Displaying items by tag: Domingo Hindoyan

Lyric Opera of Chicago opened its 2018-19 season with Puccini’s beloved “La Boheme” last Saturday evening. Essential to any Puccini production, more than most other composers, is a faithful rendition of the specific intentions of the composer, whose theatrical instincts were equal to if not better than his musical gifts. This production succeeded musically, but utterly failed dramatically to bring out the humanity in this work that makes it so well loved.

Thankfully, Conductor Domingo Hindoyan, in his Lyric Opera debut, understands how Puccini goes. In his comments in the program, he states clearly that, “The word ‘freedom’ is relative, because it should be a sensation within a rigorous respect for the score”. If only opera administrators would hold stage directors to the same standard as the conductors. This production, shared with the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and Teatro Real Madrid, directed by Richard Jones, designed by Stewart Laing, with lighting design by Mimi Jordan Sherin, disappointed over and over again in so many ways, large and small.

It was a shame, since there was much to appreciate. The Lyric Opera Orchestra sounded marvelous under the idiomatic and nuanced baton of Maestro Hindoyan. His sensitive support of the singers brought out the treasures in the score, revealing the joie de vivre of the Bohemians, supplying tight crispness to the opening of Act Two, poignant desperation in Act Three, and ephemeral orchestral textures underlying Mimi’s last moments.

Zachary Nelson’s full and velvety baritone was unfailingly well projected. As the painter Marcello, he came very close to a sense of who the character was, but never expressed the depth of pain caused by his obsessive love of Musetta, or the tenderness of his friendship with Rodolfo. As the poet Rodolfo, tenor Michael Fabbiano’s brilliant and warm voice was expressive and a joy to hear. However, perhaps due to opening night jitters, or a lack of meaningful stage direction, his highest notes were tentative and the softer passages were weak. Maria Agresta looked the part of the fragile seamstress. Her piano singing in the Act One aria bloomed as beautifully as the flowers she described. Yet, later in the opera, her voice was less attractive, her vowels lost color and sounded flat, not in pitch, but as if she came from Italy via Wisconsin. The talented and charismatic Danielle de Niese tossed off the role of Musetta with aplomb, despite the directorial excesses imposed upon her. De Niese is a tremendously gifted comic actress; with a lesser artist, Musetta’s staging would have been a travesty. Ryan Center Artist Riccardo Jose Rivera possesses a fine lyric baritone voice, but seemed uncomfortable with the physicality of the role of Schaunard. He was allowed to wander aimlessly and flail about. The monkeying around at the end of Act Two with the on-stage band was absurd. Blame should fall on the director though, not on this promising singer. Bass Adrien Sâmpetrean’s lower range lacked the depth and color expected for Colline. His interpretation of the cynical philosopher also seemed somewhat shallow and ordinary. By hanging his beloved overcoat on a nail to sing his touching farewell aria, he separated himself from it, and the tenderness of the moment was lost. Well known for his finely crafted characterizations, Jake Gardner was the class act of the evening, in fine voice, finding humor, but never resorting to buffoonery in the dual roles of the landlord Benoit, and Musetta’s sugar-daddy, Alcindoro. However, he was not done any favors as Benoit by being staged facing directly up stage, forcing him to turn around to face the audience every time he had to sing. Similarly, as Alcindoro, Mr. Gardner was buried by Mr. Jones’ staging in a melee of waiters and patrons in the Café Momus, obscuring the ironic humor of the moment.

The costumes by Stewart Laing were quirkily adequate. His set was horrible. Act One did not resemble a quaint Parisian garret apartment, but rather a newly constructed barn in Dixon, Illinois. The lighting in Acts One, Two and Four, was stark and bleakly colorless, evocative of neither the time of year, time of day, nor the congenial poverty in which the four Bohemians lived, laughed, and loved. In the relentless intensity of the lighting, the singers’ faces were either washed out or hidden in shadows created by the barn rafters. In Act Two, the supertitles were nearly unreadable due to the glaring lighting. However, in Act Three, the lighting was so gloomy that it had the same obscuring effect on the singers. It didn’t matter much, though. There really wasn’t anything to see.

Good translations are a blessing, and the accurately natural supertitles by Kenneth Chalmers were truly excellent. However, these titles also served to highlight the director’s many mistakes, too numerous to detail in full. After Mimi’s fake looking faint, and even more fake looking recovery (she popped up like a jack-in-the-box), when she drops her key, Rodolfo says, “Buio pesto” (“it’s pitch dark”) in the glaring light. The lost key is picked up by Rodolfo who, instead of hiding it, shows it to Mimi and plays keep-away, although he later says, “Al buio non si trova” (“In the dark we won’t find it”). Huh? Standing in brilliant white light, he inexplicably tells her that soon there will be moonlight, and then they will have enough light to look for the key again. This touching scene in which Mimi and Rodolfo fall in love was diminished by this directorial sloppiness, but is unfailingly right when it is done the way Puccini intended.

