HOUSTON EXTRAVAGANZA : A NEW ‘AIDA’ IN A NEW OPERA HOUSE

First the Astrodome. Now, from the same resourceful architects deep in the heart of Texas, comes the Wortham Theater Center.

The main auditorium in the new, lavish, garish, $70-million home of the Houston Grand Opera actually isn’t gargantuan. It seats only 2,176--a generous figure by European standards but a relatively modest one by ours.

David Gockley, the ambitious general director, purposely bucked economic and social trends when he insisted on an intimate showcase for his pioneering company. Ironically, however, America’s latest forum for the world’s most irrational art form looks enormous.

They never could think small in Houston.

The center spans 437,000 square feet and takes up two city blocks. The contour is dominated by a 90-foot Romanesque arch. The vaulted foyer, proudly adorned with 30 tons of kitschy steel sculptures by Albert Paley, resembles a desperately chic, old-fashioned railroad terminal. The roof area matches the size of three football fields.

The Brown Theater, the larger and fancier of the two halls in Wortham, is unabashedly grand in most of the traditional senses. It contains ornate boxes, balconies and loges facing a tall, conventional proscenium. The ceiling reaches up, up and up to the ubiquitous burgundy sky. Hints of drapery curves are etched into the solid facades. Symmetrical rows of good old Texas stars shine and blink in mock-rhinestone glory.

One wouldn’t automatically cite the place for understated elegance.

The proof of an opera house, however, is in the seeing and hearing. The gala production of “Aida” that marked the liberation of the Houston company from the multipurpose compromises of nearby Jones Hall left somewhat inconclusive impressions Wednesday night.

Verdi’s potentially festive perennial was to have been the official inaugural vehicle this month, just as it had been for Jones Hall 21 years ago. Contrary to all logical expectations, however, the new house was completed four months ahead of schedule and $5 million under budget. Marking time until the beginning of the opera season, the center played host to a few concerts, a musical comedy and some ballet. Still, for most impractical purposes, “Aida” remained the big opening.

The sight lines, from a seat at mid-level downstairs, would have been fine were it not for four distracting television cameras and cameramen stationed in front of the orchestra pit. The sound lines favored the not particularly heroic voices, at the expense of the thin and distant orchestra partially buried under the stage.

It takes time, of course, to properly tune any acoustical instrument, especially one as unwieldy as this.

At the Oct. 15 introductory “Aida,” Mirella Freni had ventured the demanding title role for the first time in seven years, eliciting general euphoria. Unfortunately, on this occasion she reportedly succumbed to a throat ailment.

Ilona Tokody, who was to have succeeded Freni later in the run, agreed to take over, even though she had arrived from her native Hungary only the night before. She deserved gratitude for grace under pressure and praise for an attractive, theatrically sensitive delineation of the Ethiopian princess.

Vocally, she seemed to be suffering from severe jet lag, however. She constantly pushed her light and splintery soprano to the brink of shrill disaster.

Placido Domingo as Radames sounded suitably imposing. He also looked odd, dutifully striking barefoot beef-cake poses in a comical warrior suit.

Early in the evening, he settled for a lot of short-winded trumpeting. By the time he reached the Nile Scene, however, he began to spin out genuine legato phrases. He even attempted some of the pianissimo tones that would have made “Celeste Aida” a reverie rather than a call to arms.

The remainder of the cast respected contemporary routine. Stefania Toczyska repeated her pretty, pallid and generally solid Amneris. Ingvar Wixell sounded a bit rusty as Amonasro, but compared to the creaky Ramfis of Nicolai Ghiaurov, he seemed to embody eternal youth. Conversely, David Langan (brother basso of Kevin Langan) reduced the King to a juvenile lightweight.

Replacing the originally scheduled Giuseppe Sinopoli, Emil Tchakarov conducted with the stress on lightness and speed. The inherent pathos and arching cantilena were sacrificed accordingly.

Pier Luigi Pizzi, the fashionable director and designer, used a curious fusion of realistic gesture, militaristic mass rituals and flexible, stylized decors to constantly force the action forward. The momentum proved more gratifying than the self-conscious, often anachronistic invention.

Pizzi outfitted the partial-thrust stage with sliding panels, all-purpose columns, mock-Egyptian glitz and symbolic icons. Most notable among the the props were a pair of Trojan elephants on wheels that enlivened the rather static Triumphal Scene and a versatile 25-foot head of the god Ptah that haunted the temples.

Pizzi favored muted colors, bleakly picturesque vistas, elaborate lighting effects, silly accents. He also encouraged Richard Caceres to contribute anti-rhythmic, modern-style choreography for some push-button-adorable children, some semi-nude gladiators and some bizarre priestesses trapped in Nikolais-esque stretch costumes.

This “Aida,” not incidentally, was produced in conjunction with the Music Center Opera. Los Angeles will see it--complete with dauntless Domingo, petrified pachyderms and nil Nile--in September, 1989.

Hope springs internal.