There are two bits of stage business for Olga Borodina to execute in the
second act of "Samson et Dalila." They are typical of Sandra Bernhard's
habitually awkward-primitive stage direction, but at least they don't pose
a problem for a singing actress who is not much of the latter.

First, she is to fling herself down, face up (don't try this at home),
then she is to make a dismissive motion with her right hand - that's it.
Otherwise:  stand, sing and deliver.  What happened tonight, at the San
Francisco Opera revival of the super-scenic Nicolas Joel production was
that Borodina carried out those directions poorly.  She looked as
uncomfortable and self-conscious as in her wooden "Cenerentola" here
years ago, before Lotfi Mansouri gave her a chair to throw in "Carmen"
and brought her to life.  All this could have been overlooked, of course,
if there was power, grace, sincerity and truth in her singing.  Instead,
we got that great beautiful voice in a pretty performance.

This was the second "Samson" of the series, and I have no idea what
Borodina sounded like at the Saturday opening, but my guess is that she
was more challenged, alive and sang better.  Tonight was just another
performance, routine, something to get through.  All artists have their ups
and downs, but Borodina's inconsistency is cause for special concern for
this reason:  if she managed to sustain her best more frequently, she could
easily be one of the great singers in our time.  But she doesn't, so she
isn't.  And that's truly too bad because there are few mezzos in the world
with her instrument and ability.  Borodina, of all singers, should not
revert to routine as often as she does, shouldn't settle for languid,
mild-mannered, obvious.

Her vocal performance and that of her Samson, Sergej Larin, were pretty
and more than adequate, but rather lifeless and close to boring.  Larin
sang and acted like a hapless victim all the way through (except for a
spectacular last note before bringing down the temple), missing out on
making the musical and acting impression of being the fearless hero whose
fall is significant only because of the height from which he is thrust
down.  Larin - again, vocally and dramatically - whined his way through the
action or, rather, the lack of action.  Placido Domingo sang the role here
some two decades ago, and I still remember the truly heroic quality of his
voice; there was reason to care when he is destroyed.  Larin's voice is
easily as beautiful as Domingo's and he is more of a true tenor, not a high
baritone, but his performance was instantly forgettable, much less
providing an experience to recall 20 years from now.

Still, the evening had its reward, especially in the introduction of Rene
Pape to San Francisco, even if it's in the frustratingly small role of the
Old Hebrew.  Against Timothy Noble's rough-sounding High Priest and Scott
Wilde's unacceptable Abimelech, Pape towered above the men not so much with
volume as a beauty of tone, exceptional musicality.  It will be a treat to
hear him in a role (Pogner) when "Die Meistersinger" opens in the War
Memorial on Oct.  10.

On the plus side too were Emmanuel Joel's exceptional direction of an
orchestra, which exhibited involvement and dedication missing from the
principal singers, and Ian Robertson's Opera Chorus singing beautifully
both off-stage and on.  Michael Smuin's setting for the Bacchanal was
appropriately pagan, albeit choreographed for rather neurotic heathen at
that.

Janos Gereben/SF
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