OPERA REVIEWS : Hard-Luck Verismo in San Francisco

The best-laid plans of mice and opera impresarios often get skewed. Take, for example, the unlikely pairing of Puccini’s magnificently maudlin “Suor Angelica” and Leoncavallo’s superbly sleazy “Pagliacci” in San Francisco.

Several years ago, during his decline as general director, Terence McEwen decided that his company needed a double bill devoted to these distant verismo cousins. Although “Angelica” hadn’t been performed locally since 1952, “Pagliacci” remained a repertory staple. Jean-Pierre Ponnelle had staged an intriguing production in 1976, and it could easily be separated from his eccentric, carefully matched version of “Cavalleria Rusticana.”

Ponnelle, of course, might not approve of the separation of these traditional verismo twins. But he died in 1988.

There was a method in McEwen’s apparent programming madness. Mirella Freni had agreed to sing Angelica for the first time. Her vaunted friend Luciano Pavarotti had agreed to venture his first Canio. Unfortunately, both experienced second thoughts regarding these strenuous assignments. Ever accommodating, McEwen gave them a revival of “La Boheme” instead.

Then Lotfi Mansouri, who inherited McEwen’s mistakes as well as his title, decided to recycle the odd billfellows for the gala opening night this season. Leona Mitchell would now portray the saintly nun with the tarnished past, and, making his long-delayed debut with an American company, the Soviet supertenor Vladimir Atlantov would undertake the sobs of the jealous clown.

All might have proceeded with relative calm at this point, were it not for an acrimonious labor dispute (with the orchestra) that delayed the season for eight days. When the inaugural curtain finally rose, the opera turned out to be “Rigoletto.” Again, “Angelica” and “Pagliacci” had to wait.

After all that fuss, the actual performance threatened to be something of a letdown. The threat seemed more like a promise on Saturday night at the War Memorial Opera House.

Nothing went seriously wrong. Little went memorably right.

For the pious platitudes of “Angelica,” John Copley devised a functional theatrical scheme that complemented Robert Perdziola’s picture-postcard designs. This was old-fashioned opera business as usual.

Mitchell sang the plaints of Angelica with a fine combination of chesty passion and lofty radiance, a few unsteady top tones notwithstanding. She settled for stock gestures, however, when one really needed dramatic pathos.

Elena Obraztsova snarled and growled imposingly if grotesquely as her stern aunt, the contralto Principessa. It wasn’t her fault, of course, that Perdziola gave the 17th-Century Italian mini-aristocrat a cumbersome costume worthy of a Tudor queen.

The motley crew of supporting nuns was deftly led by Heather Begg (the sympathetic Abess), Donna Petersen (the knowing Sister Monitor) and Janet Williams (the innocent Genovieffa). They kept the canvas cloister alive with the sound of music.

Ponnelle’s quirky “Pagliacci” is a more compelling piece of theater, even as modified by his disciple Vera Lucia Calabria. The prologue still may be weakened by a fussy mime episode that previews the violent coming attractions, but the 1920s updating enhances immediacy and the central playing area, defined by the clowns’ battered truck, focuses the grubby action cleverly.

Atlantov sang with staggering, unrelenting power that recalled the steely days of Mario del Monaco and Franco Corelli. He is a vocal phenomenon, and one longs to hear him as Otello. One also longs for a little more light and shade in his Canio, not to mention a little more attention to rhythmic detail.

Matteo Manuguerra, now 65, replaced the reportedly indisposed Ingvar Wixell as Tonio. The Italian baritone sang with crusty authority that confirmed his age--and with fervor, amplitude and freshness that emphatically denied it.

Marilyn Mims introduced a vocally and physically generous, emotionally stingy Nedda. Gino Quilico partnered her as a romantic, surprisingly brusque-toned Silvio. David Gordon, the resourceful Beppe, brought bel-canto elegance to Arlecchino’s serenade.

Making his San Francisco debut, Nello Santi conducted both operas with the suavity of a veteran of many operatic wars. He sustained welcome delicacy amid the sentimental sprawl of “Angelica,” but sometimes succumbed to bathos in a rather ponderous “Pagliacci.”