Adieu, M. Barenboim; Bonjour, M. Chung : NEWS ANALYSIS

And so, we hear, the opera job at the Bastille will go to Myung-Whun Chung.

Myung-Whun Chung?

Myung-Whun Chung!

It doesn’t seem to be a very good choice. But then it doesn’t seem to be a very good job.

The plot, you may recall, reads like a bad opera bouffe . The French government decided a few years ago that the city of Paris needed yet another opera house. Two weren’t enough.

Its inauguration would celebrate the bicentennial of the French Revolution. The cost: a whopping $350 million.

To run the house, official “conservative” politicos--ever sage in artistic matters--engaged Daniel Barenboim, sometime pianist and maestro of L’Orchestre de Paris. He had limited experience in opera. Many experts found his conducting eminently resistable. His plans for Paris turned out to be unimaginative and virtually un- if not anti-French.

But never mind. Somebody up there liked him. He agreed to take the job for a whomping $1.1 million. Repeat: $1.1 million.

Enter the new Socialists, equally erudite in matters cultural. They appointed--who else?--Pierre Berge to supervise the inherited opera project. His primary credential for the post: mogulship for the fashionable fashions of Yves St. Laurent.

Berge decided that Barenboim would earn too much money, put on too few performances, spend too much time elsewhere.

Thus far, logic and righteousness seemed on Berge’s side. Unfortunately, the instant impresario also made a broader decision:

The artistic director in Paris really shouldn’t be an artistic director. He should just keep quiet and wave his little stick.

Adieu to logic and righteousness. Adieu also to Barenboim.

Chaos reigned for months, amid much gleeful gnashing and mutual recrimination. Many famous artistsrallied behind their fallen hero and threatened to boycott the Bastille.

Now, Berge wants Chung to pick up the pieces, and a new round of disasters looms. Parisian prestige is on the line. It is a precarious line.

Chung is relatively young and reasonably talented. Still, he hardly seems to be the man for this perilous post. Maybe no one else wanted it. Maybe Berge wants someone he knows he can kick around.

Chung enjoys a modest international reputation at best. His specific experience in opera is, to put it mildly, limited. He has never headed any major cultural organization. He has never had to open a can of socio-political worms like this.

The prognosis for his success--much less survival--in the city of light is dubious.

Be that as it may, his appointment will have no effect on the international game of Musical Chairs. He wasn’t even a likely candidate for the other significant openings.

This is a bizarre but sad old story of befuddled priorities and extra-artistic interference. There are no heroes here. There might be a victim.

The French did not invent the eternal and universal problem of artistic interference. In America, members of almighty boards of directors have long been known to tread upon artistic toes. Angelenos with good memories may recall what happened when board members decided to hire one Zubin Mehta for the No. 2 post at the Los Angeles Philharmonic--without bothering to consult Georg Solti, who happened to hold the No. 1 post at the time.

The dilemma becomes most disastrous, however, when governments want to establish artistic policies. Certain American presidents--remember Reagan?--have tried to wipe out national arts subsidies yet, at the same time, create tax penalties that discourage the generosity of private donors.

Everyone wants the state to help pay the cultural tab. But no one wants the state to tell an artist how to do his job. Artists, after all, don’t officially tell statesman how to run the country. It might not be a bad idea, now that we think of it, but they don’t.

We live in interesting times. We live in strange times. The brouhaha in Paris reminds us that we also live in silly times.