A composer may write fabulous music, but a weak libretto can kill it as an opera.
— Jake Heggie, 2008

Every composer dreams of writing fabulous music to the perfect, dramatic libretto. Yet few, if any, operas written in the last 50 years have achieved the double whammy of having both great music and great theater. Composer Jake Heggie himself came close to grabbing this gold ring on the opera merry-go-round with Dead Man Walking in 2000. But, unfortunately, Three Decembers, his latest ride on that carousel, falls short in the music department, despite another strong libretto (by Gene Scheer, based on a Terrence McNally play) and committed performances by Keith Phares, Kristin Clayton, and the ever-admirable Frederica von Stade.

Heggie is a consummate songwriter, with a deserved reputation as a master fitter of music both to words and to vocal tessitura. In Three Decembers, he succeeds too well. In a drama that exploits obsessions with clothing (shoes, dresses, a lover’s effects) as a means of developing its emotional thrusts, the musical lines massage the words like soft, ultracomfortable, close-fitting underwear. There is no proper operatic musical costume.

The chamber orchestra of 11 musicians, which was placed to the rear of the stage and included pianist Heggie and conductor/pianist Patrick Summers, toyed all too often with gossamer, subsidiary textures that disappeared into the notorious rafters of Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall, despite amplification. As I saw the percussionist caress her instrument and heard nothing, I began to long for some spikier orchestration, even electric guitars. And I grew tired of the plethora of gentle rocking phrases that threatened at times to turn the opera into a barcarolle.

But even more, I longed for some decent melody. Almost all the melodic elements are merely accompaniment figures to pleasing though unmemorable arioso vocal lines. The only melody of significance, a cross between Faure’s Pavane and Pachelbel’s Canon, leaves little for the audience to whistle home about. This is a shame, because the libretto offers several opportunities for music to push rather than coddle its performers. The song “About to Break,” for example, is supposed to be a showstopper from a Broadway musical in which von Stade’s character (named Madeline Mitchell) has been cast. But all of von Stade’s innate theatricality is wasted on the vapid music for this uninspiringly harmonized — and un-Broadway-sounding — number.

Engaging Libretto

While the sentimental plot may not please all listeners, I enjoyed the opera as theater, despite the music. I should report that the audience on Friday gave it a nearly unanimous standing ovation, so it must have given pleasure to many. As Heggie describes it, “It’s a play about identity. Identity as a member of the family one is born into and within the ones we create — the truth of who we are and who our parents are.” Madeline’s children, Charlie and Bea, chafe at their mother’s devotion to the theater over her devotion to them, and they wonder about their father, who died in an accident when they were quite young.

Over the course of the story, the children gain respect for their mother as they mature through their own hardships. Charlie’s case is particularly well-handled by Scheer and McNally. For example, the son sings a letter from his mother sent to his partner before he died of AIDS: “Charlie and I haven’t always been the best of friends, but his love for you has given him stature.” For Bea, fighting implied marital problems and nascent alcoholism, only Madeline’s death brings reconciliation. Fortunately, von Stade is there to comment at the end as her character’s spirit: “I think those two are going to be OK now. Don’t you?”

Baritone Phares brought a rich, accurate voice; good looks; and fine acting ability to the part of Charlie, making his performance the highlight of the production for me. Von Stade, of course, could not disappoint in the acting department, and for the most part was in lovely voice — though an excessive vibrato distracted in the “About to Break” set piece. Clayton’s Bea, while a bit pinched in some upper notes, offered a believable sister to Charlie.

Director Leonard Foglia’s set designs were spare, yet perfectly adequate. Especially effective was the railing of the Golden Gate Bridge, which I had just visited earlier in the day.

Afterward, I reflected on Heggie’s theme: children finding their identity, separating from their parents. How many “children” of opera composers (their works) ever achieve the “adulthood” of an independent life through many productions by dozens or more interpreters — in other words, survive their creators?

Unfortunately, the infant mortality rate is very, very high — and unforgettable music is the only, only cure.

If the company’s second cast had remained as announced, we would have experienced the long-awaited house debut of the much-heralded Maltese tenor Joseph Calleja (singing the role of Rodolfo), house debuts by Latvian soprano Maija Kovalevska (Mimi) and Brian Mulligan (Marcello), as well as role debuts by Adler Fellows Tamara Wapinsky (Musetta) and Kenneth Kellogg (Colline). Unfortunately, Calleja contracted a debilitating cold, necessitating his replacement at nearly the last minute by tenor Marius Brenciu, a Romanian. This created a major problem. Nothing could disguise the fact that our tenor was weak.

Given Brenciu’s credits — he won the 2001 Cardiff Singer of the World Competition; undertook the major roles of Nemorino, Edgardo, Lensky, Alfredo Germont, Count Almaviva, and Gabriele Adorno; and is preparing to make his Metropolitan debut as Prunier in La Rondine — listeners would reasonably expect him to possess a generous-size voice with a ringing top. He does not, at least he did not on opening night. The low and mid range was so lovely and healthy as to bring the great Tito Schipa to mind. But once the instrument approached the stave, let alone rose above it, it sounded pushed, blunt, somewhat unfocused, and out of its league. (The high C in “Che gelida manina” [Your tiny hand is frozen] was both underpowered and less than attractive.)

