COSTA
MESA, Calif-- I vividly recall the
final day of my opera appreciation class at UC Berkeley, where Prof.
Joseph Kerman (author of “Opera as Drama”, “Beethoven
Quartets”) dismissed the class
with these parting words: “One can learn a lot about life
from the opera.” To
this day, I have found this life-imitating-art truism time and again
mirrored in my own life, and have profitted greatly from it.
In the case of Der Rosenkavalier, the setting may be
18th-Century Vienna (or at least Hofmannsthal’s version thereof),
but the main themes -- love at first sight and fear of growing old
– are universal and timeless.
The opera’s enduring appeal and popularity are owing as
much to its lavish rococo visuals as to Richard Strauss’s equally
sumptuous score of ravishing beauty and delicacy – both of which
were amply evident in this fine production by the Opera Pacific of
Orange County.
After its Carmen opened to lukewarm
critical reception in February, Opera Pacific bravely took on Der
Rosenkavalier, the company’s first-ever Strauss opera in its
15-year history. Under
artistic director John DeMain’s baton, the normally placid winds
and brasses suddenly acquired colors and fluidity, while the tired
strings shimmered and glowed to the infectious lilt of the many
Viennese waltzes that run through the score.
(For truly idiomatic playing, one would have to wait until
the great Vienna Philharmonic visits Orange County later in the
season.) The
tempi were just right—from the (graphically?)
impassioned/impatient horn calls in the prelude, to the glorious
Final Trio and the ensuing Mozartean duet.
The ‘Presentation of the Rose’ in Act II was played with
ethereal finesse and expansive phrasing, but without excessive
lingering that sags the musical line.
Despite claims of ‘completeness’, this new production
observed many of the standard cuts (e.g., Baron’s music in Acts I
and III)– an unfortunate decision that shaved a mere ten minutes
off of the four-hour long evening at best.
The production was a scaled-down transplant
from Seattle Opera and featured traditional, Alfred Roller-inspired
rococo sets and costumes by Bruno Schwengl.
Mr. Schwengl’s Act III sets depart from tradition by
turning the tavern into a starlit garden with a ‘stone’ statue,
evocative of Don Giovanni and Act IV of
Le Nozze di Figaro – a visual tribute to the
Mozartean transparency of the score and a brilliant coup de théâtre
in my opinion. Interestingly,
it was Hofmannsthal himself who first adopted the garden scene for
the 1926 silent film adaptation of Der Rosenkavalier (which
has been painstakingly restored).
Less effective, I felt, was Jay
Lesenger’s stage direction, which often ran counter to Strauss’s
highly specific musical cues; i.e.,
lighting of candles in Act III pantomime, and premature exit of the
black page in the Finale.
One entertaining bit of locally-inspired stage business,
however, occurred during the Act II ruckus that breaks out as Baron
Ochs’s lakeys are seen chasing Fanninal’s housemaids – an
imaginery straight out of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” from
Disneyland.
Der Rosenkavalier
owes its appeal and popularity in part to the sharply-drawn
secondary roles, some of which have developed lives of their own
outside the opera, in the form of decorative dinner plates,
chocolate candies, cigarette boxes, etc.
In the Opera Pacific production, these delightful characters
are vividly brought to life. Metroplitan Opera veterans Denni Petersen and Jane Shaulis
played the zany intriguers Valzacchi and Annina to the hilt. Baritone James Maddelena, in the role of Fanninal, reveals
the mercenary father’s softer side with a gentle reading of his
final line, “Sind halt aso, die jungen Leut.”
(“That’s how the young folk are.”)
The only disappointment was Robert Breault’s Italian Tenor,
who emitted plenty of ardor and fire but little understanding of the
Italian style. Rounding
up the cameo roles are the the Attorney (Act I) and the Police
Commissioner (Act III), both played capably by the versatile Opera
Pacific resident artist Andrew Fernando.
