Benjamin Britten's opera
Albert Herring is something of a miracle. From the pen of a composer inclined to Christian moralizing and examining the dark underbelly of the human psyche came, soon after
Peter Grimes, this delightful chamber opera, which poked fun at tight-buttoned British moralists and celebrated the free expression of human passions. Thanks to Eric Crozier's brilliant libretto — lines such as "Country virgins, if there be such, think too little and see too much" deserve as much immortality as that "To be, or not to be" question — Britten gave free rein to his creative powers. The four-act opera is filled with bubbling ensembles for up to nine singers at a time, and enough orchestral strokes of the imagination to keep a critic constantly occupied trying to note them all.
The story, which is plausible enough to merit retelling, revolves first around Lady Billows, the reigning Victorian grande dame of a small market town in East Suffolk. A champion of all things Christian and good, she spearheads a search for a local girl virtuous enough to be crowned Queen of the May. Though her appointed committee of four — the vicar, butcher/mayor, music teacher, and superintendent of police — supplies some candidates, her quintessentially uptight dyke housekeeper, Florence Pike, has engaged in sufficient incessant, small-town snooping to uncover each one's moral shortcomings.
All seems lost until the committee follows the superintendent's advice and determines instead to crown young Albert Herring of Herring Green Grocer the town's first and undoubtedly final May King. By opera's end, Albert, who was formerly under the complete control of his domineering mother, has broken free of her reins and laughed the committee off the stage.
A Merola Triumph
Part of my enthusiasm for this joyful masterpiece stems from Merola Opera's marvelous production, seen on Sunday. Donald Eastman's simple sets were a case of neither low nor high budget; rather, they created a perfectly simple, sparkling white setting for the action. Costume designer Wendy Lynn, never going overboard into caricature, nonetheless managed to delineate each character through simple touches (such as a jacket too large in the middle for the towering, lumbering superintendent of police; a ridiculous wreath around the crown of Albert's hat; and a purple outfit for the billowing lady, just absurd enough to speak volumes). Kate Boyd's lighting was equally restrained and apt.
Director Peter Kazaras and apprentice stage director Jimmy Smith must have had a ball. Rather than going for Laurel and Hardy slapstick, and drowning the opera's many subtleties with stock gestures, they took their cues from the music and libretto and lent the characters a modicum of believability. Lady Billows, for example, has name and airs ridiculous enough; having her march around giving orders as though she totally believed in her powers to command was sufficient.
Among this year's crop of Merolini are several whose vocal and artistic skills seemed ideal for the opera. As Lady Billows, soprano Kate Crist came equipped with a large-ranged, rock solid, redoubtable voice that many would kill for, and a figure of ideal dowdiness. Crist's voice and body literally billowed over into other people's business. Brava!
As her unlikely antagonist, New Zealand tenor James Benjamin Rodgers portrayed the virtuous-by-default Albert Herring with rare physical mastery. At the coronation banquet, he slumped blank-faced and diminished; once liberated by alcohol, he was vaulting over platforms without resorting to cheap drunk mannerisms. Rodgers may have strained a bit on a few extremely difficult high passages — one orchestra member reports that he experienced no trouble on opening night — but his character and accent were so right for the role that it mattered naught.
Ruddy Bass Voice
Bass Benjamin LeClair portrayed Mr. Budd as an ideally ineffectual, less than Oxford-scholar superintendent of police, and sang with classic "ruddier than a cherry" voice. Although he tended to lose some color high in his range, the lower notes were so distinctively sonorous and filled with character as to suggest major career potential. Another standout was baritone Darren Perry, whose wonderfully voiced Sid was complemented by coarse facial expressions at once seductive and devilish.
Mezzo-soprano Nicole Berkland's Florence Pike was a bit too young and healthy looking for a buttoned-up snoop — she seemed to enjoy her character so much that she failed to portray her inner frustration — but the voice was excellent. The same can be said of mellifluous baritone Eugene Chan, whose incessantly smiling Vicar lacked the ultimate smugness that makes the Jerry Falwells of the world seem so preposterously pious.
In other roles, tenor Tyler S. Nelson failed to make a memorable impression as the mayor, but sang with great beauty in the final large ensemble. As voice teacher Miss Wordsworth, soprano Ellen Wieser was delightfully self-effacing and proper, but her extremely agile, finely managed soprano displayed a touch of shrillness. Mezzo Renée Tatum's Nancy, Sid's girlfriend and co-conspirator, was all there vocally, but failed to convey sufficient depth of remorse after Albert's disappearance.
Mezzo Natasha Flores' gorgeously voiced Mrs. Herring seemed similarly constrained, as though unable to totally give herself over to her character's apron strings. Of the three children — Jack Gorlin, Kelty Morash, and Laura Corina Sanders — Morash was the standout, having a ball with her character and dancing up a storm.
Which leads to her undoubtedly proud father (I presume), conductor Mark Morash. From the fabulous harp flourishes that accompanied the committee's pompous pronouncement of May King, to the short yips of the violin, Morash underscored Britten's droll wit and constant attention to character. Far more than the sum of its sparkling parts, the production was a triumph. I expect the final, already almost sold-out production of the season,
Don Giovanni (August 1 and 3), to prove an equal success.