And while the man may have an adorable, winning smile — I’d love to give him a big hug and pet him to death — most of the time he looks like an altar boy lost in the throng. With a tenor voice seemingly more suited to lieder than to opera, Luisotti in the pit had no choice but to either hold back the orchestra’s emotional outpourings or upstage him and drown him out.

Kovalevska must be one of the healthiest, least fragile Mimis on record. She turned her first-act coughing fit into a bedroom seduction scene, leaping on the mattress and attacking every note with the healthy relish of a teenager in heat. (Director Harvey Silverstein, where were you?) The voice may be strong and gorgeous — I’m sure her Mimi was heard throughout the cavernous Met — but its glamour in the higher registers speaks of divas such as Tosca rather than pathetic little creatures of the Mimi mold.

There is no reason, of course, why anyone’s Mimi should follow Angela Gheorghiu’s lead and sing so softly as to become barely audible. But neither should a Mimi appear in the final act, as Kovalevska does, with newly applied lipstick, even pinker cheeks, and enough energy to pull herself all over the bed. Brenciu was quite moving when he discovered her lifeless; thank God she didn’t rise up from the dead to sing an encore.

More of Mulligan, if You Please

Although Mulligan threw away his opening lines, he quickly gained his composure and acted the role of Marcello as generously as he sang. His voice is extremely fine, equally open, and unforced at both top and bottom, and his response to drama consistently enlivened the proceedings. More, please.

Despite weakness on the bottom, Wapinsky certainly has the high range and power for Musetta. Her portrayal, however, didn’t quite cut it. She threw herself around Café Momus with gusto, but her expressions looked put on, the eyes and in-between moments suggesting something quite different. She also pushed too hard in her famous waltz, developing a hard edge and occasionally singing sharp. Nor did she succeed in conveying empathy for Mimi’s plight in the final act.

Kellogg sang extremely well, yet remained a bit of a shadow figure. Partly it’s the role; Colline has only one vocal chance to shine, in the final-act ode to his beautiful old coat, “Vecchia zimarra.” Perhaps Luisotti prefers not to stop the action at that point, because neither Kellogg nor his predecessor, Oren Gradus, made much of it.

The most winning stage characterization, besides Mulligan’s, was that of baritone “holdover” Brian Leerhuber. Given a role that is the polar opposite to his SFO world premiere portrayal of Robert E. Lee in Appomattox, Leerhuber flew over both stage and bed like a ballet dancer, and did more to animate the proceedings than Rodolfo and Colline combined. In Leerhuber’s Schaunard we found the Bohemian merriment and ultimate compassion that many of his colleagues failed to register.

The sets and lighting remained as winning as ever. In passages without singing, Luisotti rallied his forces, conducting with passion and attention to Puccini’s grand design and overarching melodic flow. But with a cast that could not collectively rise to the occasion, it was hard for him to sweep listeners away. It remains to be seen whether, in her sole appearance on Dec. 2, former Adler Fellow Melody Moore’s Mimi can turn things around, or whether conductor Giuseppe Finzi’s arrival on Dec. 4 and 7 finds the second cast principals more fully inhabiting their roles.

Angela Gheorghiu as Mimì

Photos by Terrence McCarthy

Foremost among equals was Angela Gheorghiu’s delicate interpretation of the consumptive heroine, Mimì. Here was all the waiflike intensity of Teresa Stratas coupled with the honeyed tone of Mirella Freni, two past mistresses of this role. Gheorghiu developed her character slowly. Her self-introduction to the upstairs poet who has attracted her (”Mi chiamano Mimì”) was full of vocal warmth, yet contained a touch of the manipulative minx.

But by Act 3 her emotional and physical desperation colored her every gesture and note. Her aria of farewell to her lover (”Donde lieta”) was deeply affecting, while her repeats of “Addio, senza rancor” (good-bye, and no hard feelings) moved the audience to silence. Likewise, her death scene was full of beauty and grace, as her voice slowly ebbed away. Tears fell from many an eye.

(An unguarded onstage moment showed how complete was the glamorous Gheorghiu’s characterization: When an orange strayed from a seller’s basket and began to roll toward the audience, she quickly picked it up, as only an impoverished Mimì would.)

Piotr Beczala as Rodolfo and Angela Gheorghiu as Mimì

She was matched in every way by her Rodolfo, tenor Piotr Beczala. His is also a commanding talent, his voice easily riding Puccini’s great crests of sound yet delicately spinning out every nuance that follows. He was especially persuasive in attracting Mimì (”Che gelida manina”), describing his penniless poetic dreams (”e per castelli in aria”) and romantic hope (”la speranza!”).

Piotr Beczala as Rodolfo

Beczala’s rendition was so fresh, so fervent, that it seemed as if this all-too-familiar music had never been heard before. He too developed his character over time, his early ardor later wrenched by the guilt that he may be contributing to Mimì’s illness with “La mia stanza è una tana squallida” (my room is a squalid den), his voice darkened by despair.

