria, "Ecco l'orrido campo."
Her voice never took off, and at the end of the aria, Voigt alarmingly ran out of both air and on-pitch notes. She recovered almost immediately in the subsequent duet, but not once during the evening did she sing at the level San Francisco audiences have long come to expect from her.
No such mishap befell the other singers, but neither did they deliver the minimally required excitement. In this, the 1858 "Swedish" version, the role of King Gustavus served as the local debut of Marcus Haddock. He sang prettily, bringing to mind a Broadway singing star who benefits from amplification. Minuscule Anna Christy fared better as Oscar, but she too seemed to make a musical out of the Verdi opus. Another house debut, that of Tichina Vaughn, as Madame Arvidson (Ulrica in the "real thing"), resulted in acceptable singing, although she presented the least dramatic and scary witch in company history. Opera Center veterans Joshua Bloom, Eugene Brancoveanu, and Daniel Harper acquitted themselves well. (Their colleague, tenor Sean Panikkar, from whom fireworks may be more reasonably expected, was also in the audience, and sang only the National Anthem — loudly and well.) Far and away, the most "interesting" vocal performance came from Ambrogio Maestri, making his San Francisco debut as Anckarström (Renato). This mountain of a man has a big — if not a consistently beautiful — voice, which he produces effortlessly, but without much presence. He started singing with such an understated, quiet manner that expectation of a big forte was inevitable. But when it came, the sound was not musical. It sounded more like a shout. His "Eri tu" — big voice and all — was simply uninteresting. Armiliato's orchestra urged him on, but Maestri kept it cool ... and boring. Besides the orchestra's performance, the only other "operatic excitement" came during a couple of seconds when Ian Robertson's chorus sang a hushed, hair-raising phrase in the scene with Ulrika. Here was the impact, the intensity you expect from opera, but it went away, and didn't return until the very end. There Haddock's King gave a pretty good dying scene, notwithstanding Gina Lapinski's awkward physical direction, which had the tenor lying somewhere between his back and his side. This was the first opening night for David Gockley as general director, and the 25-minute delay for the curtain to go up was partly due to the usual heavy party traffic, but also to rather provincial-sounding speeches and acknowledgments. Gockley has already put his mark on the house by moving the supertitle screen back to the center (from the sides favored by his predecessor, Pamela Rosenberg). This pleased many patrons, including those standing, who now have their own screens in the back of the main floor. The supertitles themselves were handled not quite as smoothly as usual. The timing was off now and then, and there was a curious omission: In Act 1, the King's identification of Renato as "the husband of the woman I love" was not translated, which left those not fluent in Italian wondering why the King was so upset. Perhaps it was a conscious decision to avoid a spoiler. At any rate, it provided some of the excitement missing from the voices.
The second night of the San Francisco Opera's 84th season offered a musically and comically alive Die Fledermaus, a production that should have been the gala, instead of Friday night's semisomnolent Masked Ball. The Bat flew high and free, with excellent performances from some young Opera Center veterans.
Saturday evening also saw an amazing moment of cultural dislocation in the War Memorial Opera House. Two Wagnerian figures faced off: Donald Runnicles on the podium, Wotanlike, lording over a full orchestra; and Christine Goerke, the essence of a mythical heroine, towering over the lip of the stage. The air crackled with electricity, and the two appeared about to explode in an earthshaking Twilight-of-the-Gods climax. And then they performed, more or less delicately, a charming Johann Strauss bonbon. But what made this a truly operatic event was Goerke's house debut in the role of Rosalinda. Oh, that big, gorgeous, focused voice! Ecco la Brünnhilde! The soprano, heard before across the street in Davies Symphony Hall, impressed with an effortlessly soaring and beautifully projected voice. Delicious comic timing and clear diction made the otherwise essential supertitles unnecessary. (Essential, because the other soloists and the chorus delivered undecipherable English, to the shame of diction coaches everywhere.) Runnicles gave in to his Wagnerian urges now and then, but overall, he conducted a terrific performance, giving plenty of space to the singers. Jennifer Welch-Babidge (Adele), Wolfgang Brendel (Eisenstein), and Brian Leerhuber (house debut as Falke) came across well, musically and theatrically at least, if not in the diction department. Why perform a comic operetta in English if the audience can't understand what is being sung? (Spoken lines were a bit better, but not by much.) Vale Rideout, a funny, small tenor, played an Alfred right out of the Beanstalk scene from Sondheim's Into the Woods, almost disappearing in the scene with Goerke, where Jack is drawn to the "big, tall, terrible lady giant." It was hilarious, and Goerke played the scene to a T.
The exciting Merola veteran Gerald Thompson reprised his stunning male-soprano Orlofsky, hitting high notes with a force few female sopranos can muster. Eugene Brancoveanu's Frank finally showed this promising young baritone off in a commanding manner. There was never a question of his acting ability, but this was the first time he came into his own in the big house (and the jail, too). Adler Fellow Melody Moore — an important up-and-coming singer — had to be content with the minor role of Ida. Jason Graae made his house debut as Ivan and a hyperactive Frosch. Peter Brandenhoff and Cynthia Drayer performed well in a not particularly interesting pas de deux during the party scene. The production — by Wolfram Skalicki and Lotfi Mansouri — has been around the block, here and elsewhere (it was last seen here in 1996). The state director for this edition is E. Loren Meeker, the lighting design is by Marie Barrett. (Janos Gereben is a regular contributor to San Francisco Classical Voice. His e-mail address is janosg@gmail.com.)
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Ambrogio Maestri
Deborah Voigt
Christine Goerke
Gerald Thompson (Orlofsky)
