OPERA REVIEW : Triumphant ‘H.M.S. Pinafore’ at the Irvine Barclay

With memories still fresh from the visit last month of the D’Oyly Carte Opera of Great Britain, one wondered how the home-team version of Gilbert and Sullivan would hold up. The answer, as seen in Richard Sheldon’s modest Opera a la Carte production of “H.M.S. Pinafore” Saturday at the Irvine Barclay Theatre, is: very nicely.

Originally, “The Mikado” had been announced for the Irvine date, but apparently the Los Angeles-based company didn’t want to directly compete with the D’Oyly Carte (which brought “The Mikado” and “The Pirates of Penzance”). A pity, because at one level the confrontation might have been only between Gilbert and Christopher Webber, who staged the work for the new D’Oyly Carte in 1989.

It’s not clear that Gilbert would have been the loser.

In “Pinafore,” Sheldon attempted no radical restagings, no trendy reinterpretations, no extra glosses on the comedy. He feels, quite reasonably, that adherence to traditional stage business and attitudes will suffice, even triumph.

He offered coordinated gestures and snappy choreography, and his cast responded with alertness. Unlike the new D’Oyly Carte management, Sheldon sanctioned a limited number of encores in increasingly daffy, if endearing, merriment.

As Sir Joseph, Sheldon conveyed the proper mix of authority and pomposity and proved nimble in the thrice--or was it four times?--repeated capers of the “Never mind the why and wherefore” trio.

With his lanky physique and mobile face, Rollin Lofdahl (Captain Corcoran) looked like one of Gilbert’s Bab Ballad cartoons improbably come to life, and he sang with an attractive, if limited, baritone.

Kris Kennedy brought a patrician attitude and a fine-spun soprano to the role of Josephine. Patrick Gallagher made a hearty Ralph Rackstraw and sang with a strong tenor, offering a sweet top extension.

As Little Buttercup, Eugenia Hamilton projected Gilbert’s words with savor and sang Sullivan’s lines with ample finesse.

Terrell Anderson made a suitably nasty Dick Deadeye, and Marcelle Zonta a properly prim but at times lively Hebe.

Mark Beckwith, as the Boatswain’s Mate, initiated a disappointingly restrained “He Is an Englishman,” and the chorus of sailors, perhaps in adjusting to the acoustics of the new theater, often proved underpowered.

The chorus of sisters, cousins and aunts, however, sang with spirit.

Conductor Alexander Ruggieri presided over the small orchestra with knowledgeable sympathy and resourcefulness.