LOSS IN TRANSPLANTATION : ‘THE GRAND DUCHESS’ OF LONG BEACH AT UCLA

When Michael Milenski first planned the Long Beach Opera production of “The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein,” Offenbach’s satirical observance of l’amour and la guerre seemed destined for some sort of shock treatment.

The lascivious aristocrat of the title would, it was hoped, be played by an invader from the delirious world of comic show biz: Madeline Kahn. The staging would be entrusted to Charles Ludlam, an inspired lunatic whose most notable operatic achievement had been a long-limping Off Broadway impersonation of Maria Callas.

Kahn, alas, couldn’t make it, and Ludlam didn’t.

For his lusty heroine, Milenski turned instead to a more legitimate operatic mezzo-soprano, Brenda Boozer. Then Boozer begged off, too, and it was Sheila Smith who occupied the shaky Gerolsteinian throne at curtain time Saturday night. Smith had done similar duty, with campy distinction, at the San Francisco Spring Opera in 1981.

For his director, Milenski turned to Edward Berkeley. With that turn all hope of stimulating madness was abandoned. Berkeley steadfastly avoided unbridled flights of interpretive imagination. In fact, he avoided bridled flights, too, contenting himself with a calm, traditional, tasteful, restrained and not particularly interesting re-creation of the ancient spoof.

This show--despite the operatic label, it is a show--has been designed for the tiny, pitless Center Theater in Long Beach, where it will be performed Tuesday, Friday and Sunday. The machinations of the Grand Duchess and her motley retinue probably will look charming in the intimate, unpretentious house that wraps the audience around the thrust stage. The same machinations didn’t look all that charming, however, within the grand and grandiose portals of Royce Hall.

There is no logical reason, after all, to place an all-too-visible orchestra onstage, behind the irrelevant skeleton of an arty greenhouse, when the theater in use happens to have an orchestra pit. A necessity in Long Beach becomes a liability at UCLA, especially when the orchestra in question sounds distant, looks distracting, cramps the action, limits opportunities for entrances and exits, and often loses contact with the singers.

The singers, not incidentally, can see the conductor via strategically placed closed-circuit television, but the conductor cannot see the singers. A flexible give-and-take as regards tempos, timing of cues, nuances and textual liberties is therefore impossible. In a work like this, the loss is considerable.

Under the circumstances, this “Grand Duchess” resembled an elaborate concert performance in which the soloists happened to be costumed. It also lumbered--not a moment too soon--to an 11 o’clock finale, thanks to Antonio de Almeida’s restitution of various numbers that Offenbach had wisely cut after the second performance back in 1867.

What should have been delightful ended up being only mildly--very mildly--engaging. The diligent and talented cast, however, was not to blame.

Although Smith may not sing the Duchess’ mock-sensual music with the opulence of Jennie Tourel or the finesse of Regine Crespin, she is tall, slender, smart, funny and amply provocative. David Eisler, another San Francisco veteran, personifies innocent bravado as the wide-eyed, supertenorial, good soldier Fritz. Sheryl Woods complements him as a spunky, pretty, high-piping supersoubrette Wanda.

Although Joseph McKee minimizes the buffo opportunities of Boum, the arch-puppy-dog general, he remains eminently amiable and eminently sonorous. Kurt Ollmann manages to be gauche and fervent at the same time as the shy and gangly baritonal Prince Paul. While Ken Remo schemes crisply as Baron Puck and John Racca minces haughtily as the majordomo Nepomuc, the suave sophistication of Baron Grog eludes Lowell Harris.

The renovated Royce acoustics do wonders for the singers when they sing, and horrors for the singers when they speak.

Richard Cordova keeps the music moving briskly which, under the circumstances, is about all one can ask for.

Gerald Harman designed the skimpy flats, Barbara Cox the conventional costumes. Terri Lewis padded the action on command with some all-purpose kicks and poses for the peasant girls and a few marching routines for the scruffy soldiers.