VOCAL SMORGASBORD : HAGEGARD, BONNEY IN ODD RECITAL

Hakan Hagegard--still best known, perhaps, for his irresistible portrayal of Papageno in Ingmar Bergman’s “Magic Flute” film a decade ago--seems to want to have it both ways.

At least he seemed to want it both ways in his decidedly odd recital Thursday night at Ambassador Auditorium, where he replaced the originally scheduled Lucia Popp.

For the first half of the evening, he presented himself as an ultra-serious, probing, poignant, sophisticated artist--as a would-be latter-day Fischer-Dieskau. He sang Schumann’s “Dichterliebe.”

Before the festivities could begin, the Swedish visitor made a nice little speech in which he begged the audience (a dismayingly small audience) not to destroy the poetic mood of the cycle by turning pages of the program booklet during piano postludes or by applauding between songs. The audience applauded the speech, and obliged.

For the second half of the evening, in which he found a pretty accomplice in a young American lyric soprano named Barbara Bonney, he presented himself as a romantic clown, a cutesy show-biz charmer and a classy sentimentalist.

He did his Papageno number, ventured into the juicy operatic realm of Italianita , threw in a few gags, chatted with the audience, served as a theatrical prop for his partner during her solos, grabbed her for a waltz around the piano, and oozed climactic Schlag and Schmaltz .

There was much to admire in each of Hagegard’s efforts. He has brains, wit, an easy, ingratiating manner, a sense of style. He commands a healthy, pliant lyric baritone and, apart from some shortness of breath and fuzziness of tone, uses it adroitly.

Bonney, who was making her American recital debut on this occasion, brought imposing credentials of her own, including “Die Zauberfloete” at La Scala, “Gianni Schicchi” at the Munich Festival and “Der Rosenkavalier” at Covent Garden. Her small, pure, slender tones may not dazzle in coloratura flights, but she savors such values as expressive finesse, an arching legato and a fine, floating pianissimo.

Warren Jones provided brisk, colorful, sensitive piano accompaniment throughout.

Sufficient ingredients for several happy nights of music obviously were at hand. Unfortunately, this single night of music turned out to be a mishmash, a stylistic potpourri that rambled in too many directions in too short a time, a confusing vocal smorgasbord in search of a definitive theme or flavor.

In the “Dichterliebe,” Hagegard impressed with his freshness and ardor, disappointed with a tendency to simplify the emotions and generalize the text.

In excerpts from “Die Zauberfloete,” he exuded his celebrated nature-boy innocence, though the whistling he substituted for Papageno’s piping proved more annoying than ingratiating. Bonney provided the dual complement of a very girlish, very echt-Deutsch Pamina and a slightly cloying Papagena.

In the bel-canto course, she offered rather bland Donizetti (Norina’s aria from “Don Pasquale”), he pulled out the Rossini stops (Figaro’s “Largo al Factotum”).

Then came the Viennese goo: a gushing duet from Kalman’s “Csardasfuerstin,” Adele’s “Laughing Song” (for which Hagegard contributed some of the laughs), a lovely bit of nostalgia from Robert Stolz’s “Der Favorit,” “Wien, Wien, Nur Du Allein” (what else?) and, finally, the quasi-Straussian allure of “Wiener Blut.”

The inevitable encores brought Hagegard back for Hugo Wolf’s not-too-fond ode to critics, “Abschied”; Bonney back for “If I Loved You” from “Carousel,” and both back, in hushed and innocent unison, for Brahms’ Lullaby.

An agenda like this could give eclecticism a bad name.