From www.sfcv.org

Something good happened to Baz Luhrmann's "La Boheme" on the way to
Broadway.  Giacomo Puccini, whose name is also associated with the opera,
snatched victory from the jaws of what might have been an Italian "Rent."

With half of Hollywood and all the George Lucas empire in attendance
Tuesday night in the Curran Theater, the audience was good and ready to
acclaim the "Moulin Rouge" director, and it exploded after Act 2 in a
deafening, un-amplified ovation, if these ears already ringing from the
strongly amplified performance can be trusted.

This was the official out-of-town opening night, albeit after two weeks
of preview performances, where seats were sold at full price.

Luhrmann's gross amplification, and hectic, busy, relentless,
in-your-face direction contrasted poorly with the San Francisco Opera's
"Broadway production" of the work six years ago in the much larger Orpheum
Theater, where Lotfi Mansouri dared and succeeded without amplification,
four alternating, attractive, young casts, and lowered prices.  Luhrmann,
who also produced a "Boheme" like this in Sydney, says this will bring
new audiences to opera.  At $80 a pop, with a production that doesn't
trust Puccini, why should it?

Still, Puccini - no stranger to schmalz and cheap manipulation himself
- had a great genius, sweeping audiences away with supremely beautiful
music and an occasional straight-to-the-heart arrow of true, authentic
feelings, such as most of Act 3 of "Boheme."

And so it was, well after the "Moulin Rouge" circus of Cafe Momus scene,
that Puccini took over and his play on the heartstrings began to work.
The end of the act and the finale were both moving, bearing a surprising
resemblance to the real thing.

It is impossible to judge voices blaring through loudspeakers, but the
opening-night cast (one of three) sounded impressive.  David Miller,
already well-known here from his performances with Festival Opera, was
an appealing Rodolfo, although his phrasing and reaching for the high
notes already seem a bit lazy as he relies on the microphone.  Ekaterina
Solvyeva was the attractive Mimi, singing well and loudly, belting the
music out pretty much the same way whether expressing joy, sorrow,
longing, illness or anything in-between.  Think Jane Eaglen, with
significantly less volume and heft.

Jessica Comeau appeared as a Broadway-musical Musetta, nailing her big
scene in Act 2, prancing around just a bit too much, and then strangely
uncertain in the simple parlando lines of Act 4.  The single most
impressive vocal performance (although heard through the din, vaguely)
was Daniel Okulitch's Schaunard.  His is an exciting voice and presence
- oh, but to hear him in real life!

Except for a few border-line vulgar burps marring the performance,
Nicholas Kitsopoulos and the reduced but hard-working orchestra (in a
semi-hidden pit) did well accompanying the loud singing.  Again, it was
in the quieter passages of the latter acts that singers and orchestra
produced.

Luhrmann, who had professed great passion for this work and opera in
general, has some strange ways of expressing his devotion.  He persists
in preventing the possible suspension of disbelief in many ways, but
especially by having stagehands remaining front and center (and upstage
and near the wings), moving the sets, sprinkling "snow," flickering
lights to represent the fire - busy, visible, distracting.  The cast
comes to the stage before each act begins, perhaps to tell the audience,
in effect, "we are just singers, see, and now we'll start acting our
roles." What's the point?

Besides the big problems of amplification, a consistent blandness in
vocal interpretation, and the "watch the guts of theater at all times"
paradigm, Luhrmann has some inexplicable small touches.  The action
is "modernized" by Rodolfo carrying a small typewriter, a fleeting,
incomprehensible reference to de Gaulle, and the translation of "quell
discorso asconde mire disoneste" as "bull...."

And, beyond that, there are small touches of utter puzzlement.

Supertitles on top and, occasionally, on the bottom of the platform as
well, in tandem.

The typeface keeps changing, without any rhyme or reason.

The setting of Act 3 has been moved from a Paris tollgate to the
"Belgian-French border," a "Marseille" sign up high, and then no further
clues to the deep inner meaning of this geographical miracle.

Musetta's red braless cocktail dress is combined with a prominent black
bra.

There are movie posters in the background, and Benoit is teased as "you,
Marlon Brando."

And on and on.  Puzzling, diverting, distracting, interfering, frustrating.
A staging approach advertised as the antidote to "static opera." Instead
of this cure, give me the disease.  But only after I finished listening
to Act 3.

Janos Gereben
Ville de Saint Francoisco Geants
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