Quinn Kelsey as Marcello

Quinn Kelsey sang Rodolfo’s closest confident, Marcello. A former member of the Merola Opera Program, Kelsey made his mainstage debut in this production. His abundant baritone was persuasive and rich with color. He was joined by soprano Norah Amsellem as his insouciant love, Musetta. Amsellem also was a study in vocal contrasts, her early selfish fervor in “Quando me’en vo” (when I walk along) later giving way to her quietly selling her earrings for Mimì (”Forse è l’ultima volta”), her voice now as tender and as loving as her gesture.

Oren Gradus as Colline

Bass Oren Gradus sang a dignified Colline. His farewell to his overcoat before selling it to help Mimì was masterful. He didn’t just stare at its tatters (”Vecchia zimarra”), but paid a loving tribute to its pockets, which were “like peaceful caves for philosophers and poets” (”tranquilli filosofi e poeti”). Baritone Brian Leerhuber sang an engaging Schaunard, the effusive musician, and Dale Travis sang both the poor landlord, Benoit, and the rich Alcindoro with geriatric style.

A Tremendous Presence on the Podium

This performance could not have been what it was without the considerable talents of SFO’s music director designate, Nicola Luisotti. Puccini’s score is a masterwork of concision; its outer shape is full of romantic soaring, while its inner structure is taut and spare. Luisotti seemed to savor it all. He was unsparing in building his climaxes, frequently encouraged the timpani to rumble in dramatic tension, and seamlessly smoothed the strings, giving prominence to Puccini’s unusual blending of flutes and harp. Luisotti is an animated force on the podium, vividly living every moment of his music-making. The Opera Chorus sang vigorously under his guidance, adding to the scene of holiday frivolity.

(Note that some changes of cast and conductor will be made in subsequent performances. Check the S.F. Opera Web site for details.)

The snow falls in Act 2

The scenic design and direction are also major contributors to this production’s success. Michael Yeargan’s Parisian rooftops and gray skies (”cieli bigi,” as Rodolfo describes them) frame the stage throughout. The cold Bohemian attic is cluttered with veristic detail (books holding up the sagging mattress, icicles dripping from the skylight). The second scene unfolded like a Christmas pop-up card, with candlelit windows and the soft fall of snow.

But whether the stage was filled with poets or a parade, director Harry Silverstein maintained his focus on the singers and their interaction. In one sly detail, Colline at first appears with such ragged hair and beard that his fellows admonish him to “trim his pelt” (”ravviati il pelo”), and in the next scene he is appropriately barbered.

Walter Mahoney’s costumes are a colorful mix of 19th-century Parisian attire. And it was gratifying to see Musetta not gowned in stereotypical red, but rather in slinky black and white. Duane Schuler created splendid glows of light amidst the snowy grays.

Giacomo Puccini would have loved it.

Saturday night, in Opera San José’s production, as I watched Donizetti’s version of Jack, the affable young dolt Nemorino (which translates as “Little Nobody”), I felt myself rooting for him to succeed in his search for true love, however preposterous it is. Of course, he did, and the child part of me was, as always, well pleased.

Director Dianna Shuster made the excellent decision to have Nemorino, sung by Alexander Boyer on opening night (the production is double cast), address many of his songs to the audience. This is especially effective in Opera San José’s lovely California Theatre, a venue that has not only intimacy but also warmth in its very human dimensions. Beginning with his first song, the cavatina “Quanto è bella” (How beautiful she is), Nemorino draws the audience into his dilemma, and it remains his confidant throughout the opera.

Khori Dastoor as Adina and Alexander Boyer as Nemorino

All photos by Pat Kirk

Along with intimacy, the theater has excellent acoustics that favor orchestra and singers alike. Tenor Boyer has a large, beautifully warm voice. Lacking that edgy resonance of an Italian tenor, he’s more of a Domingo than a Pavarotti, and his sound is unfailingly pleasing. He also has the right physical appearance for Nemorino: tall and large-framed but not too round, with a fresh-faced sincerity that reads as innocence. Boyer was part of the San Francisco Opera’s Merola program, which endlessly seems to produce excellent singers.

Boyer voice was well-partnered by soprano Khori Dastoor, who sang Adina, the mocking object of Nemorino’s affection. Dastoor’s voice has weight in the lower register and a formidable set of silvery upper notes, which ascended in shimmering flight in her lovely rendition of Adina’s second-act confession of love. She is able to portray Adina as both spoiled and lovable.

A Medical Huckster From Down El Camino

Bass Silas Elash sang the enviable part of the quack “from Cupertino,” Dr. Dulcamara. The doctor is the fairy tale equivalent of the old hag (or talking animal) who gives the hero the magic tool that will help him win the day. In this case, the magical item is a bottle of Bordeaux purported to be the love potion of Queen Isolde. Elash sang the part with gusto and an ironic, slightly dissolute air. His songs, the precursors to late-19th-century patter songs — the signature pieces of the fast-talking, ethically questionable, completely ridiculous man of authority — had the same agreeably comic quality as their Gilbert and Sullivan progeny.

