Back to the California Theatre to see the “other” cast, that is, the cast that did not perform on Thursday. The staging was the same as the one on Thursday; only the cast was (mostly) different:
Violetta: Rebecca Davis
Alfredo: Michael Dailey
Giorgio: Evan Brummel
Flora: Wendy Buzby
Baron Douphol: Isaiah Musik-Ayala
Gastone: Mete Tasin
Marquis D’Obigny: Bradley Kynard
Dr. Grenville: Silas Elash
Annina: Rebecca Krouner
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Stage Director: José Maria Condemi
Rebecca Davis sang with considerable force and purity of tone, but lacked some of the emotion heard on Thursday. Michael Dailey cut the final high note of his act 2 cabaletta short and avoided the pit that Thursday’s Alfredo had fallen into—perhaps that note is particularly treacherous and that’s why the cabaletta is often cut. Cheers to our tenors for at least trying it. Evan Brummel was adequate as Giorgio Germont, but lacked the gravitas heard earlier. The chorus and orchestra under the leadership of David Rohrbaugh were again superb. A beta.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
La Traviata, Opera San Jose, Feb. 16 2012
Almost exactly five years to the day since the previous production of La Traviata, it’s back—not surprising, given that (according to one measure) it’s one of the most popular works in today’s opera world. It was given in four acts, with two intermissions, and a “pause” between acts 3 and 4. The same basic set was used for all four acts: to the right we saw a wooden floor, rising gently from the front of the stage to the back, with a couple of wide steps down to the flat area to the left. At the back, a wall with a large window to the right; on the right side, a wall with three doors.
As the prelude concluded, the lights came up gradually on Violetta gazing at a large (six feet by twelve) portrait of herself, mounted on the wall to the left of the large window. Through the large window, we saw a partially-completed Eiffel Tower, the setting having been moved forward about 40 years from Verdi’s intended date of 1845, and almost 200 years from what the score says: “Paris and its environs, ca. 1700.” The left side of the stage was furnished with only a large round ottoman on which several people could sit. When the prelude was over and the party music began, the guests burst through all three doors, half the chorus telling the other half that they are late.
For the second act, we were moved to the little house in the country. The middle door has been covered over by a large stone fireplace with a gun rack on the audience side. Through the window we saw the shrubbery outside, and where Violetta’s portrait had hung there was now a large rack of dried herbs. On the flat portion of the stage there was a small table and a stool.
In the third act we were at Flora’s mansion, which looked a lot like Violetta’s, except that her portrait was gone and the large window incorporated an entryway. Through the window we could see a completed Eiffel Tower. To the left, a gambling table with chairs. To the right, covering the middle door, a very large poster of a charging bull.
For the fourth and final act, we were returned to Violetta’s mansion. Her portrait had fallen off the wall and was lying against the wall at an angle. On the left was Violetta’s sickbed, and a chair for Annina. The drapes over the window were initially closed, but when Violetta asked Annina to open them, she opened one side, and a very dim light entered. After all, it was winter in Paris, and the libretto said “seven o’clock” (in the morning).
Our cast:
Violetta: Jouvanca Jean Baptiste
Alfredo: Alexander Boyer
Giorgio: Torlef Borsting
Flora: Cathleen Candia
Douphol: Isaiah Musik-Ayala
Gastone: Justin Marsh
D’Obigny: Bradley Kynard
Dr. Grenville: Silas Elash
Annina: Tori Grayum
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Stage Director: José Maria Condemi
The orchestra played beautifully throughout; in particular, the overture was worth some goosebumps. It took the singers a while to warm up, though. The first act sounded as though the singers were keeping a lot in reserve for later in the evening. When Alexander Boyer entered at the beginning of act 2 and sang the cavatina “De’ miei bollenti spiriti” and started in on the cabaletta “O mio rimorso!” he sounded greatly improved. Unfortunately, his final high note came out as what could only be described as a croak. We felt so bad for him. Torlef Borsting, as Alfredo’s father Giorgio Germont, sang beautifully when he sang more loudly; his softer passages suffered in comparison. Jouvanca Jean-Baptiste sang Violetta well after the first act, but not outstandingly so. The chorus sang very well. The stage direction was quite fine. In particular, Baron Douphol’s challenge to the duel at the end of act 3 was very clear, although Isaiah Musik-Ayala may have gotten ahead of his cue—he stood there with his card in his upraised hand for what seemed an uncomfortably long time. Overall, an enjoyable evening in the theater; a beta.
