BRITTEN OPERA : POIGNANT REVIVAL OF ‘BILLY BUDD’ IN S.F.

“Billy Budd” is an opera for the thinking person.

It is blessed with haunting lyrical flights, affecting passages of introspection, profound orchestral monologues and even some rousing men’s choruses. Yet it is a fragile opera, a moody opera, a daunting opera.

For all its accessible trappings, it remains a disturbing study of the corruption of innocence, the destruction of beauty and the eternal, agonizing struggle for moral rectitude in a hostile society.

The libretto by E. M. Forster and Eric Crozier, based on the Melville novella, can be read simply as a historical saga of the sea, as the tragic tale of a handsome young sailor who falls victim to evil forces aboard the H.M.S. Indomitable in 1797. It also should be read, however, as a probing treatise on suppressed homo-eroticism and compulsive psychosexual domination.

The original London production in 1951--conducted by the composer, directed by Basil Coleman and designed by John Piper--was stark, bleak, gently stylized, polite. Purposely, and eloquently, it left a lot unsaid.

The celebrated, belated Metropolitan Opera production of 1978 offered a different perspective. In place of the customary scenic simplifications, it dealt in massive and magical, realistic stagecraft. In place of reticent psychosexual innuendo, it dealt in specific definitions. Contrary to some expectations, the explicit alternative turned out to be perfectly apt and highly effective.

The San Francisco production, first seen at the War Memorial Opera House seven years ago, does not care to explore any new terrain. It is, in fact, a reasonable facsimile of the London original, complete with replicas of the Piper designs.

The current revival, seen Friday, reinforces the inherent nostalgia. Basil Coleman has been brought in to oversee the drama he created more than three decades ago in collaboration with Britten.

This understated production--with sparse stage pictures re-created by Thomas J. Munn and evocative seascape projections contributed by Ron Scherl--is authentic beyond question. It also is poetic.

Raymond Leppard conducts the complex score with urgency and clarity, suavely fusing the inherent traces of impressionist shimmer with the outbursts of primitive bravado.

The stage is dominated by the heroic yet sensitive, ultimately pathetic Captain Vere of James King, and by the cold, oily, malevolent Claggart of James Morris, who tones down some of the bold personal indulgences he introduced at the Met.

Dale Duesing does not ideally project the charismatic purity of Billy, and his baritone sounds a bit gray and grainy these days. Nevertheless, he brings redeeming taste, intelligence and fervor to the daunting challenge.

The large supporting cast seems unnecessarily bland, with James Schwisow as an overgrown novice “kid,” Eric Garrett as a surprisingly light-voiced Dansker and Stanley Wexler as an oddly restrained Flint. Peter Glossop, however, proves that the passage of time can transform a once-admirable Billy into a crusty and commanding Redburn.

The 39-voice chorus, prepared by Richard Bradshaw, almost makes up in sonority for what it lacks in manpower.

The big hit of the season for many San Franciscans--and the big disappointment for a churlish critic or two--has been the Jean-Pierre Ponnelle production of Verdi’s “Falstaff.” It has already received seven performances with a stellar, mature cast headed by Ingvar Wixell, Pilar Lorengar and Marilyn Horne.

The same production serves this season as an educational attraction at student matinees. Here, an inspired ensemble of young, little-known singers actually makes better sense of the mercurial comic inventions than their distinguished elders did.

With Richard Bradshaw providing poised and elegant leadership in the pit, Richard Pendergraph delivers a mellow portrait of the fat knight, and David Malis seethes with nice, jealous ardor as Ford.

Dolora) Zajic reveals a bona-fide gallon-jug contralto and amiable wit as Dame Quickly. This is a major talent. The love music and love antics are managed sweetly by Li-Chan Chen and James Schwisow. The only miscasting involves the giddy, matronly Mistress Ford of Nikki Li Hartliep.

The 3,200 schoolchildren in attendance Friday afternoon were understandably enthralled. Their senior associates will be able to savor the same Verdian virtues, supertitles and all, at popular-priced “family performances” tonight and Saturday.

Everyone benefits, on both sides of the proscenium, with this lesser--and better--”Falstaff.”