OPERA REVIEW : A Dark, Dismal ‘Don Giovanni’ in Costa Mesa

Let it not be said that Opera Pacific approached “Don Giovanni” with trepidation. And let’s not look for reverence, much less relevance.

The new production of Mozart’s complex masterpiece, introduced Wednesday at the Orange County Performing Arts Center takes liberties. That is dangerous, but it need not be fatal.

Patrice Chereau took a modernist’s look at Wagner’s “Ring,” for instance, and came up with some insightful definitions. Peter Sellars had his brazen way with Mozart--actually setting the same “Don Giovanni” in grubby Spanish Harlem--and imparted surprising illumination. Both directors ignored the letter of the original law but reinforced the essential spirit.

Change for its own provocative, insensitive sake, however, can be problematic. This brings us to “Don Giovanni”--as staged and designed by John Pascoe, conducted by Klaus Donath and produced by David DiChiera--at Segerstrom Hall on Wednesday. Distortion has reared its nasty head.

The inappropriate action begins during the overture. Modern directors, convinced that an audience cannot sit still and just listen, always concoct mime shows to keep us awake during the overture.

This show depicts a circle of bare-chested penitents enjoying self-flagellation while encircling a statue of a black-robed madonna. The meaning, for the time being at least, is dubious, but the distraction isn’t.

On with the motley. Pascoe unveils a set within a set: a dismal canvas-rock curtain rises and falls upon a dark series of cartoon-Goya images. There isn’t much giocoso in this dramma . We can forget all about Baroque elegance, not to mention the charm that should relieve the tragedy.

Don Giovanni, here a thug lacking so much as a shred of aristocracy, doesn’t just kill the Commendatore in a spontaneous duel. He stabs the old man, brutally and repeatedly, with a dagger.

Donna Elvira, either myopic or studious, comes equipped with eye glasses, also a ubiquitous duenna. Donna Anna comes equipped with a ubiquitous priest. The extra characters get in the way but add nothing.

Everyone in Costa Mesa’s Seville comes equipped, not incidentally, with hideous wigs and shabby costumes. And just about everyone except boring old Don Ottavio and tired old Leporello is obsessed with the silly simulation of erotic adventure.

Zerlina and Masetto make up, roughly and most emphatically, after “Vedrai, carino”; oddly, Mozart’s tender postlude doesn’t suggest that they should be doing, er, that. Don Giovanni, a convenient wench and--yes, Donna Elvira--indulge in some sloppy sexual group groping at the anti-hero’s last supper.

The fancy ball at the end of Act One becomes a very sleazy party with some very sleazy guests. Too bad the music isn’t sleazy.

For some no doubt significant reason, the masked intruders arrive in funny mock-Turkish mufti. Too bad the music for their trio isn’t funny. The music at this juncture, in fact, happens to be sublime. No matter.

When at last it is time for Don Giovanni to go to hell--which he does not a moment too soon--Pascoe and friends pull out some more muddled stops. The ultra-prosaic, non-formidable statue of the Commendatore rolls on stage, even though Mozart specifically describes his terrifying footsteps. The half naked protagonist musters half-hearted defiance. The resident schlockmaster backstage switches on the time-dishonored strobe lights and turns on the inevitable steam machine.

And guess what? The madonna and the flagellants return. She embraces the anti-hero within her black robes while the attendants whip the recalcitrant fellow.

The curtain falls in an anticlimactic jumble of sadomasochistic rituals and should-be mystical impulses, none of which find reflection in the libretto or score. The beleaguered viewer can at least hope for some relief from the Grand Guignol kitsch in the cheery moralizing of the ensuing sextet.

No such comfort. Opera Pacific has cut the epilogue. Repeat: cut the epilogue. In Orange County, the opera ends abruptly, 10 minutes too early.

Mahler used to allow something like that in Vienna, 80 years ago. Poor Mozart may have done it too, under practical duress, in Vienna 200 years ago. Nevertheless, modern musicology can find little justification for such an act of stylistic and structural mutilation.

A clumsy apologia slipped into the program booklet offers the questionable pretense that this production conforms to Mozart’s final wishes. If such conformity were really a concern, the authorities might have restored the Zerlina-Leporello duet, sorted out the differences between the Prague and Vienna versions and paid some serious attention to matters of authentic embellishment.

With luck, Opera Pacifica might have salvaged the evening with musical splendor. Unfortunately, the assembled resources proved generally unequal to the composer’s demands.

Klaus Donath, the German pianist-turned-conductor, made his U.S. debut in the sparsely-staffed pit. He performed like a competent Kapellmeister doing his brisk best with a rough, uneven ensemble and obviously inadequate rehearsal time.

Stephen West was the tall, loud, tough and uncharismatic Don Giovanni. Avoiding the usual clown traps, Michael Gallup mustered an amiable and intelligent Leporello despite a hint of vocal strain. Bruce Ford, the usual stick-Ottavio, sang with much finesse but little luster. Kevin Short doubled as Masetto and the Commendatore (an example of economy casting traceable to the world premiere) and proved more comfortable as the angry bumpkin than as the avenging martyr.

Susan Patterson dominated the trio of light-voiced soprano victims. This Donna Anna sang “Or sai chi l’onore” with rare accuracy and a reasonable hint of passion, “Non mi dir” with fine pianissimo tone, and the ensuing cabaletta with easy agility.

Renee Fleming as Elvira vacillated between affecting vocalism and affected sighing. Maryanne Telese as the erstwhile adorable Zerlina looked determinedly cute, sounded brash and suffered from chronic mis-intonation.

And now the good news. After the debacle of “La Traviata,” the Opera Pacific management has instituted, and enforced, a policy that precludes late seating. This dark and dismal performance unfolded without disruption.