As the prelude concluded, the lights came up gradually on Violetta gazing at a large (six feet by twelve) portrait of herself, mounted on the wall to the left of the large window. Through the large window, we saw a partially-completed Eiffel Tower, the setting having been moved forward about 40 years from Verdi’s intended date of 1845, and almost 200 years from what the score says: “Paris and its environs, ca. 1700.” The left side of the stage was furnished with only a large round ottoman on which several people could sit. When the prelude was over and the party music began, the guests burst through all three doors, half the chorus telling the other half that they are late.
For the second act, we were moved to the little house in the country. The middle door has been covered over by a large stone fireplace with a gun rack on the audience side. Through the window we saw the shrubbery outside, and where Violetta’s portrait had hung there was now a large rack of dried herbs. On the flat portion of the stage there was a small table and a stool.
In the third act we were at Flora’s mansion, which looked a lot like Violetta’s, except that her portrait was gone and the large window incorporated an entryway. Through the window we could see a completed Eiffel Tower. To the left, a gambling table with chairs. To the right, covering the middle door, a very large poster of a charging bull.
For the fourth and final act, we were returned to Violetta’s mansion. Her portrait had fallen off the wall and was lying against the wall at an angle. On the left was Violetta’s sickbed, and a chair for Annina. The drapes over the window were initially closed, but when Violetta asked Annina to open them, she opened one side, and a very dim light entered. After all, it was winter in Paris, and the libretto said “seven o’clock” (in the morning).
Our cast:
Violetta: Jouvanca Jean Baptiste
Alfredo: Alexander Boyer
Giorgio: Torlef Borsting
Flora: Cathleen Candia
Douphol: Isaiah Musik-Ayala
Gastone: Justin Marsh
D’Obigny: Bradley Kynard
Dr. Grenville: Silas Elash
Annina: Tori Grayum
Conductor: David Rohrbaugh
Stage Director: José Maria Condemi
The orchestra played beautifully throughout; in particular, the overture was worth some goosebumps. It took the singers a while to warm up, though. The first act sounded as though the singers were keeping a lot in reserve for later in the evening. When Alexander Boyer entered at the beginning of act 2 and sang the cavatina “De’ miei bollenti spiriti” and started in on the cabaletta “O mio rimorso!” he sounded greatly improved. Unfortunately, his final high note came out as what could only be described as a croak. We felt so bad for him. Torlef Borsting, as Alfredo’s father Giorgio Germont, sang beautifully when he sang more loudly; his softer passages suffered in comparison. Jouvanca Jean-Baptiste sang Violetta well after the first act, but not outstandingly so. The chorus sang very well. The stage direction was quite fine. In particular, Baron Douphol’s challenge to the duel at the end of act 3 was very clear, although Isaiah Musik-Ayala may have gotten ahead of his cue—he stood there with his card in his upraised hand for what seemed an uncomfortably long time. Overall, an enjoyable evening in the theater; a beta.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Götterdämmerung, Metropolitan Opera HD Live, Feb. 11 2012
The Robert Lepage/La Machine Ring cycle concluded with a superb performance of Götterdämmerung. The first question to present itself, as it has for each of the previous operas in the cycle, is “What did they do with La Machine?” In case you are joining late, “La Machine” is an array of 24 2-foot wide planks, something like 24 closely-packed see-saws; each plank can rotate, independently of the others, through a full 360°. The performance takes place in front of, on, and occasionally underneath La Machine. The entire construction weighs 45 tons, so it is onstage all the time.
