OPERA REVIEW : A Very Serious ‘Idomeneo’ at War Memorial in San Francisco

There are scholars who regard “Idomeneo” as Mozart’s masterpiece. It is grandiose, graceful, eminently noble. It documents a daring expansion of conventional idioms and Baroque forms. It stands as an archetypically serious example of the ancient genre known as opera seria .

With its symmetrical set-piece rituals, its concern for a vaguely heroic antiquity, its unabashed length and its blithe manipulation of Greek mythology, “Idomeneo” has never appealed very much to the masses. First performed in Munich in 1781, it didn’t reach America until 1947, when Boris Goldovsky ventured a modest production in Tanglewood. The San Francisco premiere occurred only in 1977, and the mighty Metropolitan didn’t get around to the challenge until 1982, when the title role served as an unlikely vehicle for Luciano Pavarotti.

The new production at the San Francisco Opera, seen on Friday, is essentially a labor of love on the part of John Pritchard, the resident music director. He had assisted Fritz Busch in the epochal Glyndebourne premiere back in 1951. After the death of the great German conductor, Pritchard took over the baton the next summer. He went on to lead numerous revivals as well as a historic recording. This man knows “Idomeneo.”

At least he knows one version of the opera. It is a version based, rather loosely, on the edition Mozart prepared for an amateurish production in Vienna five years after the Munich premiere. This version, arranged at least in part by the uncredited Hans Gal, re-aligns some portions of the score, sanctions generous cuts and transposes the castrato role of the prince, Idamante, for a tenor. (Some modern stagings have coped with the vocal and sexual identity crisis by casting a mezzo-soprano in the part.)

One can argue that there are better ways of performing “Idomeneo.” Even the excellent San Francisco program magazine makes that argument (“It would be a mistake,” writes Max Loppert, “to insist that this Vienna version represents the composer’s last word”). One also can argue that Pritchard’s affectionate scheme of music making--suave, clean, eminently poised--is somewhat at odds with the more vital, more florid style sanctioned by contemporary musicology.

Still, the dedication and authority at work here are admirable. “Idomeneo” can be more exciting, more flamboyant, more authentic than San Francisco suggests. It certainly can be better embellished. But if this “Idomeneo” errs, at least it errs tastefully.

The physical production, directed by John Copley and designed by John Conklin, reflects complementary conservatism. The quasi-Cretan sets--a clever network of overlapping scrims and sliding wall panels--project stylized vistas that accommodate classical cliches, literal details and gently surreal distortions. The costumes adhere to the banal but elegant anachronism of 18th-Century fashions for survivors of the Trojan War. The action scheme savors the economy of repose.

The cast, generally able, turns out to be more notable for eagerness than for virtuosity. Wieslaw Ochman conveys the mature agonies of the titular king with knowing restraint and sings eloquently despite limited agility. Hans Peter Blochwitz--a tiny jewel glittering oddly in his ear--personifies refinement as his potentially sacrificial son. The other tenors in this tenor-heavy ensemble are William Lewis, a dignified Arbace sadly deprived of his arias, and Randall Outland, a High Priest with a high and feeble voice.

The central women cannot provide the wonted conflict of lyricism vs. drama. Karita Mattila looks exquisite and sounds limpid as the virtuous Ilia. Nancy Gustafson looks equally lovely and sounds just as radiant as the nasty and tempestuous Elettra. Neither musters much force when it comes to the demands of ornate flight.

Kenneth Cox, the lone bass on the premises, intones Neptune’s deus-ex-machina pronouncements from afar--too far afar. The chorus, trained by Ian Robertson, performs with resonant splendor and even a trace of urgency. In this context, one is grateful for any trace of urgency.

Incidental intelligence: The huge nylon net suspended just below the ceiling to catch falling post-earthquake plaster has thus far caught very little. Nor does it seem to have had any adverse effect upon the reverberant acoustic of the War Memorial Opera House.