Silas Elash as Dr. Dulcamara

Baritone Krassen Karagiozov sang the role of Sergeant Belcore, Nemorino’s rival for the hand of Adina. He managed to capture the raging self-absorption of the “modest” army officer who is more in love with himself and conquest than anything in the universe — without having us dislike him at any point in the opera.

Krassen Karagiozov as Sergeant Belcore (left) with troops

The Opera San José chorus seems to be getting stronger and stronger with each new production. To their credit, the creative team strove to connect the story to San Jose, adding regional references in the supertitles. The set production, by Charlie Smith, used architectural drawings of the city from the turn of the 19th century on the upstage backdrop as a central feature of the sets. Members of the audience recognized the buildings, including the light tower that no longer exists, and seemed to appreciate the idea. The drawings, however, had that distant, professional quality that contemporary architectural renderings have. Similarly, the lighting, by Pamila Gray, had a cool, “designerly” feel.

Stage screen painted by Serina Serjama

More in keeping with the warmth and humor of the opera was the front curtain, which was lusciously painted with fruits, vegetables, and flowers, resembling the gorgeous paintings that characterized California shipping crate labels in the early part of the last century.

Overall, Opera San José presents an enjoyable and admirable production of L’elisir d’amore, which continues through next weekend.

No such shortcuts were taken in the San Francisco Opera production, which opened on Wednesday. The cast is solid gold, and includes three memorable debutants, the return of Ramón Vargas as Nemorino, and the bright Giannetta of Ji Young Yang (who will sing Adina in the upcoming Family Performances, Nov. 8 and 15 — a much anticipated role debut by this outstanding Adler Fellow).

Ramón Vargas (Nemorino) and Ji Young Yang (Giannetta)

Photos by Terrence McCarthy

The debutants are: Inva Mula as Adina, Giorgio Caoduro as Belcore, and Alessandro Corbelli as Dulcamara, the “doctor” who dispenses the elixir that wins hearts and makes rich uncles drop dead just when money is needed.

Mula, the tiny Albanian soprano (who lent her remarkable voice to the 12-foot Blue Diva in the movie The Fifth Element), sang big and with affecting musicality. She projects effortlessly, and her singing goes to the heart of Donizetti’s music. She is the latest in a series of great Adinas at the War Memorial Opera House (see below).

Ramón Vargas (Nemorino) and Inva Mula (Adina)

Caoduro is a real find. A natural “Verdi baritone” of heft and warmth, the young Italian singer could have phoned Belcore in and still have gotten the job done. Instead, he put his all into the role, cutting a dashing figure even with all the tomfoolery (of which there is a tad too much in James Robinson’s busy stage direction). Corbelli, an Italian bass with a baritonal timbre who has had a long career in Europe as a comic bass, had a so-so first act, but came into his own later, especially in Dulcamara’s big duet with Adina.

Giorgio Caoduro (Belcore)

Vargas was terrific throughout the evening. The voice — a strong, solid, lyric tenor — is just one aspect of his performance. He was having a ball with the role of the shy, awkward, but winning country bumpkin, without overdoing it. Most importantly, he sang the role, instead of posing as “Il Tenore.” Even in “Una furtiva lagrima” (A furtive tear), done to a T, he was a lovesick, despairing Nemorino — not a case of the star belting out the song everyone was humming (silently or otherwise).

Allen Moyer’s “minimalist” unit set — a bandstand in 1915 Napa Valley, against the countryside, which is represented by a kind of diorama on panels — is rather boring, the opposite of the director’s nonstop shtick. The stage business ranges from Nemorino’s ice cream truck, to soldiers in early football outfits (piling on each other rather hilariously and somewhat dangerously), to dressing the Opera Chorus as individuals — a good thing.

Finale, with Inva Mula and Ramon Vargas on the left

The Chorus acted up a storm and sang well all evening long. Their unanimity was continually surprising because veteran conductor Bruno Campanella provided no leadership for them — or the orchestra. Lax, unfocused, and often a quarter-beat behind the soloists, Campanella’s direction (especially in the first act) lagged rather than led. The disappointment was all the greater because, seeing that Mr. Excitement Nicola Luisotti was in the audience, I imagined what he would have done with a score that should have snap, crackle, and pop instead of Wednesday night’s languor.

And yet, given the great music and the extra-fine singing, this Elixir still has a lot of balm going for it.

Nemorino’s vintage ice cream truck

Followers of the San Francisco Opera may know that the company has a tradition of going all out in casting this opera: Among past notable Adinas were Bidu Sayão (1948), Patrice Munsel (1956), Judith Blegen (1975), Ruth Ann Swenson (1992), and Anna Netrebko in her role debut (2000); Nemorino has been performed by Tito Schipa (1929), Ferruccio Tagliavini (1948), Alfredo Kraus (1967), Luciano Pavarotti (1969), José Carreras (1975); remarkable Belcores included Tito Gobbi (1948), Luis Quilico (1956) and Gino Quilico (1992) — father and son, singing 36 years apart — and Ingvar Wixell (1969-1975). Conductors included Campanella, in 1992, making his American debut. His work was far more energetic and fitting back then.

