The Opera Tattler

Reviews of Performances and their Audiences

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  • Serse at Bayerische Staatsoper

    Duncanserse1The production of Serse at the Bavarian State Opera was hideous. When one is staging an opera, which does, in fact, involve music, and thus, sound, perhaps one should think about how the sounds that various parts of the production may distract from the music at hand. All sorts of supernumeraries stomped here and there on stage, and there was also Atalanta and her dancers wearing dresses that had extremely noisy plastic beads. The choreography was poor, especially in the case of Atalanta and her dancers who were dressed with a nod toward cabaret styled belly dance costumes. No one quite owned the movements, as it were.

    Speaking of which, the costumes were garish in general, lots of sequins, it looked like some sort of cheap 80s prom dress nightmare. Though the supernumeraries were dressed in white t-shirts and gray trousers as they moved various parts of the stage to and fro. There was also a part of Act II in which a gaggle of supernumeraries, both male and female, wearing black gowns with a cut outs for prosthetic breasts to jut out of. Thankfully, they also had modest head scarves in place as well.

    Among the various atrocities in the set were huge frames that were hoisted by supernumeraries on stage, complete with obnoxious comments in German on them; various flashing lights onstage; Arsamene undressing onstage, always a crowd-pleaser, even if he wore a body stocking; persons being hoisted on swings while discussing diplomacy; and persons being carried about in boats with bubbles encased in plastic in the background. Mind you, this is what I could see from my standing area that had an obscured view. I cannot detail for you a complete list, unfortunately. But I’m rather glad I did not pay the 97 Euros for a seat with a view of the stage, which was all that was left.

    Mezzo-soprano Ann Murray as the Persian prince Serse was a bit uneven. Her voice was nice in her middle range, but her intonation was off in her higher register. Her voice in the lower range did not always carry, even though the acoustics in the Nationaltheater are quite good. In her mid-range I preferred her voice to Christopher Robson’s countertenor (Arsamene), although his is like a muffled bell, very pretty. The best of the lot was Susan Gritton, the soprano who sang the part of Romilda. Her voice was damp and sweet, if a bit thin. Veronica Cangemi as Atalanta had a raw edge, a little lack of control, but not bad. Nathalie Stutzmann as scorned Amastris also lacked a bit of control of her upper range, her intonation was flat.

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  • Found

    On Friday, May 3, 1996 I saw half of Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, with dance choreographed by Mark Morris, at Zellerbach Hall. This was my first operatic foray. I liked Euridice’s blazing orange colored shift.

    On Friday, September 27, 1996 I went to San Francisco Opera’s production of Thomas’ Hamlet at the Orpheum Theatre. Ruth Ann Swenson’s voice was stunning.

    On Tuesday, October 22, 1996 I heard Carmen at the Civic Auditorium. I enjoyed the sets.

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  • Alcina

    A production of Händel's Alcina from Stuttgart opened yesterday at San Francisco Opera. It garnered enthusiastic and cheerful (perhaps that was just me) booing at the end when the production designer, Anna Viebrock, came out for her curtain call.

    What a self-indulgent, pretentious, inaccessible staging! It wasn't so much the modern dress, or the little junk room with peeling wallpaper, or even the huge and silly frame that was meant to be a mirror that really bothered me. They just made all the characters less than human, doing illogical things like undressing when angry, throwing things while music was going on, scuttling across the stage, and so forth. It made people laugh, when there was beautiful music going on, and seriously detracted from any sort of edification that could be happening.

    Catherine Naglestad, as Alcina, had the strongest voice. It has rough edges and her diction isn't the best, but her projection is incredible. She did move like a wounded animal, especially when she first appeared intertwined with Ruggiero, shuffling along the floor. Part of the problem is that Naglestad is an adorably chubby girl with wide hips and skinny calves, so when she was barefoot for most of the production, wearing her innumerable mid-calf length black cocktail dresses, she just looked awkward and inelegant. The line between hip and foot was no good for an enchanting sorceress, however cute. Then they had her shuffling around on the floor for no reason, reminiscent of spiders.

    The choreography and staging favored falling or throwing bodies and objects to the ground for no apparent reason, and frenetic stomping, hitting walls, choking, binding, and other such movements.

