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OPERA REVIEW
June 11, 2003
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By Robert Commanday
The by-now conventional idea that it takes a $3 million production and a lot of hokey and provocative
staging to make a big impact with an old opera took a major hit in Davies Symphony Hall last Wednesday.
Actually, while the San Francisco Symphony did spend a bundle of targeted grant money on its version of
Wagner's Flying Dutchman, it was nowhere near what opera companies lay out. Worth every penny
were the top flight cast of six, insurance (a back-up or cover cast that hasn't been needed), a
production that cunningly fitted out Davies Hall's orchestra terrace level with sails, deck lights,
little stages for the actions and elaborate light bridges, and the imaginative stage director, Peter
McClintock.
Best of all, production didn't dominate; it served the music and its dramatic values, putting at the
best advantage, singers, chorus and orchestra, and thereby Wagner's score. The orchestra, sitting on the
flat, without the customary risers, played full out under Michael Tilson Thomas' urging. Though the
symphony was larger and more sonorous than opera orchestras, and not in a pit, the singers who were
placed high up, along with the Symphony Chorus, had no difficulty carrying the hall. Even so, Tilson
Thomas' driving manner resulted in a coarse orchestral texture, the violins often covered by the
brasses, a lot of fine definition and expressive tempo nuances lost. And, with overblowing, there were
surprising bloopers in horn and offstage brass. It was a trade-off, a propulsive, dramatic rendition
that rode over much of the warmth, lyricism and Italianate qualities in the score.
The initial positioning of the Dutchman helped Mark Delavan establish a powerful presence. A platform
built on the first loge level box (the deck of the cursed ship as it were) introduced him within the
auditorium. There, eerie light cast on him from below, he sang that terrifying opening sally ("Die Frist
ist um"), and there he returned for the Dutchman's final searing disavowal. Right there, on top of the
audience, he was singing over our shoulders, as it were, and this heightened the effect vividly. His
voice burned darkly, multiplied in force, dimension and deep color since his Merola/Adler Fellows' time
here in the mid-eighties. Later, joined with Daland and Daland's daughter Senta, his low baritone was
modulated of course, but the character's underlying tension could be felt. It was like a coal fire that
had been banked but was burning hot. Delavan gave a towering performance, even against great memories of
the role.
Daland commanded his Norwegian ship from a central platform raised in front of the seating and playing area for his choral crew. Stephen Milling, from Denmark, was indeed commanding in the role, his grand bass pouring around the hall. He gave an interesting account of the role, restraining Daland's acquisitive response to the Dutchman's a treasure-for-your-daughter deal, preserving the character's dignity. Milling was impressive, leaving the audience anticipating his Philip II in the SF Opera's Don Carlos this fall. Jane Eaglen's voice was true and at its full potency, hardly matched by another today. She soared on the long cantilena of Senta's music, establishing the character's resolve if not her passion and fire. Those qualities don't seem to invest her personality and singing, nor is the tone a focused blade — more a channeled clear stream, and a great one. Jill Grove brought a surprisingly vital presence to the normally biddy or schoolmarm role of the spinning scene supervisor, Mary Grove's mezzo soprano was lithe and live. Eric Cutler was Daland's Steersman, posted on a platform in front of the first box on the side opposite the Dutchman's entry. His tenor was bright and focused, Italian style, and placed out in the house, it rang out easily and seductively. As Senta's luckless fiancé, Erik, Mark Baker sang well indeed in a clear tone remembered from his Siegmund and Froh for the SF Opera's 1999 Ring but the soft, undeliberate style of his gestures and movement made Erik out to be a weak character, belying his singing of the part.
The chorus was excellent, the large male component projecting the virile "sailorness" of the crew. They rushed on and off "stage" (the terrace's central section), making appropriately animated gestures. With no prejudice against the amplified singing of the offstage choristers for the ghostly voices of the Dutchman's crew, this was the one scene that did not, could not achieve the impact of a fully staged production. This is the scene in which the repeated shouts of the Norwegian sailors and their town girls ("Wake up"), is answered by deathly silences, and finally the scarey response causing sheer terror. The spinning scene by the chorus women preceding Eaglen's grand retelling of the Dutchman legend was fine. (The women who had the music memorized and didn't need to hold scores wound yarn in balls to represent the spinning activity.) Different and striking, the production gave just enough visual clues and symbols to set the imagination free in a context appropriate for Wagner's story. The stage was framed by flying jibs on the outer corners, smaller jibs on the near corners, and in front of the organ was rigged a lower main topsail on which the supertitles were shown. (The design was by David Hubp). The play of lighting and projected designs (by David Finn) enhanced the drama at key moments. The darkening of the ball by means of a black scrim hung high over the audience area made the stage lighting even more effective. More would have been less. McClintock's artfully restrained direction supported the power of Wagner's music and its performance to stimulate the imagination fully.
(Robert P. Commanday, the senior editor of San Francisco Classical Voice, was the music critic of the
San Francisco Chronicle, 1965-93, and before that a conductor and lecturer at the University of
California, Berkeley.)
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