The Lady Fox (Breonna Noack), the Rooster (David Hunt) and the Hens (Abigail Munn,
Christie Welter, and Sarah Moss) in Renard

Photos by Ralph Granich

The program opened with L’Histoire du Soldat (The soldier’s tale), Stravinsky’s and Swiss writer Charles-Ferdinand Ramuz’ retelling of the Faust legend. The work tells the story of a soldier who, on leave from the front, encounters the devil, who convinces the soldier to trade in his beloved violin for a magical book. The soldier agrees and, using the book, earns great wealth. The fortune, though, causes only torment. The soldier eventually wins back his fiddle from the devil and, with it, a beautiful princess. As soon as the soldier attempts to return home with his bride, though, the devil regains power over him. This twist leads to the moral, laid out in the Great Chorale: “You must not seek to add to what you have,” for “No one can have it all.”

The Oakland Opera production replaces Ramuz’ French libretto with a new English-language one by British playwright Rebecca Lenkewicz, whose version updates Histoire to the present. The soldier, an American GI by the name of Joe, is en route back to his hometown from the Iraqi battlefield, and the devil first appears to Joe not as an old man, but rather a smarmy street hustler.

Update in Iraq

A press release on the Opera’s Web site describes Lenkewicz’ Iraq War setting as offering a “fresh look at the deserting soldier and his easy way out of what appears to be a senseless war.” In pursuing this modern update, though, the producers slightly change the moral. Early in the production, we see Joe strapped to a chair, blindfolded, and held against his will in a scene strongly reminiscent of a hostage tape broadcast on CNN. Throughout, Joe is depicted as being more a victim of raw physical force than of the devil’s cunning and his own greed, as in Ramuz’ original.

The three principals — Ben Jones as Joe the soldier, Matthias Bossi as the devil, and, most notably, local spoken-word artist Kirya Traber as the narrator — were all excellent. On the whole, the ensemble turned in a good reading of Stravinsky’s difficult score. Graeme Jennings was wonderful in his performance of the violin solos.

Yet the evening’s real treat was the second-half performance of Renard, Stravinsky’s barnyard burlesque for singers, small orchestra, and stage performers. Originally entitled Baika pro lisu, petukha, kota da barana (Fable about the fox, rooster, cat, and ram — the latter changed to “goat” for later foreign translations), the piece draws on folk texts by Afanas’yev, which Stravinsky arranged into the libretto.

Just some of the barnyard acrobatics in Renard

As he did with Histoire, Stravinsky composed Renard during his wartime exile in Switzerland, on commission from the Princess de Polignac. He completed the score in 1916. Even more than Histoire, Stravinsky’s Renard captures his artistic aspirations during this Swiss period, namely his quest for what his biographer Stephen Walsh terms an “idealized folk modernism.”

Bring On the Acrobats

To capture this folkloric style, Renard calls for cimbalom (dulcimer) — replicated on the open strings of the piano by the Oakland Opera’s pianist Skye Atman — to evoke the sounds of the traditional Russian gusli. Stravinsky’s preface to the score states that Renard is “to be played by [a troupe of] clowns, dancers, or acrobats.”

The Oakland Opera’s production perfectly captures this carnivalesque exuberance. During the introductory march, the full troupe of acrobats and dancers came springing down the center aisle of the Metro Operahouse, somersaulting onto the stage in flashes of color and light. Dressed as the barnyard animals of Stravinsky’s score, the performers charmed the audience with a wide variety of acrobatic feats, from knife juggling to tightrope walking, all beautifully choreographed.

Breonna Noack as the Lady Fox

David Hunt did an excellent job as the Rooster, as did Erin Schrader and Jodi Power as the Cat and Goat, respectively. The highlight for me, though, was Breonna Noack’s performance as the Lady Fox. In one particularly memorable sequence, Noack mesmerized the audience with a gorgeous aerial dance performed on a ribbon of red cloth draped from the ceiling.

The Rooster (David Hunt) with his Hens (Abigail Munn, Christie Welter, and Sarah Moss)

The Oakland Opera is a local gem, and its production of Renard alone makes the concert very much worth seeing. Histoire and Renard run at the Oakland Metro Operahouse through November 2.

Attributed to Mussorgsky, the version of Boris Godunov that San Francisco Opera presents in its new production of the work ends suddenly, quietly, Chekhovlike, sending the audience out into the street in a state of puzzlement, thinking: “Is it really over? What was that?!”

There is no revolutionary chorus, no wall-shaking mob scene followed by the heartbreaking lament of the Fool — only Boris’ son cowering on the throne, about to be killed by Prince Shuisky … maybe. Curtain. And a feeling of Chekhovian ambivalence and sorrow.

A scene from Act 1

Photos by Terrence McCarthy

It’s possible to tweak the opera and make it work in various ways, but only in the right venue. In Moscow (or even the Budapest of my childhood), where you could see the “big Godunov” almost any night, fine. Here, where for a majority of the audience this will be THE Godunov they see, it’s nothing less than being shortchanged.

