Il Trovatore in the morning, La Boheme in the evening—life is so rich! Where to go from here, except to see the same opera morning and evening?
This La Boheme had the same sets reviewed earlier; the difference was the singers. Opera San Jose presents eight performances of each opera, with four performances by each of two casts, and we arrange to see both casts. This evening we saw:
Marcello: Krassen Karagiozov
Rodolfo: Christopher Bengochea
Colline: Silas Elash
Schaunard: Daniel Cilli
Benoit: Paul Murray
Mimi: Jouvanca Jean-Baptiste
Musetta: Jillian Boye
Alcindoro: Stephen Boisvert
Parpignol: Lee Steward
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Director: Timothy Near
The standout this time was Silas Elash. I’m a sucker for the beautiful bass tones that he produced in “Vecchia zimarra,” otherwise known as the overcoat aria. I was wondering how they were going to make him up, make a person of his age appear to fit with the other Bohemians, but they did very well. They gave him a mass of shoulder-length, wavy red hair, and a big bushy red beard to match—it was hard to find the “mature” gentleman underneath.
But again, just like Thursday night, I did not manage to get emotionally involved with Mimi, and the eyes barely moistened. A bit better than a gamma.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Il Trovatore, Metropolitan Opera HD Live, April 30 2011
According to Enrico Caruso, and repeated by hostess Renee Fleming, all you need to do to put on Il Trovatore is to hire the four best singers in the world. “Best” is a matter of opinion, but the Met lavished star power on this production:
Manrico: Marcelo Alvarez
Leonora: Sandra Radvanovsky
Count di Luna: Dmitri Hvorostovsky
Azucena: Dolora Zajick
All were superb, but I have to give top billing to Dmitri Hovorostovsky, whom I found especially effective. Stefan Kocan’s Ferrando wasn’t too shabby either.
The set was familiar; we had seen it in the San Francisco opera house and at the ballpark in 2009. It turns out that it is a joint production of San Francisco, the Met, and Chicago Lyric. It features a rotating stage, the better to preserve momentum by not ringing down the curtain for a scene change. The circle is divided into three 120° sections by tall concrete (or “concrete”) walls. The first scene features a long concrete staircase proceeding high up the right-hand wall. The Anvil Chorus scene and the final prison scene have something that looks like a rocky shell overhanging what looks like the entrance to a cave; in the prison scene there is a thick, charred pole with manacles, clearly echoing the backstory of Azucena’s mother being burned at the stake. The scenes for the convent and Leonora outside the prison use the third section of the rotating stage, with large steel grates separating one side from another—like a portcullis, except that they don’t move.
Rodvanovsky and Hvorostovsky also performed in San Francisco in 2009, and that production was the highlight of the season. The Met’s production was certainly strong, but did not quite reach the intensity of San Francisco’s. Perhaps the difference can be attributed to the conducting: San Francisco’s superb Verdi/Puccini conductor, Nicola Luisotti, as compared to the Met’s Marco Armiliato.
A very strong performance; a very solid beta.
Manrico: Marcelo Alvarez
Leonora: Sandra Radvanovsky
Count di Luna: Dmitri Hvorostovsky
Azucena: Dolora Zajick
All were superb, but I have to give top billing to Dmitri Hovorostovsky, whom I found especially effective. Stefan Kocan’s Ferrando wasn’t too shabby either.
The set was familiar; we had seen it in the San Francisco opera house and at the ballpark in 2009. It turns out that it is a joint production of San Francisco, the Met, and Chicago Lyric. It features a rotating stage, the better to preserve momentum by not ringing down the curtain for a scene change. The circle is divided into three 120° sections by tall concrete (or “concrete”) walls. The first scene features a long concrete staircase proceeding high up the right-hand wall. The Anvil Chorus scene and the final prison scene have something that looks like a rocky shell overhanging what looks like the entrance to a cave; in the prison scene there is a thick, charred pole with manacles, clearly echoing the backstory of Azucena’s mother being burned at the stake. The scenes for the convent and Leonora outside the prison use the third section of the rotating stage, with large steel grates separating one side from another—like a portcullis, except that they don’t move.
Rodvanovsky and Hvorostovsky also performed in San Francisco in 2009, and that production was the highlight of the season. The Met’s production was certainly strong, but did not quite reach the intensity of San Francisco’s. Perhaps the difference can be attributed to the conducting: San Francisco’s superb Verdi/Puccini conductor, Nicola Luisotti, as compared to the Met’s Marco Armiliato.
A very strong performance; a very solid beta.
La Boheme, Opera San Jose, May 28 2011
After having given three previews on La Boheme, which involved deeper study than I have previously given the opera, I was ready for an emotionally draining experience in the opera house. (I even had to cut out pieces from the talks I gave, figuring that it wasn’t good form for the speaker to lose his composure, especially over a fictional character.) Instead, I got one of those rare experiences: a dry-eyed La Boheme. Nothing particularly went wrong, but very little went right either.
The sets were, of course, traditional. The Bohemians are clearly living at the top of the building, with gigantic wooden beams and their supports running across the top of their garret. There is an easy chair and a stove. There is no table, but there is a copper bathtub, with wheels artfully concealed beneath it. When the Bohemians need a table, they wheel the tub out to center stage; Colline gets in the tub and a plank is laid across the tub, above his feet, and the comestibles are served on top of it. The largest object on stage is an artist’s scaffold, a large wooden structure with steps on one side and vertical on the other, the sort of thing that Cavaradossi might pull up next to the painting of the Madonna that he is working on, but rather out of place in the Bohemian’s garret, even though Marcello is working on a large (at least 6 feet on a side) painting of “The Crossing of the Red Sea.” Marcello’s painting technique is most unusual—the term “slapdash” comes to mind. He is taking broad swipes at what looks like a finished painting; he looks more like he is dusting the painting than creating it. And how he is going to get that monster out the door and down the stairs is something that he will leave to the stagehands to figure out. In the front right corner of the stage (from the audience’s viewpoint) is a small structure enclosing a large window that can be opened to permit Rodolfo (and later, Colline) to step out onto a small balcony.