    There were also two gunshots fired, that were quite loud and unnecessary.

    Alice Coote was a fine Ruggiero, her voice warm and dark, and her movements utterly boyish. On the other hand, Catriona Smith was a prissy Morgana, and her upper range was absolutely shrill. They had her sing some of her part on the floor, and she doesn't have the voice to carry this at all.

    The music was sublime. Roy Goodman conducted well, and it sounded very much together.

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  • But that was not what I was going to say.

    San Francisco Opera’s current production of Leoš Janáček’s Káťa Kabanová starts off with words projected on the scrim, from Alexander Ostrovsky’s The Storm, on which the libretto of Káťa is based. This is during the overture, which could not be more than 5 minutes long. I found the staging to be quite ugly, something about it looked institutional, which in all likelihood is intentional. Especially horrid was the ending scene which had a huge metal-looking sculpture shaped like an abstract bird. This sculpture took flight just before Káťa throws herself in the Volga, which amounted to her flinging herself down into a puddle at the center of the stage. Then doctors and emergency workers came out with a metal bed that turned into her coffin, and the focus was so much on this that it took all the power away from evil mother-in-law Kabanicha’s last lines of cold thanks.

    The stage had a room that was moved across and around. It was even more quiet than the platform in Saint François d’Assise.

    The costumes were exceedingly silly. Especially the two servant girls’ costumes, Feklusha and Glasha wore fifties styled cafeteria lady dresses, black with yellow trim, and had jackets with black and yellow stripes at a slant. Also, Boris was in a jacket that was too large and of a strange light grey color that stuck out badly.

    The opera was terribly brief, not even two hours long but having three acts. The libretto is not paced well, but I doubt that Janáček’s music could have been interesting for any longer than two hours. The music was fairly dull, an odd mix of melodic and dissonant. The prettiest music was in the songs of Vanya and Varvara of the second scene in Act II.

    Soprano Karita Mattila (Káťa) has a fine voice, clear but slightly subdued, never shrill in the least. Her movements were a bit awkward, especially when she was rocking in a chair in and when she pretends to be a bird, both in the first act. But she was very good at doing dramatic falls.

    Tenor Raymond Very (Vanya) was the only other singer that struck me as having a beautiful voice. Everyone else was adequate.

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  • Trallalera, trallalera.

    I have a hard time understanding why a person, or a group of people, would feel the need to vocalize or clap at a television set. But I don’t even understand the need to clap before the music is finished at the opera just because the singing is done, as in after an aria, and so forth, and that involves live humans fairly near at hand. So it isn’t surprising that I don’t understand. It just seems that audiences are very absorbed in themselves, they do not forget themselves and their own part. So interested in themselves and their role as consumers. The commodifaction of art is rather depressing, but nothing new.

    Last Sunday’s matinee of Die Entführung aus dem Serail was much better attended than the previous Sunday. The bass role was sung this time by Friedemann Röhlig, who is a skinny young man not as well suited to the role of Osmin as Michael Eder. Röhlig lacked gravity, and made the audience laugh quite a lot, which is certainly fine, as it is a comic role. But Eder’s performance was more challenging, a little tragic even. More ambiguous. Röhlig’s low range was nice, but he sounded uncomfortable higher up. I’m beginning to appreciate how hard that role is, the person it was written for had an impressive range.

    Regina Schörg had the beginnings of influenza, and she was even more strained than before. I believe she missed a few high notes in her aria "Marten von alle Arten", but nevertheless, she did well under the circumstances.

    This time I was struck by how nice the choreography was at the very end of the opera, when the chorus is singing as the Europeans take their leave of Pasha Selim. I also noticed that Belmonte’s fall after his aria in Act I, "Konstanze! dich wiederzusehen, dich!" is rather absurd. There is another silly part where they have him throw his coat, but I don’t remember at what point.

    I was asked if I was from Tibet while in the standing room line. I also met some nice opera coots and discussed Monteverdi and Shakespeare.

