OPERA REVIEW : ‘Herring’ With Edges Blunted

“Albert Herring,” as ventured by the cautious San Diego Opera on Saturday, is bright and funny. That’s nice.

But there is more to Benjamin Britten’s comic masterpiece than period cheer. Some experts actually regard the work as a subtly satirical, bittersweet counterpart to the bleak heroic tragedy of “Peter Grimes.”

Created for the intimate environs of Glyndebourne in 1947, “Albert Herring” remains a fragile challenge. Its subtleties tend to get lost in a 3,000-seat house such as the Civic Theater, just as its essential British understatement tends to get broadened in American translation.

Still, the chamber opera can make its wonted mark in domestic interpretation. Anyone who remembers Lou Galterio’s virtually definitive production, staged by the Opera Theatre of St. Louis in 1978 and nationally televised at the time, knows that.

For all his affectionate humor, Britten dealt--always thoughtfully and sometimes even sadly--in pain and alienation. Examining the hypocritical foibles of a repressive society, the composer and his inspired librettist, Eric Crozier, developed credible characters, not caricatures.

They smiled wisely at their subject. They never smirked.

The inflated San Diego production, utilizing flimsy workshop-style decors from the Banff Festival in Alberta, makes better musical than theatrical sense. Steuart Bedford, a Britten specialist with impeccable credentials, conducts the tiny, virtuosic orchestra with ample warmth, with delicate wit and with propulsive verve where appropriate.

He obviously has a keen ear for ensemble values. He demonstrates sensitivity to the impact of nostalgic quotation and, most important, a fine understanding of gentle expressive eloquence.

The stage director, Colin Graham, also happens to be a practiced Britten authority. Unfortunately, he manages to protect and project that gentle expressive eloquence far less successfully.

Perhaps he found the uneven cast at his disposal unresponsive to the fundamental stylistic impulses. Perhaps he did not think modern Californians could respond to the starchy milieu of East Suffolk, ca. 1900. Whatever the reason, he often allowed sitcom mannerisms to blunt Victorian manners.

The problems did not involve the three youthful principals. One must be thankful for big favors.

As Albert--the shopkeeper’s son who is crowned King of the May when no virtuous Queen can be found--Barton Green conveyed the right aura of unwitting, wide-eyed innocence. He traced the hero’s progress to healthy debauchery with rakish gusto, flashed a magnificently toothy grin, and--when pressure didn’t compromise purity--sang with sweet point.

Matthew Carey complemented him with baritonal bonhomie as the wily Sid. Susan Graham exuded lyrical sympathy as his girlfriend, Nancy.

The problems of the evening involved dramatic focus in the character roles. As the would-be Wagnerian Lady Billows, for crucial instance, Christine Brewer seemed a giddy biddy rather than a noble battle-ax.

As Florence Pike, her should-be formidable housekeeper, Martha Jane Howe seemed pert rather than stern. Her difficulties were compounded, moreover, by lines that dipped too low for vocal comfort.

As Miss Wordsworth, the mellifluous, chronically prissy schoolmarm, Judith Lovat kept succumbing to the temptations of ingenue charm. As the preening Mrs. Herring, Patricia Kern slighted earthy pathos in quest of music-hall laughs.

Harlan Foss mustered reasonably crisp bluster for the smug platitudes of the vicar. Francis Egerton offered a surprisingly bland portrait, however, of the meek mayor, and James Scott Sikon introduced a booming, bumbling police chief whose beat should have Penzance, not Loxford.

The three ubiquitous kiddies always threaten to be an awkward imposition. In this instance, Mary Dombeck, Patricia Prunty and Christopher Johnson were cute, cute, cute. Also arch, arch, arch.

Luckily, everyone sang well. Well, nearly everyone.

Neil Peter Jampolis’ semi-stylized sets confused Lady Billows’ stuffy mansion with an airy arcade, but provided the Herrings with a picturesque greengrocery. Debra Hanson designed ornate cartoon costumes for the matronly Lady Billows, merely functional attire for everyone else.

The opera was sung, of course, in English. The clever words were not hard to grasp.

Nevertheless, Ian Campbell, the San Diego impresario, decided not to leave well-enough alone and introduced the inconsistent redundancy of English supertitles. Sometimes they appeared atop the proscenium. For long stretches they didn’t.

Sporadically applied, the textual intrusions often created false expectations. As a result, they became even more distracting than usual. One had to wonder, moreover, why certain innocuous phrases seemed to need underscoring while others did not.

Campbell apparently trusted neither the composer’s skill at setting the libretto nor the cast’s ability to articulate it. Britten might not have been amused.