Despite all, it’s amazing how well the San Francisco Opera Chorus — understaffed, misdirected from the pit and on-stage, deprived of some of its best music in this shorter version —came through Wednesday evening. They held up their end in the fragments of this truly grand opera, which is a Russian national treasure, a masterpiece, a huge work in every way, only some of which came through this time.

Ian Robertson’s Opera Chorus weathered Vassily Sinaisky’s inconsistent conducting, Stein Winge’s preposterous production, and the outrageous omission of two important and wonderful acts, and still came out ahead. Melanie Smith’s S.F. Girls Chorus and Robertson’s S.F. Boys Chorus cleanly and movingly augmented the sound of their adult counterparts.

The coronation scene

The sound from each section was solid, the balance excellent, the diction exemplary. How awful, then, to have the Chorus sound muffled in the Coronation Scene, when the singers could (and should) blow the walls down. Even worse for the Chorus (and the audience), they were deprived of the entire great crowd scene of the traditional finale. As for the Opera Orchestra, fresh from its exultation in Die tote Stadt, it sounded fitful, alternating between fine quiet passages and lax playing elsewhere.

Vitalij Kowaljow (Pimen) and Vsevolod Grivnov (Grigory), in an abbreviated role, this time

There are many versions of Godunov, and even more learned essays written about it, but this production only attenuated its magnitude and power. In this San Francisco mounting (which was borrowed from Geneva and follows the 1869 “initial” version, rather than the 1872 “definitive” one), the joyful “Polish Act” is missing, with nothing else to lighten the gloom. And, most disappointingly, the three-hour performance ends quietly, suddenly, with three forlorn figures in a tragic denouement, instead of the “Triumphal March” entry of Dmitri, the Pretender.

Besides leaving the audience at sea, those two omissions also deny our hearing more of Vsevolod Grivnov’s sensational Dmitri. Here’s a Russian tenor (both in fact and in Fach) who could equally well sing Puccini, Verdi, or even the telephone book.

Samuel Ramey as Godunov

In the title role, the great veteran Samuel Ramey sang increasingly well as the evening progressed. His voice is on the dry side, with an overlarge vibrato that seemed immaterial against the artistry of his interpretation. A wondrous bass performance came from Vitalij Kowaljow, as Pimen; his warm, beautiful voice floated effortlessly throughout the house. Vladimir Ognovenko’s Varlaam was fine, but the voice sounded more rough than I remembered from the past.

Ji Young Yang (Xenia) and Jack Gorlin (Fyodor)

Three present Adler Fellows and a former one contributed mightily. Ji Young Yang’s Xenia was bright and charming, with a voice that lights up the stage (which, paradoxically, was kept way too dark most of the time on Göran Wassberg’s “economical” unit set). Andrew Bidlack’s Fool was a vocal and dramatic coup. Daveda Karanas’ Nurse and Catherine Cook’s Innkeeper were excellent. Seventh-grader Jack Gorlin was a prince of a Tsar’s son, singing bravely and well.

Vladimir Ognovenko (Varlaam) and Catherine Cook (The Innkeeper)

Julia Pevzner, making her local debut, directed the production by moving the large cast smoothly, but not allowing the Chorus many chances to sing directly to the audience. It might have been better to allow a few collisions but generate more fire and excitement … and to present finales at the end of both acts that felt more like completion than something petering out.

The opera places great demands on its singers. West Bay Opera’s cast on Friday’s opening night (they reprise their roles on Oct. 19, 25, and 26 in the clear acoustic of Palo Alto’s Lucie Stern Auditorium) did not uniformly wrestle the bull by the horns and achieve triumph, but their collective effort made for an enjoyable night of musical entertainment.

A scene from Carmen

Now in its second season under the directorship of José Luis Moscovich, West Bay Opera has already managed to pull itself financially out of the red. Determined to stay solvent in challenging economic times, Moscovich and the board of directors examined patterns of giving from corporations, foundations, and individual donors, and have cut costs by temporarily suspending the company’s tradition of double casting.

High Production Values

You might expect budget cuts to be reflected in the quality of the production, but that’s not the case. WBO not only built four different sets for the opera’s four acts, it also allowed set designer Jean-Francois Revon and costume designer Beth Gilroy to create a colorful, multilayered production.

Abetted by Robert Ted Anderson’s welcome lighting, the opera was far more of a visual feast than you often encounter at smaller, regional houses. There were a few costume faux pas — Micaëla looked like a cross between Florence Nightingale and a nun, and Don José resembled a down-and-out, overgrown Bohemian in the final act — yet there was plenty of color and flash to compensate.

Director David Cox went full out. Accustomed to seeing members of regional opera choruses look ridiculous in their attempts to act, I was delighted to discover young and veteran choristers alike who performed as if they actually believed what they were singing.