In contrast to Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, the first two operas of the cycle in which La Machine was distracting in its excessive amount of motion, in Götterdämmerung it tended to take a shape and then stay put while images were projected onto it. Because it is so easy to move the planks, and so easy to show new projections, a lot more happened with the “scenery” than in more traditional production—so much that it’s easy to forget the details of each scene. But the following stand out in my memory as being particularly effective. In Siegfried’s Rhine Journey, all but the four center planks were held still, while the four gently tilted back and forth, with Siegfried holding the bridle of a full-sized mechanical horse—a very apt depiction of a boat (or raft) being buffeted by the waves. The Hall of the Gibichungs was nicely represented by a few widely-space blanks held in a vertical position to be the support columns, and the remainder tilted slightly above horizontal to be the ceiling. For Siegfried’s scene with the Rhinemaidens, he stood and sat on a set of planks held slightly below horizontal, while the Rhinemaidens cavorted on their planks at a much steeper angle. They would climb up the planks and sit in one spot (presumably aided by shoes and a sit-upon made with high-friction rubber), then turn to one side and slide back down to the stage. All the while, an image of a rushing river was projected on the Rhinemaiden’s planks, with two large rocks jutting out of the river. The Rhinemaidens would sit on the rocks, presumably so that images of rushing water would not be projected on their faces.
Siegfried’s death scene was the occasion for a great use of the projections. In the transition from the scene with the Rhinemaidens to the scene with the hunting party, the planks and the rushing river stayed as they were. But after Hagen killed Siegfried, Gunther held his body, and got blood on his hands. He climbed up the left bank of the “river” and washed his hands in it. A little bit of the river turned red ... and by the end of the scene, the entire river was stained red.
Although La Machine made for a very non-traditional production, the Immolation Scene was the most true to the stage directions that I have seen. They built a funeral pyre by stacking logs at 90° angles to each other, half a dozen layers high, laid the body on top of the pyre, and then burned it with red lights and stage fog. Not the conflagration (with real fire!) that Seattle Opera did many years ago, but far superior to the recent San Francisco production, where Siegfried’s body was unceremoniously dumped from a cart at the back of the stage, perhaps into the Rhine. And here, Brünnhilde mounted the mechanical horse, which was guided slowly next to the funeral pyre as the planks rotated to vertical to hide it—and to present a surface on which the Rhine overflowed and the world burned up. In the last several seconds, what we saw were the planks held vertical, but moving slowly back and forth to suggest the undulating Rhine, which was exactly how Das Rheingold had opened. Yes, the Ring is a cycle.
Our cast:
Brünnhilde: Deborah Voigt
Siegfried: Jay Hunter Morris
Hagen: Hans-Peter König
Gunther: Iain Paterson
Gutrune: Wendy Bryn Harmer
Waltraute: Waltraud Meier
Alberich: Eric Owens
Conductor: Fabio Luisi
Production: Robert Lepage
Last November in Siegfried, Jay Hunter Morris had been promoted from cover to performer, and triumphed in the role. It was very exciting to learn that he had been given the role of Siegfried in Götterdämmerung as well. While I can’t fault anything about his performance, it wasn’t the knock-your-socks-off kind of performance that he gave us in Siegfried, which I’m sure will be long remembered. Deborah Voigt did fine, but the winner in Götterdämmerung was Hans-Peter König, who displayed a magnificent bass voice, which his performances as Hunding in Die Walküre and Fafner in Siegfried had prepared me for. Iain Paterson sang a very strong Gunther, and Wendy Bryn Harmer made a fetching Gutrune. Eric Owens was his usual sonorous Alberich. Waltraud Meier (at 56) sang a fine Waltraute, although her Valkyrie costume didn’t fit her very well. Just short of an alpha—I want to see an encore performance if it is ever broadcast, but I really want to see a Siegfried encore.
