OPERA REVIEWS : Pacific Opens ’92 Season With ‘Tosca’

A funny thing happened at that moment when Tosca attempts to save her honor by stabbing Scarpia--in Act II of Puccini’s melodrama as presented by Opera Pacific in Segerstrom Hall on Friday.

Diana Soviero, a passionate and gorgeous (if short) heroine, dropped the knife and made her first pass at Harry Dworchak’s stolid Scarpia with only an empty hand.

She didn’t drop character, however, as she had the weapon; without missing a half-beat, Tosca/Soviero retrieved the knife, made her stab, then, as her victim moved away, hit him again, from the rear. He was a goner. At last.

It happened so quickly, one could not be sure what had exactly transpired. Mercifully, no one laughed. The drama continued without a stop. Life at the opera is seldom dull. . . .

The incident put two things in perspective. First, the singers, whatever their vocal weaknesses, often achieved an intense performance, one that usually found its dramatic core, while avoiding hamminess and excess. Most of the time, this “Tosca” could be believed. It was not invariably wonderful to hear, but it could mesmerize the watcher.

Second, the visual presentation seemed less than thoroughly prepared by stage director David Pfeiffer, in his Opera Pacific debut.

Stage pictures proved often askew, sometimes awkwardly crowded, even in some moments traffic-clogged--as at the beginning of Act II, when suddenly four singing actors all found themselves stuck behind Scarpia’s desk.

And, in the outwardly pleasing but stylistically jumbled sets by Ulisse Santicchi, one never could be certain of a visual concept.

Santicchi’s set designs, from the Dallas Opera, begin with the almost-abstract, partially realistic, three-level church interior in Act I, a structure that makes plot distinctions possible. In Act II, fey decorator’s touches in a near-historical palace room keep the observer wondering. A stylized Castel Sant’ Angelo, a setting approaching fantasy rather than reality, make Act III look like an inexpensive re-creation of some imagined, generic opera set.

Into these surroundings, Pfeiffer placed his singers with apparent haphazardness. The experienced among them suffered few indignities; the others seemed sometimes disoriented, more often merely confused.

Fortunately, John DeMain’s reassuring and practiced hands, conducting a mostly well-behaved, sometimes frankly under-rehearsed pit orchestra, maintained strong Puccinian values.

His singers were a mixed lot.

Soviero looks beautiful, sings valiantly. But, with Tosca, she seems to have achieved her Peter Principle:

She commands all the notes, she moves with assurance, she has prepared herself in every wise for the demands of this part, and even paces it well.

But the voice, which now seems more slender than ever, is not the natural instrument for Tosca; Soviero’s lack of a statuesque presence--a plus in many other roles--seems fatal to her possible success in this one, and no amount of detailed acting can fill in the gaps.

“Vissi d’arte” was one moment when the listener could relax and enjoy. Earlier in Act II, the basic size of voice and person had to disappoint.

Giorgio Tieppo, her truly Italian cavalier, sang with ringing fervor and a healthy, sizable tone. Dramatically, he moved with assurance and committed no gaucheries of gesture, as even famous Cavaradossis can.

Looking like Jay Leno at midlife, baritone Harry Dworchak impersonated a stock Scarpia, sang suavely in the middle range, but lost resonance as the role ascends. Alas, this role ascends a lot. Nevertheless, his acting had admirable energy, and he coped professionally when Scarpia nearly escaped assassination.

Vocally and histrionically, strong cameos were contributed by John Atkins (Angelotti) and Thomas Hammons (the Sacristan). In other roles, the singers were weak or forgettable, or both.