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  • Circling all round the sun

    Die Entführung aus dem Serail again on Sunday afternoon and Otello again with Tuesday evening. I was struck by how different the former opera’s set looks up close and how consistent and monolithic the latter one’s set was even when immediate.

    The delicate projections used on the palace in Die Entführung aus dem Serail were lost on me in the dress circle, but from up close they were lovely. I decided on Sunday that I could hear Entführung at least ten times in a row and not tire of this lively music.

    The choreography and staging for Otello seemed a bit more absurd close at hand, the two times Otello pushed Desdemona to the ground, the two times he fell down stairs, and the dropping of both scimitar and dagger down stairs. All somewhat much taken together.

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  • François!

    Olivier Messiaen’s only opera, Saint François d’Assise, closed last night at San Francisco Opera after a run of six performances. This production was the first staged one in North America, and there was much to do about it. The house was quite full, as the production received some acclaim. I was curious what all the fluffle was about, as I have heard Les Mages from his organ cycle La nativité du Seigneur, which only provoked a fit of hysterical giggling.

    The music was often choppy, very chromatic and discontinuous. In addition to a full orchestra, there were five gamelan percussionists and three ondes martenot players. These eight people were visible on either side of the stage in little platforms, apparently there was not enough room for them in the orchestra pit. I found gamelan very odd next to violin & co., to say the least. As for the ondes martenot, the instrument is supposed to have an unworldly sound, but I must say I prefer the harp or organ for this quality. The ondes martenot sounds more like a mobile phone than music from heavenly spheres.

    They say that Messiaen was interested in suspending time, subverting the very idea. But I could never get lost in his music, at times the music was indeed dull. But I did like his libretto, which he wrote himself, long as it was it was dramatic enough and not at all unreasonable.

    The singing was pretty, sometimes sounding very much like an oratorio. I particularly liked the L’Ange, sung by Laura Aikin. The part was eerie, and Aikin moved in a sort of naive and graceful way that was apt. Some of her choreography recalled Martha Graham. Willard White was a convincing Saint François, he has a rich baritone that is kindly. In the seventh scene, when François receives the stigmata, he is lifted on a beam and rends his clothes. At in these moments he looked like a Zeus coming down from the heavens.

    As far as the rest of the singing, none of the other soloists stuck out as being either good or bad. The chorus was nice, especially in that seventh scene, the ardent strains of "François! François!" where a relief.

    The staging was perhaps the prime reason most people could sit (or stand, as in my case) four and a half hours for this opera. The set was sparse mostly involved a spiral path that could be turned. It was fairly quiet for how large it was, making a sort of crinkling noise that could be drowned out by percussion but not voices. The costumes were likewise simple, monks in rough habits, angel in an ultramarine blue body suit with one wing, and the chorus in trench coats, some with hats. All together it felt a bit like a Magritte painting.

    There were clever things done with the scrim, with projections, and an especially cunning use of snow on that spiral road.

    Before the opera I was asked when Messiaen lived and how Charles Barber’s pre-opera lecture was. During the intermissions I was asked a plethora of questions about how standing room in the orchestra section worked, and whether or not one could find a seat. I was also offered seats on two occasions. On my way home I was asked if I was a "Spanish" dancer, and if I thought the opera sounded "eastern."

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  • Wer so wie du nur zangen kann, den sieht man mit Verazhtung an!

    Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail opened last night at San Francisco Opera, with Peter Schneider conducting, and a whole gaggle of singers, and one actor, from the Germanic realms.

    The production seemed to not have confidence in either Mozart’s music to enchant or the audience’s ability to attend to this music, and the beautiful opening overture was marred by Belmonte coming out onstage and disrobing with the assistance of two servants, and changing into other attire. Other examples of this lack of confidence was seen in the five lines of English given to Blonde, one of which was "Here I am, an Englisher, speaking German to a Turk." These interspersed lines delighted the audience in a certain way, but they were distracting. There was also a ridiculous use of a cut out moon during Belmont’s aria Wenn der Freude Tränen fliessen in Act II, in which the moon was lowered all the way down, and Konstanze leaned against it as she was listening.

