San Francisco Classical Voice

The true faithful would perhaps have wished for even more. It was not for them, after all, that Marcon did some considerable trimming to Handel's original. Yes, Siroe is set to a libretto by Metastasio that takes more than the usual effort to follow. All the true Metastasian hallmarks are there: a noble ruler who forgives his enemies, a foreign princess in disguise, a passionate courtier — with everyone seemingly in love with one wrong person and seeking revenge on another. Forget the triangle — the prince Siroe is part of a veritable love polygon.

In a sense, however, the elaborate web of relationships and deceptions that keep all these characters in such musically productive agitation is rendered more obscure by cutting scenes and even characters. What remains has to rely all the more on its ability to grab the listener in the moment. Thanks to stylish playing and some very beautiful singing, Marcon and his forces were, by and large, able to bring it off, in a mere two hours and forty minutes.

For his cast of somewhat confused ancient royals, Handel had the star singers of his day. While Saturday's cast did not boast quite the same level of star power, it featured fine singing, cleverly disposed around the stage. There were a few props, fitting for Valentine's Day — a red heart-shaped balloon, some red wine, a red necktie. There were the inevitable sword and anonymous letter. A table, some chairs — and the orchestra, through which the characters would sometimes stroll, lingering by musicians as if they were scenery, or even in the cast.

Though this particular conceit wore a little thin, there was no denying the fun being had, showing just how little stage business it can take to put on this kind of show. And it was fun to watch this band, besides. There were just twelve strings, three winds (including an oboist who doubles on flute, standard three centuries ago but unheard of now) and a deliciously rich continuo group of two harpsichords and two lutes. Apart from a few fuzzy upbeats, ensemble was tight all evening, and the playing was lively, without the wackiest excesses we have come to expect from the recent surge of period-instrument performance from Italy.

The title role was written for the celebrated castrato Senesino. We can only guess what that voice must have been like. The part seemed often to lie low for mezzo-soprano Liliana Rugiero, who sang with abundant pathos and character even when having difficulty projecting.

The two leading ladies were both delightful, yet they could hardly be more different. As Siroe's beloved Emira (without necktie; with necktie she was disguised as prince Idaspe who — oh, just trust me), soprano Katerina Beranova sang gracefully and with agility. Despite an announced indisposition — she had been fighting a cold — her voice was mellifluous, perhaps lacking only the edge that would have made the darker side of her character more apparent (despite loving Siroe, she seeks revenge on his father for the death of her own). Here again, we might have gleaned more had not some of her arias been cut, or trimmed of their middle sections.

The prime schemers against this eventually happy couple are Siroe's unctuous younger brother Medarse, sung with wily glee by countertenor Roberto Balconi, and the King's own beloved Laodice, who wants Siroe for herself. This role offers some range for exuberantly bad behavior, and soprano Simone Kermes runs with it, right over the top. She is a relentless presence on the stage, always in motion (one particular head-bobbing gesture was repeatedly, breathtakingly peculiar). And what a voice! "Thrilling" really is the word here, but incessantly thrilling — she just didn't let up. Yet one felt powerless to resist. She was going to mess things up for all the other characters and, by golly, she was going to do it right.

Amidst these powerful forces, one would hope for a truly magisterial King. Robert Koller as Cosroe seemed, at best, upper-level management: his voice had a certain amount of gravitas but lacked the heft and focus of ultimate authority. Ironically he seemed the least experienced of the cast, and he will doubtless grow.

The evening seemed to pass incredibly swiftly. The fact that the audience would not let Marcon and company go without reprising the final reconciliatory chorus suggested that they would willingly have heard more. Perhaps when these same forces bring their staged version of Siroe to Brooklyn in April, they will put more back in.