It's all in context: a pretty good "Cosi fan tutte" from the Merola
training program is a matter of joy; a pretty good "Rigoletto" at the
opening night of a major company is not.  In fact, there were more moments
of genuine involvement, of whatever it is that makes opera special, from
the young performers (in a "cool" Mozart) than from highly-paid veterans
in an opera, which is - or should be - synonymous with passion.

The opening night of the San Francisco Opera's 79th season was largely
routine, nothing "bad" nor anything that made "Rigoletto," my first opera,
the powerful work that turned me into a fan - a fanatic - many years ago.
True, I heard Tito Gobbi in the title role back then, but I am no slave to
nostalgia.  Not long ago, I had a similar wonderful experience, with Paolo
Gavanelli singing the role.

Stephan Pyatnychko, tonight's Rigoletto, may well have a better voice than
Gavanelli (at this point in his career), but he sang by the numbers, he
sang the notes, not the music, not the pathos, the bitterness, the anger,
the devastation his character goes through.

The US debut of Desiree Rancatore as Gilda was a head-scratcher.  Is she
really Sicilian? Not by singing or stage presence.  She has a spectacular
coloratura and she is OK in the lower range (not that the role has too much
demand for it), but - again - it's a singing exercise, note follows note,
all eyes remain dry.  As for acting, I was struck by her predicament in
the third-act duet: sitting next to Rigoletto, Gilda is pouring her heart
out (or should be) and she needs to turn slightly to her right.  The way
Rancatore handled it was moving one foot at a time, a tiny distance, then
the other, repeat, etc.  While singing, yes.  Now, the great - or even good
- singing actors I know manage to make a small turn without showing how
conscious they are of the demands of such an action.  Oh for a Gilda who
just makes the damn turn, who sings whole phrases instead of building-block
segments!

And so we come to Frank Lopardo's Duke, a fine vocal performance, a stage
presence ruined by director Mark Lamos, who dictates a primitive, laughable
character - somebody rushing Gilda at the first meeting, singing the text
and music of seduction while being all over the supposedly shy, virginal
girl.  It's a love scene, don't you know, Mr. Lamos, so how come the Duke
is playing tackle with the maid in the back (a similarly misdirected
Catherine Cook) while trying to win over the girl down-stage? Lamos'
unfortunate predilection for "ribald comedy" compels Lopardo to deal with
audience giggles and outright laughter in the middle of "Questa quella" as
the Duke is copulating in time with the music.  I repeat: this is the 79th
season-opening gala of a major company.  watch royalty grind and bump to
music by Verdi!

Lopardo's singing style ranges from powerful, but still falsetto-sounding
high notes to indifferent, rather boring voice production elsewhere.  He
gets through the big arias, but leaves the impression that he just.  got
through the big arias.

Minor roles fared better than the "headliners" - especially Catherine
Keen's Maddalena (working against the memory of Elena Zaremba's stunning
performance in the same production), Stanislaw Schwets' Monterone, Vitalij
Kowaljow's Sparafucile, Philip Horst's Marullo.

Marco Armiliato is the pretty good conductor, heading an orchestra, which
plays well throughout the evening, going into high gear for the storm scene
and other instrumental highlights.  Ian Robertson's chorus performed
beautifully, certainly in a more "musical" manner than some of the
soloists, but even here the passion, the punch were missing.

Michael Yeargan's sets from the 1997 production (Gavanelli and Ruth Ann
Swenson, sigh!) age very well.  Two steeply leaning shells of rows of
buildings form the "De Chirico style" unit set for every scene, with a
sharply raked, narrowing pathway going upstage, bathed in mixed, clashing,
strange light.  The combination of violet and green, for example, means
something, but I have no idea what it may be; it looks good anyway.
Constance Hoffman's costumes are spectacular, but I think the Opera cut way
back on what was once the ladies' empire cut, simultaneously exposing and
constraining what is considered tasteful frontal nudity, especially against
the Duke's excesses.

Janos Gereben/SF
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