The set changes in the pauses between acts with the curtain up were extremely awkward. If you are going to change the set before our eyes, it should provide a magical transition from one setting to another which enhances the pace of the drama. These bumbling and ponderous changes felt more like a first walk-through rehearsal in a warehouse where the sets were still under construction and the technical demands haven’t been entirely resolved.

The Act Two set, with a suddenly faithful representation of the beautiful covered passages in Paris, was attractive and could have worked, but it was so far down stage, it cramped everyone, soloists and chorus, into a nineteenth century mosh pit. The jolly chaos of Christmas Eve never settled down enough to be able to find the main characters among the crowd, and since there was no room for the children to cavort, they formed a formal chorus line. Consequently, their mother’s anger at their unruliness made no sense. Typical of directors who don’t trust the material or understand the music, the stage was filled with frenetic and meaningless carrying-on. Oh sure, that may be more true to life, but it was distracting. It might be forgiven, but when things needed to be real, they usually weren’t.

Segue in another awkward transition from the street scene to the interior of the Café Momus, full of distracting and upstaging patrons and waiters. When the audience can’t find the principal singers in this scene, something is rotten in Paris.

Enter Musetta. She sees her former lover Marcello at the adjoining table and, being bored with her current old and stuffy patron, decides to win Marcello back. This can be played a lot of ways, but sloppy drunk isn’t one of them. The famous waltz song is already sexy and provocative. Musetta definitely does not become sexier by making her drunk, and the goofy-happy-dance when singing “Felice mi fa” was like a scene from a sit-com. Throw in a few cheap tricks for laughs and shock value and the reunion of the two lovers, which normally is so warmly welcomed that the music is covered up for a page or so by applause, was a messy let-down.

The snow which fell almost all night long was pretty, but other than that, the Third Act was ugly. The tavern looked more like the guard house at the Barrièr d’Enfer, which must have been off stage, as it could not be seen. But the back of the garret/barn apartment was strangely visible, as were overhead lights which shined in the audience’s eyes, again making the production look as though it was still in rehearsal. Every touching moment in this act was sabotaged by the stage direction, such as when Mimi and Rodolfo agree they must break-up, but that they will wait for spring. Mimi sings, “Vorrei che eterno durasse il verno” (“I wish winter would last forever”) in a moment which is often more heart-rending than Mimi’s death in Act Four. Inexplicably, Mimi aimlessly walked away from Rodolfo while singing this. No matter, they were upstaged anyway by Musetta, pondering her next move after having been thrown out by Marcello.

Back in the barn - err - garret for the final act, it is supposed to be a bright sunny day outside, so the blazing light didn’t seem quite so out of place. Rodolfo and Marcello’s duet reminiscing about their lost loves was almost touching. The two sounded good together, and taking places at opposite sides of the barn underscored their feelings of loss and loneliness. For once, by not imposing his “concept”, Mr. Jones managed not to ruin a beautifully sung moment.

However, Mr. Jones couldn’t resist keeping his hands off that which followed. Puccini specifies a spoof of classical dancing and a mock sword fight among the four Bohemians. It is almost always hilariously funny, but if you have a better idea than the always entertaining dancing and mock sword fight, bring it on! Doodling undecipherable graffiti on the walls was not one. Similarly, swinging around on the stove pipe of a wood burning stove is never a good idea. If you’ve ever seen one, you’d know that the pipe would be likely to fall into pieces, you would be covered in soot and it might even be dangerously hot, especially if it had just contained a fire, as in Act I. Propping a pillow against the sharp corner of the stove to serve as Mimi’s deathbed in Act IV was the limit. Maybe the director was making some sort of statement. Who cares? Get a bed or a chaise up there so that Mimi and Rodolfo don’t have to flop and flail about on the floor like a couple of fish out of water. The scene was just plain ugly.

The heart of any opera is when the music tells the story more plainly than the words. This must never be ignored. At the moment when Rodolfo and Mimi are finally left alone together and the tender reprise of “O soave funciulla” swells to the sweet cadence, “Ah! tu sol comandi amor”, this director had the lovers on opposite sides of the stage and absolutely nothing was going on between them. Yes, most directors do it very traditionally, but that’s because it works, and Mimi and Rodolfo hold each other again, just as they did the night they first met.

Similarly, the exact moment when Mimi dies is clearly expressed in the music. Mr. Jones decided that this was completely unnecessary and then chose to ignore Puccini’s following directions. Schaunard was nowhere near Mimi to notice that she was dead, so how could he tell Marcello? Yet Rodolfo was seated on the stove right next to her head and didn’t notice. It is possible that there are people in the world that can’t handle the death of a friend, or of a friend’s lover, but when Rodolfo discovered that Mimi is dead, it is beyond imagination why Schaunard and Colline bolted out the room in terror.

There wasn’t a moist eye in the house.

Performances continue through October 20, 2018, and again January 10 through 25, 2019. Call the Lyric at 312.827.5600 or visit www.lyricopera.org for tickets, if you are curious about this strange production. But please don’t bring your friends who have never seen an opera before.