A Gran Night for Sinking

New to me was the company's tabloid "Cav", which confirmed a theory suggested by some of their other early work (e.g., "Traviata", "Fanciulla del West"): the comedy in these ur-Gran Scenas is decidedly more queer in concept and execution than their later more mainstream efforts. 

Take, for example, Lola's entrance down the center aisle, cruising the men in the audience. One expected her to sit on a lap or two, certainly-- but when she tore open that gentleman's shirt and diddled his nipples, well! The gag shows up again later: Santuzza reminds Turridu of happier times-gone-by with more titplay.

The raunch didn't stop there. You can leave it to Gran Scena to milk every last drop out of a Dick Johnson joke: "Mr. Focaccia's Dick is well known to operagoers the world over" was one of their tamer efforts. The lustful/terrified look in Minnie's eyes when she mutters the simple line, "Buona notte . . .Dick!" is funny, sure, but terrifically honest as well. Of course the virginal Minnie is curious. She wants it so bad, in fact, she can practically taste it. But she's afraid at the same time. Everyone's first sexual experience is like that, but of all the productions of "Fancuilla", which has ever been so honest as this one?

So, let's talk divas. The voice of the truly ageless Vera Galupe-Borszkh (as portayed by the ever- boyish

Mme. Galupe-Borszkh's Santuzza was just magical. Like so many, uh, veteran divas, she has reinvented herself into a "traumatic soprano;" her myriad flaws just give the music more character. Her glottal attack is exemplary, and she is mistress of the Soprano Scoop, a dying art among today's too-tasteful performers. What better way to depict the Sicilian girl's anguish than with noises that sound scraped from the throat with a trowel?

But that is not to say it's all screaming: her "No, Turridu" was a lesson in sustained rubato vocalism. The scene for a moment recalls that wonderful sensation that used to happen during a great performance of, say, "Vissi d'arte," when it seemed nothing in the universe existed but you and the diva and the music, suspended in time and space in a kind of artistic ecstasy. The last time I saw it in a "real" opera was when Rysanek sang the Grety aria in the Met's "Queen of Spades"; that same kind of quasi-religious hush came over the audience at the Kaye Playhouse: no one breathed, no one moved, and (here's my point) no one laughed.

A similar hypnotic silence greeted a "new" company member, the retired African-American diva Miss Helen Back. The only real "comedy" in her segment was a great typhoon of a snatched breath after a very long phrase. Otherwise her medley of "Home Sweet Home" and "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" was simply deeply-felt and technically accomplished bel canto. Johnny Maldonado (who portrays Miss Back) boasts a warm, rich and sizeable instrument and has the musical sensitvity and taste to exploit his wonderful gift. At one point, Miss Back snipes, "We had real contraltos then;" Mr. Maldonado suggests that the species is by no means extinct. This versatile artist also appears as the spitfire falcon Carmelita Della Vaca-Browne, who proves once and for all that there are no small roles for large artists. Whether as a Suzuki impatient with Cio-Cio-San's vaporings or a Tisbe determined to upstage Cenerentola (and succeeding!), she KILLS with the subtlest comic touches: just the lift of one eyebrow when she removes the lens cap from the none-too-bright Butterfly's telescope speaks volumes about the hidden life of the comprimaria. If I ever wondered why Jessye Norman doesn't play maids, now I know.

Doing her best to hold her own opposite Mme. Vaca-Browne was the debutante Kavatina Turner (Kyle Church Cheseborough): imagine Harolyn Blackwell's voice with Angela Bassett's attitude. Her take on Butterfly was a diva so caught up in the drama she can't handle props-- I loved her look of annoyance when her tiny chrysamthemum disappeared into a huge vase. La Turner's voice is not what you'd call warm, you understand, but it does go up and up and up-- perhaps La Gran Scena should offer her Olympia or Adele? Vocally she was more at ease in the Rossini, poaching Philene Wannelle's chain of turns to some very pingy high B's.

Though I'm sure La Wannelle could have pinged those B's herself very nicely, thank you. Philip Koch's voice just gets bigger and bigger: the sustained top notes in the "Nacqui all'affano" were MASSIVE. In addition to her virtuoso coloratura technique, Miss Wannelle unveiled her charmingly provincial Italian diction ("corrray"); she is an American to her fingertips. Jay Rogers has really made Sylvia Bills his own: such a good-natured sort of broad, forever startled that the audience finds her plot synopses so hilarious. Charles Walker made a welcome return to the company as the superannuated tenor Alfredo Sorta-Pudgi-- seeing him only days after Carlo Bergonzi's appearance at the Levine Gala just proves how accurate are Mr. Walker's powers of observation. He faced real competition from Bruno Focaccia (Emmanuel di Villarosa); the "Italian- born and Italian-bread" tenor is a hot little guy with a hot little attitude. The voice ain't bad, either. Company regular Keith Jurosko is reportedly taking a sabbatical from a very busy performance schedule. His "Fodor Szadan" was missed by all: David Orcutt's Jack Rance was energetic but unsubtle.

