CAPSULE REVIEW : Operatic Whimsy Ends Up a Thump

Ah, whimsy. Wistful whimsy. Sophisticated whimsy. Eager whimsy.

Whimsy with a message. Whimsy with a dark edge. Whimsy with hustling, bustling modern music bearing occasional in-jokes and clever quotations.

Ah, children’s whimsy designed for grown-ups. Heavy-handed whimsy.

Whimsy that loses something, perhaps, in translation from page to stage. Whimsy that tends, in any case, to get a bit ponderous in the vast open spaces of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

For this year’s flirtation with modernism, Peter Hemmings and the Music Center Opera turned to a terrific trio: the neo-Romantic composer Oliver Knussen, the picture-book wizard Maurice Sendak and the ever-inventive director Frank Corsaro. Their vehicles--successfully tried out in such locales as St. Paul, Brussels, London and New York--must be fondly familiar to anyone who had, or was, a kid in the 1960s or beyond.

“Higglety Pigglety Pop!” and “Where the Wild Things Are” may not yet rival “Cav” and “Pag” in universal popularity. The two little Scottish-American operas do, however, recount familiar, nearly irresistible adventures from the Hardly-Everland where a frustrated puppy can be a heldensoubrette and where amiable monsters can grumble quasi-Yiddish jive while scrambling barbershop harmonies.

“Higglety” is the saga of Jennie, a shaggy coloratura canine who has everything, but embarks on the eternal quest for more. Sendak allows the Sealyham terrier to find the meaning of life--or an unreasonable facsimile thereof--with the aid of a saucy maid, an obnoxious baby, a smart cat, a pushy pig and a basso-profondo lion who leads the way to salvation.

The operatic version of the story is cute in its stubbornly obtuse way. It also may be a bit too long--70 minutes--for its cuteness.

The Wild Things do their not-all-that wild things quicker, in about 40 minutes. One is grateful.

Max, the ever-naughty-boy hero, is sent to bed without his supper. Sanctioning juvenile immorality to an oddly agreeable degree, Sendak rewards the brat with a visit to the realm of modestly clodding monsters who, properly subdued, make him king.

After a “Wild Rumpus” that in context looks and sounds tame, little Max gets homesick. He returns to his bedroom and another reward, a hot supper prepared by his forgiving Mom.

The music is witty when it isn’t merely busy. Occasionally it is poignant. Often it just thumps the gut.

A complete review runs in Saturday’s Calendar section.