OPERA REVIEW : A Bleak, Poignant New ‘Fidelio’ in San Francisco

The bleak and poignant new production of Beethoven’s “Fidelio” at the San Francisco Opera begins with a miscalculation.

Instead of setting the scene with the brisk vitality and muted heroism of the so-called “Fidelio” overture, which the composer finally sanctioned in 1814, Sir John Pritchard conducts the mighty--in this context, much too mighty--”Leonore” Overture, No. 3.

Beethoven had discarded that orchestral introduction in 1806. Undaunted, egomaniacal maestros have long insisted on interpolating the pre-romantic tone poem at some point in the opera. The most frequent pretext was the need to keep the orchestra and audience occupied while the set was changed between the dungeon scene and the exultant finale in the prison courtyard.

The practice killed time usefully. It recycled the dramatic narrative in magnificent symphonic terms and gave the autocrat in the pit an opportunity to bring down the house without vocal distractions. Unfortunately, the practice also tended to make the conventional resolution of the last scene seem prosaic if not anticlimactic.

The latest San Francisco staging, seen Thursday, employs superbly flexible, marvelously evocative, semi-stylized sets by John Gunter that can transform locales, in full view of the audience, virtually at the flick of a switch. Ergo, there is no need for a symphonic interlude between the last scenes.

Undaunted, Pritchard discards the relatively simple “Fidelio” overture and interpolates “Leonore” No. 3 at the outset. After this lofty 15-minute concert, the Singspiel episodes that immediately follow seem even more prosaic and anticlimactic than usual.

It takes a while for Beethoven to restore proper balances and perspectives. Luckily, this “Fidelio” emerges as compelling musical theater in spite of the introductory detour.

Gunter’s modern yet timeless designs are striking in their immediacy, gratifying in their refusal to court easy sentiment. The complementary stage direction by Michael Hampe of Cologne sustains pathos without gimmickry and rises to climaxes without recourse to cliche.

Within the stark oppression of Gunter’s gray-brick walls, ominous towers and shadowy subterranean cells, Hampe has reduced the melodrama to basic human impulses. He also has raised the stereotype figures, wherever possible, to credible participants in an epochal drama.

The domestic subplot is depicted in terms of gritty realism. The grandiose central themes of equality, freedom and all-conquering love are conveyed simply, without bombast.

Gunter and Hampe serve Beethoven with uplifting passion and urgency. Pritchard, unfortunately, contents himself with transparent textures and pretty sonorities. He offers an orderly, impersonal outline of the score. It isn’t enough.

Under the circumstances, the well-chosen singers are often left to their own devices.

Elizabeth Connell, the Irish mezzo-soprano turned soprano, sings the title role with uncommon brightness, clarity and poise. She does not flinch from the coloratura outbursts. She actually gets over the dramatic hurdles of the great “Abscheulicher” aria with grace, and she floats a lovely, serene pianissimo line in the benediction of “O, Gott, welch ein Augenblick.”

Despite a trenchcoat-costume that makes her look needlessly pudgy and not particularly masculine, she acts with simple dignity. She even masters the old Anja Silja coup de theatre of doffing her cap to reveal a cascade of feminine locks at the crucial cry of “Tod erst sein Weib.”

One could wish for a richer, warmer sound, especially in the high climaxes (Flagstad and Lehmann still linger in some memories). Supertitles or no supertitles, one certainly would applaud more idiomatic articulation of the German text. Still, this is the work of a sensitive and resourceful artist.

One approached the Florestan of James McCracken with certain misgivings. The gentleman, after all, had worked the Indiana steel mills and served in the Navy before making his operatic debut back in 1952. Repeat: 1952. The misgivings prove blissfully unfounded.

One or two other singers may explore the light and shade in the second-act aria with more refinement. Some, no doubt, can sustain the high tessitura without allowing the pitch to sag, as McCracken occasionally does here. But few contemporary tenors of any age can sing this cruel role with such force, such stamina, such intensity of expression and authority.

Franz Ferdinand Nentwig conveys the neo-Nazi villainy of Don Pizarro with stock impact, and summons as much power as one has a right to expect these days from an ersatz Heldenbariton .

Paul Plishka makes an amiable paternal bear of Rocco, sonic strength masking linguistic weakness. Cheryl Parrish introduces an earthy Marzelline blessed with a sweet, bell-like soprano and a demeanor devoid, thank goodness, of soubrette mannerisms.

David Bender partners her as a nondescript Jaquino. As Don Fernando, the would-be deus ex machina, Thomas Stewart looks dignified and sounds rusty.

The chorus, trained by Ian Robertson, rises lustily, if not exactly nobly, to the assorted odes to joy, liberation and brotherhood.