The Act 2 set garnered applause as the curtain went up. It’s a small Parisian plaza, with the Cafe Momus to the left, a charcuterie (think butcher shop) behind the Cafe, and to the right a brasserie and another shop. On the backdrop are convincingly painted the buildings in the background, and there is a broad alley in the center for the entrances of Parpignol and Musetta. Of course, there are lots of people milling about.
Act 3, at the gates of Paris, has a large steel fence in the center, with the customs official’s shack immediately to the right and Marcello and Musetta’s inn on the left; the inn has an external brick staircase to the second floor. Sad to day, the brick staircase was not all that stable, and wobbled noticeably when Rodolfo or Marcello used it. There is no evidence of the repurposed “Crossing of the Red Sea.” Act 4 is back in the garret, looking just like Act 1, except that the copper tub has been pushed to one side to make way for a bed.
Our cast:
Marcello: Torlef Borsting
Rodolfo: Alexander Boyer
Colline: Isaiah Musik-Ayala
Schaunard: Daniel Cilli
Benoit: Paul Murray
Mimi: Jasmina Halimic
Musetta: Sandra (Rubalcava) Bengochea
Alcindoro: Stephen Boisvert
Parpignol: Lee Steward
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Director: Timothy Near
It was a pleasure to hear Sandra Bengochea again. She continues to sing beautifully, and brought all of the spunk that Musetta needs—perhaps too much. When she complains about her foot hurting, places her foot on a chair, and hikes up her skirts, she hikes them way up, so much so that Alcindoro feels compelled to place his top hat in a certain place. I presume that was a directorial decision, and just one of several misfires:
On the whole, competently performed, but not much more. A gamma, or a bit better.
The sets were, of course, traditional. The Bohemians are clearly living at the top of the building, with gigantic wooden beams and their supports running across the top of their garret. There is an easy chair and a stove. There is no table, but there is a copper bathtub, with wheels artfully concealed beneath it. When the Bohemians need a table, they wheel the tub out to center stage; Colline gets in the tub and a plank is laid across the tub, above his feet, and the comestibles are served on top of it. The largest object on stage is an artist’s scaffold, a large wooden structure with steps on one side and vertical on the other, the sort of thing that Cavaradossi might pull up next to the painting of the Madonna that he is working on, but rather out of place in the Bohemian’s garret, even though Marcello is working on a large (at least 6 feet on a side) painting of “The Crossing of the Red Sea.” Marcello’s painting technique is most unusual—the term “slapdash” comes to mind. He is taking broad swipes at what looks like a finished painting; he looks more like he is dusting the painting than creating it. And how he is going to get that monster out the door and down the stairs is something that he will leave to the stagehands to figure out. In the front right corner of the stage (from the audience’s viewpoint) is a small structure enclosing a large window that can be opened to permit Rodolfo (and later, Colline) to step out onto a small balcony.
The Act 2 set garnered applause as the curtain went up. It’s a small Parisian plaza, with the Cafe Momus to the left, a charcuterie (think butcher shop) behind the Cafe, and to the right a brasserie and another shop. On the backdrop are convincingly painted the buildings in the background, and there is a broad alley in the center for the entrances of Parpignol and Musetta. Of course, there are lots of people milling about.
Act 3, at the gates of Paris, has a large steel fence in the center, with the customs official’s shack immediately to the right and Marcello and Musetta’s inn on the left; the inn has an external brick staircase to the second floor. Sad to day, the brick staircase was not all that stable, and wobbled noticeably when Rodolfo or Marcello used it. There is no evidence of the repurposed “Crossing of the Red Sea.” Act 4 is back in the garret, looking just like Act 1, except that the copper tub has been pushed to one side to make way for a bed.
Our cast:
Marcello: Torlef Borsting
Rodolfo: Alexander Boyer
Colline: Isaiah Musik-Ayala
Schaunard: Daniel Cilli
Benoit: Paul Murray
Mimi: Jasmina Halimic
Musetta: Sandra (Rubalcava) Bengochea
Alcindoro: Stephen Boisvert
Parpignol: Lee Steward
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Director: Timothy Near
It was a pleasure to hear Sandra Bengochea again. She continues to sing beautifully, and brought all of the spunk that Musetta needs—perhaps too much. When she complains about her foot hurting, places her foot on a chair, and hikes up her skirts, she hikes them way up, so much so that Alcindoro feels compelled to place his top hat in a certain place. I presume that was a directorial decision, and just one of several misfires:
- Rodolfo leaves the door to the garret open as he escorts Mimi to the Cafe Momus.
- Mimi begins her Waltz sitting on a “throne” made by placing a chair on a table, with four young men very close by gazing at her unrealistically.
- The maid whom Mimi asks to go fetch Marcello has just emptied two chamberpots into a large barrel in the middle of the plaza.
- As Act 4 opens, Marcello is painting a smaller picture, but he’s holding it in one hand (no other support) while dabbing at it with the other.
- Colline sings “Vecchia zimarra” from the small balcony.
On the whole, competently performed, but not much more. A gamma, or a bit better.
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