    However, the singers all had pleasing voices. Paul Groves was the best tenor I’ve heard at SF Opera all season, and he sparkled as Belmonte. His voice had good volume and was sweetly supple. His spoken German stood out as non-native compared to the others though. Regina Schörg as Kontanze, on the other hand, had being Viennese to her advantage. Her voice was a pretty one, though at times it was strained and slightly brittle. Schörg did well in her back-to-back arias in Act II (Welcher Wechsel herrscht in meiner Seele and Martern aller Arten), she held back a little in the first one, but the second was simply beautiful.

    Peter Bronder (Pedrillo), Jennifer Welch-Babidge (Blonde), and Michael Eder (Osmin) all were adequate in their parts. Welch-Babidge has a bird-like voice that was suited for Blonde. Eder’s voice was just didn’t quite carry perfectly, just a touch quiet, and he didn’t quite get his low notes. Frank Hoffman was a fine Pasha Selim, a speaking part, and they were able to integrate the speaking and singing parts just so, never leaving one horribly confused on why this part is only spoken.

    The staging was fairly good. The palace was a cross between a dollhouse and a wedding cake, which was cute, but the peach color added to a cultivated falseness of the set. The outer wall used in Act I was too dark of a mahogany for the lightness of the palace, the colors were not harmonious. The floor was done wonderfully though, blue tile with a vine pattern. The outer screen they used was painted showing the setting from afar, the sea with ships and the land with palace. It looked a bit like a tapestry with hues reminiscent of Chagall.

    The choreography was artificial, lots of spinning and dancerly movements. Unfortunately the singers, save for Welch-Babidge, were not good enough dancers to carry this off well. Schörg looked uncomfortable wearing sandals in Act II, as if she didn’t know she had feet before. Bronder shuffled and skipped like a young bird who couldn’t stay still. However, Eder had a certain gravity of movement that was particularly good when he was praying. Just with slight but very graceful motions he was able to silence everyone.

    The costumes were quite pretty, as usual. One would think that if they could get the costumes in harmonious hues, that they could make the set match.

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  • Uccidere non voglio l’anima tua.

    A production owned by the Washington Opera of Verdi’s Otello opened at San Francisco Opera last Wednesday. Tenor Ben Heppner was to sing the titular role, but withdrew earlier in the year. Consequently, the part is now being shared by Jon Fredric West and Timothy Mussard. West’s voice is not particularly stunning. West sounded cold especially next to baritone Sergei Leiferkus’ fiery Iago. Patricia Racette was an adequate Desdemona, her voice is neither sweet nor passionate, but has a watery quality that is neither here nor there.

    The sets were gorgeous and included beautiful arches devised to look like grey stone. The costumes were what one would expect, mostly Renaissance Venetian in character, with some of the chorus in Orientalist garb.

    The choreography was carried off well, there was much swooning and Desdemona was thrown to the ground a few times by Otello, and these movements were staged nicely. Catherine Cook as Emilia seemed as though she were on the verge of a seizure even from the dress circle. Her movements were too big and sharp.

    A nice production, but not inspired. Maybe I simply do not like Verdi as well as Mozart or Händel.

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  • More Notes on the San Francisco Opera Opening Night

    I had planned on purchasing proper tickets for the opening night, but the San Francisco Opera Web site did not operate properly the day single tickets became available, and they were sold-out quite quickly. I fear the telephone and I didn’t muster enough energy to go to the box office in person, being that it was a Monday. So I decided I would get standing room tickets, since they only go on sale the day of the performance and the event was on a Saturday. I did not have a good idea of how early I would have to get to the box office, but 8:30 am sounded like a nice round number. I went to the box office, and saw that no one was there, which made me feel, for the first time truly, that I was perhaps somewhat mad. Then I noticed that the box office at that location was not in operation on the weekend, and that I should go to the actual opera house. There were assorted old coots lined up there, and I was comforted somewhat.

    I sat quietly and read, earplugs in to muffle the sounds of chatter. The line grew and grew, full of what would appear to be eccentric old persons and middle-aged gay men.

    I managed to secure myself a good standing room ticket that assured that I would be able to find a good place at the back of the orchestra. Near the middle, and against the low wall separating the seats from standing room. I much enjoyed being by myself, being able to quietly observe people.

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