Sarah Barber (right) in the title role

Cox made the most of his young, agile singers. The interplay between Frasquita (Shauna Fallihee), Mercédès (Kindra Scharich), Le Dancaïre (Joaquin Quilez-Marin), and Le Remendado (Samuel Read Levine), all of whom are new to WBO’s stage, was especially winning for its combination of vocal freshness, beauty, and physical freedom. Their Act 2 quintet with Carmen (debuting mezzo-soprano Sarah Barber) was the scene-stealer of the evening.

The contributions of conductor Michel Singher and his 25-person orchestra were equally rewarding. Although the timpani playing was weak, the strings produced lovely tone, and woodwinds were especially rich and colorful. Singher may not have made the entr’actes into much more than pretty interludes, but lovely they were.

A Seductress in Name Alone

As Carmen, Barber displayed a rich, well-controlled voice. The two-time Regional Finalist for the Metropolitan Opera Auditions and three-time prize-winner in the Denver Lyric Opera Guild’s Competition summoned up tasteful snarl on low notes, sang strongly and beautifully on high ones, and did her best to wiggle her shoulders and hips. Unfortunately, her most delightful stage move, hoisting her dress over her knee with her teeth while her hands were tied, was not matched by a convincingly seductive or dangerous persona. Her card scene, for example, fell flat. Barber looked most at home in the final act, when she entered dressed, not as a factory worker or gypsy, but in the garb of a lady.

Benjamin Bongers as Don José

The Don José, Benjamin Bongers, joins a long and illustrious list of large-proportioned tenors who have no choice but to convince by voice alone. Bongers’ voice is sufficiently big and steely to have landed him two roles at San Francisco Opera, but it is far more suited for heldentenor than lyric and dramatic assignments. The Flower Song (”La fleur que tu m’avais jetée”/”The flower you threw at me”) began as a series of disconnected words and phrases, projected in anything but cantabile manner. Surprisingly, for the only time all evening, Bongers produced a rewardingly connected sotto voce (muted tone) as he rose to the climactic B-flat. It wasn’t enough. Nor did his pronunciation, especially in spoken dialogue, remotely resemble the real thing.

Rebecca Sjöwall as Micaëla

Our Micaëla, the debuting soprano Rebecca Sjöwall, is a recent master’s graduate in vocal performance from UCLA whose slew of honors include two-time district winner in the Met National Council Auditions and winner of the American Jenny Lind Competition. Sjöwall started out tremulous and less than pure-voiced, but rallied to produce an exceedingly lovely “Je dis, que rien ne m’épouvante” (I said that nothing can frighten me). Standing alone at center stage, she lit up the proceedings with glowing, sweet tone and a radiant persona, which rightfully reaped some of the longest applause of the evening.

Jason Detwiler (center) as Escamillo

As a longtime proponent of baritone Jason Detwiler (Escamillo), I was delighted to see the former Opera San José Principal Resident Artist in trim, exceedingly fit form. Although his voice has a finish that puts it in a class by itself, it seemed less strong and more occluded (or at least set farther back in the throat) than on previous occasions. He is set to debut with San Diego Opera as Yamadori in Madama Butterfly, and I hope that his current vocal instructor (if any) does not further mask the exceptional beauty and force of his gifts. Another Opera San José veteran, bass Carlos Aguilar, made his WBO debut as a forceful, solid, if less-than-impeccably-voiced Zuniga.

A scene from Act 1 of Idomeneo

Photo by Terrence McCarthy

Idomeneo is about a king returning from the Trojan War. Battered by a storm, he vows to the god Neptune to sacrifice the first person he meets on shore. That person turns out to be his son, Idamante. In the obligatory operatic love triangle, Idamante is loved by two women, the captured Trojan princess, Ilia, and the vengeful Greek princess, Elettra.

Kurt Streit as Idomeneo

The most exciting performance was Streit’s Idomeneo. His tormented king seemed genuine, and he sang in a way that was direct and strong, never strident. He excelled when navigating extreme changes in dynamics, once going from the lightest of pianissimos to full vocal power, to great effect.

Alice Coote as Idamante and Genia Kühmeier as Ilia

Alice Coote’s Idamante (the center of the love triangle) sounded direct and assertive. Her voice complemented Genia Kühmeier’s Ilia wonderfully in their Act 3 duet, and throughout the evening she sang brightly and with agility. Her acting, though, felt stilted, and she often resorted to what looked like posturing. It was as if she was thinking “Look! I’m being manly!” which detracted from her solid vocal performance.

Debut Night

In her first outing at the San Francisco Opera, Austrian soprano Kühmeier as Ilia was sensitive and thoughtful. Her voice had a sparkly quality, with crystalline pianissimos. She also showed a wonderful emotional range.

Iano Tamar as Elettra

As Ilia’s rival, Elettra, Iano Tamar (from the country of Georgia) showed a keen sense of stagecraft. She knew exactly how to gesture or turn her head in order to create a perfect stage image. Vocally, she was less successful. Her dark timbre appealed to me at first, but soon it became clear that she needed more focus and point to project the fiercer aspects of her character. Elettra’s final aria “d’Oreste, d’Aiace” (Within my breast I feel the torments of Orestes and Ajax), with such lines as “tear out my heart, you horned serpents, or a sword will end my pain” illustrated by shriek-like figures of descending staccato notes, should send chills down the spine. Instead, I was left wondering why she was so composed and vocally sedate in this moment of high passion.