Of the four principal roles, Baron Ochs auf
Lerchenau presents probably the biggest challenge for the stage
director, who often favors cuts in Baron’s music to make the role
more sympathetic. I
would argue the opposite, that these minor cuts make much musical
damage and little dramatic impact, if at all.
It is the task of the true artist to lend dignity to even the
most unredeemable role. Vocally,
German bass Mark Hollop’s big, burly instrument proved not quite
nimble enough for Strauss’s mercurial score, and his singing
sounded unfocused, sloppy, and appropriately loutish in Act I.
Later in the evening, however, Mr. Hollop managed to make the
Baron, if not a lovable buffoon, at least a ‘cavalier’ of sorts,
when he finally untangles the Octavian-Mariandel-Marschallin
charade. (“Ein Lerchenauer
war noch nie kein Spielverderber nicht”/”No Lerchenau was
ever a spoilsport.”)
In the travesti role of Octavian,
Patricia Risley’s classy mezzo-soprano befits her image as the
gleaming Knight of the Silver Rose.
The voice is strong, pure, and full of youthful bloom,
capable of projecting a wide emotional palette-- from the impetuous
outbursts in Act I, to the touching pathos in the Final Trio.
Ms. Risley played Octavian as a wide-eyed adolescent who
finds his true love and matures into a compassionate human being in
the end. As
Sophie, soprano Nancy Allen Lundy took some time to warm up to the
stratospheric high notes of the Act II Presentation duet.
Once warmed up, the twin seraphic voices floated and soared
over unison strings and muted horns,
while time seemed to stand still in blissful wonder.
A more enchanting example of love-at-first-sight cannot be
found in opera.
Between the Baron’s moral crassness and the
young lovers’ newfound happiness, the Marschallin resigns herself
to the bittersweet notion that “es ist doch der Lauf der Welt”
(“It is just the way of the world”).
The Marschallins whom I have seen or heard over the years all
identified with the role in their own highly personal ways:
Lotte Lehmann’s impulsive fervor; Kiri te Kanawa’s
limpid, aristocratic poise; Felicity Lott’s cool sophistication
(1993, San Francisco); Renée Fleming’s heartrending passion
(1995, Houston). In her
much anticipated return to Orange County after the superb Don
Giovanni in 1997, American expatriate Helen Donath brought to
the role of Marschallin a special warmth and humility that are
uniquely her own. After
a problematic start-- “philosophier er nicht, herr Schatz”
was a near miss-- the voice soon settled in and produced such
ravishing, redolent tones that another singer half the age would
envy (Ms. Donath was born in 1940).
In addition to her lyrical gifts, Ms. Donath also showed an
innate feeling for Hofmannsthal’s delicate poetry.
The Marschallin’s philosophical musings on the inexorable
passage of time (“die Zeit, die ist ein sonderbar Ding”/”time
is a strange thing”) were rendered with nostalgic poignancy and
dignified restraint. Later
on, the Marschallin sends her beloved Octavian off to deliver the
silver rose to young Sophie, knowing full well that today or
tomorrow (“heut oder morgen”), he will find another woman
younger and more beautiful than she.
To her little black page, she says quietly, “Da drin ist
die silberne Rosen. Der
Herr Graf weiß, ohnehin”
(“Here is the silver rose. The Count knows, anyway…”) Here, as sung by Ms. Donath, the word “Rosen” was
lovingly caressed in a long pianissimo, as if the Marschallin
was trying to cling onto a piece of the past that would soon be lost
to her forever. Her
soft whispering of “ohnehin” was especially touching.
At the end, the Marschallin’s final words “Ja, Ja”
were not a sighed whimper, as is often the case, but a firmly
enunciated declamation by someone who has put the past behind her
and come to terms with the ways of the world.
Prof. Kerman was right.
The opera moves us because it is the reflection of reality.
In the celebrated Final Trio of Der Rosenkavalier, we
are enveloped by the most sublime lyrical outpourings which unfold
like the opening of a rosebud, ever so fragrant and delicate, ever
so real.
Truman
C. Wang is editor of Classical Voice.
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