San Francisco Classical Voice

La Traviata is an opera about going all the way. The heroine gives herself without reserve — her body, her virtue, her love, her life itself. On opening night of West Bay Opera's production at the Lucie Stern Theater in Palo Alto this past Friday, the cast went all the way too, and like Violetta they sometimes ran out of bounds. I felt all the performers pushing the limits of their vocal, dramatic, and emotional resources. Nonetheless, Verdi's sure-fire music and melodrama, together with the no-holds-barred gusto of the singers, did produce some splendid moments.

Violetta is one of those Verdian roles that calls for a soprano with a split vocal personality. The first priority has to be the dark timbre and declamatory power for "Addio del passato" and the death scene. Her long confrontation with Germont in Act II also demands a dramatic soprano. Barbara Divis excelled at the shameless emoting required in that duet and in the famous cry of "Amami, Alfredo!" In the last act, she read Germont's letter in a voice worthy of Anna Magnani. It was impossible not to be moved when she fell to her knees to rail against the injustice of her early death.

But Violetta also has to make her way through the twittering and glittering first act. Here Divis was slightly out of her depth. There was a shrill imprecision to her light laughter at Alfredo's declaration of love, and she delivered "Sempre libera" like a Scarlett O'Hara swearing never to be hungry again. Her coloratura passages were shouts of defiance rather than cascades of hysterical laughter. Nor could I believe that Violetta was really sick — Divis simply made too much noise and moved too vigorously. She embraced martyrdom in Act II with the same robust enthusiasm. The heroine's fragility and vulnerability didn't emerge until the very end of the opera.

Jonathan Boyd, as Alfredo, had the vulnerability that Divis lacked. He's very young, with a beautiful voice that is not yet entirely under control. He seemed aware that he and his voice both need time to grow into this role. He played Alfredo as a stilted young provincial in Act I, pausing nervously after each line of his "Brindisi" and dropping to his knees rather stiffly on the climactic phrase of his declaration to Violetta.

His soliloquy at the beginning of Act II began badly, with several squeaks in the recitative. These shook his confidence, and he didn't convey a full measure of buoyancy and youthful ardor in the aria "De' miei bollenti spiriti." But he was back on track in the subsequent party scene, chewing up the scenery with his spite, anger, and remorse. He seemed more at home with Alfredo's ranting than with his sentimental effusions. And his last word was a gentle and very touching "Parigi, o cara." in the last scene.

Richard Rovin gave the older Germont the severe manner and imposing presence of a Mafia thug. He captured the stern and exacting aspects of the character, but never quite made it to paternal compassion. (He looked distinctly uncomfortable when Violetta embraced him in the middle of their long duet.) His initial recitative was a little rough. But he hit his stride with "Pura siccome un angelo." And he and Divis burned through the rest of their duet at white heat. Like Divis, he tended to equate loudness with emotional intensity. He came dangerously close to yelling the final lines of his tender aria "Di Provenza il mar."

Rovin and Boyd each got away from conductor Mary Chun occasionally. In Act II, for example, Rovin galloped straight through the ritard that sets up Violetta's humble "Dite all giovine." But such first-night disagreements were never disastrous, and for the most part Chun kept a firm hand on the rhythm and tempi. She got a lot of sound and color out of her slightly-too-small orchestra, never allowing the musical interest to flag.

I would commend the first violins for their poignant rendition of the Act III prelude and letter scene, except they fell out of tune with each other and ended rather sourly. It was not only a pleasure but a relief when the oboe stepped into the spotlight with a plaintive obbligato on "Addio del passato."

Director Rafal Klopotowski, together with set designer Peter Crompton and costume designer Leon E. Wiebers, has updated the action to La Belle Époque. A huge replica of Manet's "Olympia" presides over Violetta's salon, but the governing esthetic comes from his still more infamous "Dejeuner sur l'herbe." The men are in tuxedos and the women in various stages of undress. Violetta's friends wear garish corsets, pantaloons, fishnet tights, and kimonos instead of the usual demure prom dresses. (It's easy to see why respectable Mr. Germont is so desperate to extract his son from this decadent milieu.) Flora's party takes on a nightmarish appearance, with mirrors hanging at strange angles and everyone sporting odd wigs. Susan Squires Cox, as Flora, seems to have stepped out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

The leads sometimes seemed to have bitten off just a bit more than they could chew. Curiously, perhaps because of that, the occasional rough spots threw the highly polished ones into bolder relief. And the strenuous vocalizing, even when it fell short, intensified the impact of the drama and the music. The familiar, oh-so-hummable score of La Traviata became a high-wire act. The effect was exhilarating.

(Heather Hadlock is Assistant Professor of Music History at Stanford University.)

©2000 Heather Hadlock, all rights reserved