In the small role of the High Priest of Neptune, Robert MacNeil excelled in a modest, though promising, debut. His singing was lovely, clear, and well-focused.

Current Adler Fellow Alek Shrader convincingly portrayed Arbace, the king’s wise old advisor, with the help of a gray wig, and facial hair. He moved like a man whose back and joints were failing, which contrasted interestingly with his youthful and lively voice. Thanks to Shrader’s interpretation, it was a treat to hear Arbace’s first act aria, which is often cut.

Chorus at Work

Functioning as the classic Greek Chorus, commenting on action happening both on- and off-stage, the San Francisco Opera chorus produced a full, resonant, and cohesive sound. As Cretan maidens and Trojan captives, Mary Finch, Natasha Ramirez Leland, Chester Pidduck, and David Kekuewa provided sensitive contrasts to the intensity of the full ensemble. Bass Kenneth Kellogg (another current Adler Fellow) sang commandingly as the voice of the Oracle, though the use of amplification and sound effects while he was singing was distracting.

Despite its reduced size, the orchestra, under Music Director Donald Runnicles, seemed to compete with, rather than support, the singers. At only two-thirds of its usual size, the ensemble muscled its way through the score, and overpowered the singers on multiple occasions.

A scene from Act 2

John Copley’s production lacked motion and naturalism. While some singers, Streit in particular, were able to bring real passion to their roles, most looked hampered by awkward staging and artificial gestures. The set, evocative of crumbling buildings, provided some focal interest, particularly when images or light effects occupied the back scrim. The set pieces, however, were practically the same color as the chorus’ costumes, which made for a bland palette. This may have been intentional, however, since the muted colors focused attention on the principals’ richly hued outfits. While gorgeous, the costumes also seemed ungainly. Streit visibly tripped over his voluminous cape at least once.

Performances run through October 31, and balcony ticket holders can experience the show in “Opera Vision.” Screens are suspended from the balcony ceiling providing close-up shots in high-definition.

The show features a lot of the stock G&S types — the insipid young lovers, the befuddled comic baritone, the Duchess of Plaza-Toro, the Mikado (well, not exactly all of these, but characters just like them) — plus a complex plot in which confusions and mistaken identities pile up into a situation where you can’t possibly worry about the impending execution of most of the characters, because this is a comic opera, so everything’s got to come out all right in the end. And this hardly qualifies as a spoiler alert: Things do.

A scene from The Rose of Persia

So as a Gilbertian pastiche it passably amuses, and is very much a rewind to before the time of The Yeomen of the Guard (1888), in which an impending execution is taken seriously. Musically, too, though it’s Sullivan’s last completed work, it’s a rewind. The G&S numbers that emerged by association in my mind were all from the duo’s early operettas, like The Sorcerer (1877) or Trial by Jury (1875). The score is perhaps slightly more Persian than The Mikado is Japanese (or at least vaguely Middle Eastern — to a stay-at-home Englishman at the height of the Empire’s power, Persia and Arabia were pretty much the same).

The songs are of mixed quality. Dramatically the second act is superior to the first, but the best run of music comes near the end of the first act. The cleverest number there was a “House That Jack Built”–style, build-on, fast patter-song in which the Mikado — I mean, the Sultan — and his evil minions introduce themselves.

The Sultan and some of the cast

By far the best music in the entire work was an ensemble piece near the end of the second act, as the characters try to come up with a happy story that will please the Sultan and induce him to issue stays of execution. Yet all they can think of are various English nursery rhymes, of all unlikely things, which they cast in tragic tone and sing of in mournful elaboration (”And the dog of that person named Hubbard/Accompanied her to the cupboard”) to a passably good tune. It tickled me enough to make the visit worthwhile, though I’ve found a Web review of various recordings that calls this a boring song that would be better omitted.

Rose-in-Bloom (Alexandra Kendall), Heart’s Desire (Indre Viskontas), and Scent-of-Lilies (Jennifer Martin)

Although it’s not that great a show, The Rose of Persia amounts to a complex production with a large cast. And the fact that the plot turns on a hallucinatory drug probably doesn’t encourage companies to put it on these days, either. So Lyric Theatre deserves credit for taking the trouble, especially since G&S audiences are notoriously conservative. Sunday’s matinee was nearly deserted, but still the show went on with gusto.

Hassan (Mark Blattel) and The Sultan (Michael Cuddy)

Much of the acting was good: Michael Cuddy as the Sultan, Jim Martin as his executioner, and Mark Blattel as the befuddled protagonist were the most outstanding. The costumes, designed by Lisa Lutkenhouse Lowe, were really impressive, and the sets representing solid stone buildings wobbled only slightly when the characters sat on them.

Anyone who cares at all for musical theater should consider dropping in next weekend and giving a small boost to the company that has produced this obscure though interesting corner of the repertoire.