As the kind of golden-age performer this troupe parodies recedes ever farther into the past, the comedy grows more bittersweet: you can't help remembering how it used to be. Ira Siff said in an interview in Opera News a few years ago that he couldn't imagine sending up singers like te Kanawa or Battle. So how must he feel about the current crop of Gheorghius and Swensons and Flemings? You just can't kid singers who are smaller than life.

L'homme a la Pomme

So, you see, I'm not an operetta fan. That's why I was so pleasantly surprised at "La Belle Helene" as performed by L'Opera Francais de New York April 24: Yves Abel's troupe served up a pleasant evening of good clean dirty fun, neatly sung and (mostly) stylishly presented. M. Abel himself deserves first billing, for he can make cheap music sound potent indeed. He whipped the big waltz- tune finale to Act Two into a true bonne-bouche-- rich, frothy, and, no doubt, very fattening. I can think of no higher compliment than to note that I never noticed M. Abel once during the concert: the music sounded like a miraculously perfect improvisation. He is not so much chef d'orchestre as dancing partner to his orchestra and cast-- and, as with all great dance teams, one could not tell who was leading. I am very interested to hear Abel in more standard repertoire-- I wonder if he shows the same flair in Verdi or Puccini?

I only wish every soubrette in the world could look upon and learn from Angelina Reaux: surely no one since Regine Crespin has been such a mistress of boulevard attitude. From her first slinky entrance in catglasses, mink and tiara (seemingly permanently welded to her scalp) she OWNED this show: a star turn in the very best sense of the word. Ms. Reaux is not afraid to be subtle: with a flick of an eyebrow she can transform a one-liner into a double-entendre. Every step she takes, every moue she makes, is synchronized to the score with wit and charm: like all great singing actors, she seemed to create the music herself. Her Elizabeth Tayloresque figure hampered her plastique not a bit: she even sang one duet with her head lolling over the edge of the chaise-longue, in a pneumatic ecstasy of love.

It is true that the diva lacks the ultimate in vocal allure for this ultra-sexy role-- her music-theater soprano began the evening sounding quite scratchy. She resorted to a striking if hardly stylistic Piaf chest voice for some of the lower-lying passages-- if nothing else, this device made her very Parisian-scented diction crystal-clear. I hope this delightful artist can learn to balance her vivid enthusiasm with a little more vocal restraint in future performances-- I want to hear more of her in the years to come.

A more classic French style was exhibited by Gordon Gietz as Paris. It's a sweet and pingy voice with an appealing bounce and ring: that appallingly tricky "Au mont Ida" sounded like child's play. But all this tenor's assets aren't in his mouth: Mr. Gietz is edibly cute, with a tantalizing fuck-you attitude. His act two seduction scene with La Reaux crackled with the erotic tension of "Belle de Jour". Uh, but funny. Now, Mr. Gietz is not really a world-class yodeler, which made his third-act aria a little precarious. But lots of tenors with genuinely well-placed voices lack a falsetto, so I'll overlook it. He is "l'homme a la pomme" (the guy with the apple), for sure for sure; oh, he's got ALL the candy.

Standout among the rest of the cast was the very butch Lyne Comtois in the tunic role of Oreste: her big, flexible mezzo made the most of this boisterous role-- and she knows what testosterone sounds like. I enjoyed the fussiness of Marc Molomot's Menelas: a silly foof, sure, but never begging for laughs. Gordon Edery, a tall, lithe tete de peau, traded off a wooly voice for an unctuous-to-the-max stage presence in the role of Calchas: I didn't feel cheated.

The performers (Mr. Gietz and Ms. Reaux excepted) were very nearly sunk by the hokey "Fransh" accents they were directed to affect by Stage Director David Walsh. His ideas otherwise ranged from the endearingly silly (the Game of Goose, a classic precursor of le twister) to the annoyingly silly (grown men prancing around in funny hats; that Texas accent on Agamemnon). But, really, not a bad job, given that semi-staging is really a sort of theatrical coitus interruptus-- you always wish you'd either gone all the way or never started at all. I do wish Carol Bailey, billed as Production Designer, had thought twice about the abovementioned funny hats; in addition, she might also have noticed that everybody in the show was wearing black except for that one lady in peacock blue: I kept expecting it to mean something.

A swell and stylish way to spend a spring evening. The Poulenc program this June looks promising too. In the future, the company really must revive "La Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein" for Ms. Reaux. And while we're at it, let's hear her in "La Voix Humaine".