PERENNIAL PUCCINI : IT’S BUSINESS AS USUAL IN ‘NEW’ S.F. OPERA ‘BOHEME’

The advance publicity called the current version of “La Boheme” at the War Memorial Opera House a new production. And after a fashion--a very old fashion--it is new.

The paint on the handsome sets cannot have been dry for long. The clothing alotted the mock-Parisians of 1885 seems clean. The cast and conductor have not appeared here before in the same contextual configuration.

Yet everything looks and sounds comfortably familiar. Perhaps too comfortably.

No right-thinking American would suggest that the lachrymose saga of the starving poet who loves a tubercular seamstress should suddenly take place on the moon or in a primeval forest. Nor would any sane chronicler of the passing scene suggest that Puccini’s sugar-coated verismo lyricism be updated or distorted in any way.

It’s just that we had hoped for some semblance of a fresh perspective. We had deluded ourselves into thinking a new production would offer new ideas.

One doesn’t expect any such thing, of course, when opera companies from Augsburg to Zanzibar crank out their rote “Bohemes” amid moldy, antique decors salvaged from the warehouse. But here, at long last, was a chance to do something a little more vital, something a little different from the operatic rituals that have been boosting the hanky business internationally for 90 damp and delirious years.

Terence McEwen--the occasionally adventurous, usually stodgy paterfamilias of San Francisco Opera--chose to play this one very, very safe. The only hint of novelty, in fact, involves a trivial scenic device: The walls in the realistic buildings sometimes become transparent.

One can see Notre Dame from the Bohemians’ garret whenever love warms the air. That’s nice. One also can glimpse merrymakers inside the Cafe Momus and at the Barriere d’Enfer inn. Big deal.

Otherwise, this is “Boheme” business as usual. Solid business. Respectful and respectable business. Attractive business. Mildly boring business.

Maurizio Arena conducts with the stress on clarity and propulsion. Grandiose climaxes and sentimental indulgences are not for him.

Gerald Freedman stages the proceedings neatly and picturesquely. He values fluid action and enforces surface motivation for the inherent cliches.

David Mitchell has created useful picture-book vistas. Jeanne Button has provided pretty costumes.

With a cast of inspired singing actors, one might not have bemoaned the pervasive absence of imagination. On Friday, however, the San Francisco crew seldom rose above the level of competent, well-seasoned routine.

Nelly Miricioiu, the poor little Mimi from Romania, conveyed ample fragility and vulnerability plus a wonted trace of charm. She sang with rather thin, white and wispy soprano that suited the character and conveyed a good deal of poignance, even if it lacked sensuality and bloom at the top.

Alberto Cupido, her Rodolfo, revealed ideal resources for the romantic hero: a bright, vibrant, wide-ranging spinto tenor, a handsome and youthful appearance, a willingness to at least pretend to act.

He settled, unfortunately, for easy generalities where specific emotional responses would have been preferred. Also, he often bellowed when a sigh or a whisper would have been far more effective.

Nancy Gustafson, who without explanation replaced the eagerly awaited Fiamma Izzo d’Amico, was the debutant Musetta. Her gleaming, pliant tone and refined sense of phrase offset predictable phony sex-bomb mannerisms.

Tom Krause (Marcello) and Richard Pendergraph (Schaunard) seemed virtually interchangeable as mellifluous baritonal Bohemians. Kevin Langan returned to exert special pathos in Colline’s farewell to his coat.

John Del Carlo was the nicely seedy Benois, Paul Gudas the amiable old Alcindoro.

Just in case there still is an operagoer alive who does not know the simple story of “La Boheme,” Clifford Cranna provided relatively inoffensive supertitles.

The management’s decision to separate the four short acts with three long intermissions could have pleased only one segment of the Puccini establishment: the refreshment concessionaires.

It was business as usual Friday, even at the bars.