In contrast to Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, the first two operas of the cycle in which La Machine was distracting in its excessive amount of motion, in Götterdämmerung it tended to take a shape and then stay put while images were projected onto it. Because it is so easy to move the planks, and so easy to show new projections, a lot more happened with the “scenery” than in more traditional production—so much that it’s easy to forget the details of each scene. But the following stand out in my memory as being particularly effective. In Siegfried’s Rhine Journey, all but the four center planks were held still, while the four gently tilted back and forth, with Siegfried holding the bridle of a full-sized mechanical horse—a very apt depiction of a boat (or raft) being buffeted by the waves. The Hall of the Gibichungs was nicely represented by a few widely-space blanks held in a vertical position to be the support columns, and the remainder tilted slightly above horizontal to be the ceiling. For Siegfried’s scene with the Rhinemaidens, he stood and sat on a set of planks held slightly below horizontal, while the Rhinemaidens cavorted on their planks at a much steeper angle. They would climb up the planks and sit in one spot (presumably aided by shoes and a sit-upon made with high-friction rubber), then turn to one side and slide back down to the stage. All the while, an image of a rushing river was projected on the Rhinemaiden’s planks, with two large rocks jutting out of the river. The Rhinemaidens would sit on the rocks, presumably so that images of rushing water would not be projected on their faces.
Siegfried’s death scene was the occasion for a great use of the projections. In the transition from the scene with the Rhinemaidens to the scene with the hunting party, the planks and the rushing river stayed as they were. But after Hagen killed Siegfried, Gunther held his body, and got blood on his hands. He climbed up the left bank of the “river” and washed his hands in it. A little bit of the river turned red ... and by the end of the scene, the entire river was stained red.
Although La Machine made for a very non-traditional production, the Immolation Scene was the most true to the stage directions that I have seen. They built a funeral pyre by stacking logs at 90° angles to each other, half a dozen layers high, laid the body on top of the pyre, and then burned it with red lights and stage fog. Not the conflagration (with real fire!) that Seattle Opera did many years ago, but far superior to the recent San Francisco production, where Siegfried’s body was unceremoniously dumped from a cart at the back of the stage, perhaps into the Rhine. And here, Brünnhilde mounted the mechanical horse, which was guided slowly next to the funeral pyre as the planks rotated to vertical to hide it—and to present a surface on which the Rhine overflowed and the world burned up. In the last several seconds, what we saw were the planks held vertical, but moving slowly back and forth to suggest the undulating Rhine, which was exactly how Das Rheingold had opened. Yes, the Ring is a cycle.
Our cast:
Brünnhilde: Deborah Voigt
Siegfried: Jay Hunter Morris
Hagen: Hans-Peter König
Gunther: Iain Paterson
Gutrune: Wendy Bryn Harmer
Waltraute: Waltraud Meier
Alberich: Eric Owens
Conductor: Fabio Luisi
Production: Robert Lepage
Last November in Siegfried, Jay Hunter Morris had been promoted from cover to performer, and triumphed in the role. It was very exciting to learn that he had been given the role of Siegfried in Götterdämmerung as well. While I can’t fault anything about his performance, it wasn’t the knock-your-socks-off kind of performance that he gave us in Siegfried, which I’m sure will be long remembered. Deborah Voigt did fine, but the winner in Götterdämmerung was Hans-Peter König, who displayed a magnificent bass voice, which his performances as Hunding in Die Walküre and Fafner in Siegfried had prepared me for. Iain Paterson sang a very strong Gunther, and Wendy Bryn Harmer made a fetching Gutrune. Eric Owens was his usual sonorous Alberich. Waltraud Meier (at 56) sang a fine Waltraute, although her Valkyrie costume didn’t fit her very well. Just short of an alpha—I want to see an encore performance if it is ever broadcast, but I really want to see a Siegfried encore.
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