OPERA REVIEW : Karajan’s ‘Giovanni’ Airs on PBS

According to the extra-musical groupies, hypesters and aficionados, there are two gods in Salzburg: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Herbert von Karajan. No one is quite sure which name should come first.

The composer was merely born in the magical Austrian city. The charismatic conductor has long toiled there, cultivated a superhuman mystique and created a feverish festival cult.

All this is effectively documented in the glamorous “Don Giovanni” production filmed last summer and telecast locally by PBS this weekend as part of the “Great Performances” series. The 3 1/2-hour extravaganza can be seen on KOCE tonight at 9 and on KCET Sunday afternoon at 2.

Karajan has been conducting “Don Giovanni” for at least half a century. He is frail now, and his once-mercurial ideas about Mozart’s dramma giocoso have turned a bit stodgy with the years. His tempi often tend to lumber, and despite his fondness for crisp articulation and transparent textures, his notions of baroque style remain doggedly romantic.

Still, he remains an undoubted old-school master, and the forces of the Vienna Opera perform valiantly for him.

In the bad old days, Karajan’s ego would not permit collaboration with a major stage director. The maestro had to do everything himself. The passage of time, however, has forced him to concentrate exclusively on the music. Therefore the drama is entrusted here to Michael Hampe, who enforces a conventional, uncluttered action scheme within Mauro Pagano’s bleak, elegantly stylized designs.

Ultimately, the success of any “Don Giovanni” must rest with the protagonist. With Samuel Ramey, this one falters.

The all-American basso, who also doubles as self-conscious tour guide during the banal intermission feature, refers to the title character as “quite a guy.” There’s the rub. Ramey looks handsome, sounds healthy, sings with unflagging strength and settles for cliches.

There is no subtlety in his characterization, no charm, no light and shade, no hint of erotic or sardonic allure. Bravado, alas, will only go so far.

The women pose something of a histrionic paradox. Donna Anna, in the matronly person of Anna Tomowa-Sintow, and Donna Elvira, as portrayed by Julia Varady, seem earthy, even dowdy, while Kathleen Battle as the peasant Zerlina exudes pristine elegance. Though all sing beautifully, Tomowa-Sintow, like many a dramatic soprano before her, stumbles over the fioriture of “Non mi dir.” Even the snail’s pace favored by Karajan is of no avail here.

Ferruccio Furlanetto introduces a crusty Leporello who actually could be mistaken for his master--in the dusk with the light behind him. Gosta Winbergh brings much taste, and perhaps a bit too much falsetto, to Ottavio’s sweet arias.

Alexander Malta delivers a sturdy Masetto, and Paata Burchuladze booms mightily and darkly as the ultra-Slavic Commendatore. When the latter attends the Don’s last supper, incidentally, the locale suddenly resembles a cosmic outtake from “2001.” And although two characters graphically describe the statue’s ominous footsteps, a very stationary stone-guest glides on via rollers.

Claus Viller’s camera work, apart from some gimmicky double montages in the epilogue, is discreet and alert. Sonya Haddad’s minimalist subtitles are useful. The production wants to give the surface impression of a live performance at the Festspielhaus, but the perfectly timed, oddly restrained applause sounds suspiciously canned.

This is, without a doubt, a major, highly polished, high-priced effort. The details, for the most part, are terrific. The totality, however, seems oddly sterile.