OPERA REVIEW : An Ill-Fated ‘Forza del Destino’ in San Francisco

Fate wasn’t very kind to “La Forza del Destino” on Sunday. Nor was the San Francisco Opera.

Verdi’s shadowy masterpiece is hardly one of those oom-pah-pah marathons that all but invite the audience to sing along. The opera has its share of inspired melodies, to be sure, but they are woven into a daunting theatrical fabric.

A successful “Forza del Destino” demands at least six stylish, well-matched, world-class singers, a forceful conductor who can contain the inherent musical and dramatic sprawl, and a flexible staging scheme to reinforce the essential moods while suggesting the appropriate locales. None of this is easy.

San Francisco provided three remarkable singing actors. Thank goodness for the low voices, and vice versa. The rest turned out to be routine, or worse.

First the good news.

Vladimir Chernov, the Russian guest who had turned Posa into something of a sleepwalker in “Don Carlo” at the Music Center, redeemed himself here as a taut, handsome and fiery Carlo di Vargas. He sang with a splendid combination of finesse and bravado, rode the ascending climaxes in lusty triumph yet never stooped to self-serving indulgence. He even proved that he knows what legato means. Chernov may just be the Verdi baritone for whom we all have been waiting.

Roberto Scandiuzzi, the Italian basso cantante making his U.S. opera debut as Padre Guardiano, served happy notice that the noble Neri-Pasero-Pinza-Siepi tradition may yet be alive and well. His dark yet slender tone rolled evenly from brilliant heights to resonant depths, and he commanded the stage, quietly, with well-focused, slightly bemused dignity.

Alfonso Antoniozzi seconded him as a mellifluous Melitone who steadfastly resisted the usual buffo mannerisms. Young and wiry, he made the churlish monk eminently credible: intelligent and idealistic yet fussy and exasperated. More baritone than bass, he projected both music and text with something perilously--no, marvelously--close to bel-canto purity. It was a revelation.

Unfortunately, the revelations stopped there. Now the bad news.

Zack Brown’s cardboard-realism sets, borrowed from the second-rate Washington Opera, looked dull and tacky on the larger San Francisco stage. They reportedly were created in 1990, but the date could just as well have been 1930.

The motley costumes, not specifically credited in the program, looked like the product of a local warehouse raid. They also contradicted the program claim that the action takes place in the mid-18th Century.

Did I say action ? Forget it.

Sonja Frisell has directed traffic--in those instances where the principals were willing to move--by the numbers. Her “Forza” resembles a picturesque but often clumsy compendium of hoary cliches, some of which inspired the wrong reaction for the right reasons. We know we are in trouble when the audience mistakes a potentially tragic duel for a laff riot.

The musical values were in the well-routined hands of Roberto Abbado, conducting opera for the first time in America. He obviously knows the score and obviously understands the style (although one may argue with his decision to cut the “Sleale” duet). He may even have some compelling interpretive ideas. On this obviously trying occasion, however, he served primarily as competent accompanist. It remains to be heard if he shares more than the name of his much revered uncle, Claudio.

The role of Leonora--epitome of the arching Verdi spinto--has been performed by an illustrious list of sopranos at the War Memorial Opera House including Claudia Muzio, Elisabeth Rethberg, Zinka Milanov, Stella Roman, Leonie Rysanek and Leontyne Price. Leona Mitchell, who undertook the challenge on Sunday, is not quite in the same league.

She sang with gleaming tone and elegant line one moment, with explosive distortion and inexact pitch the next. She never really managed to float the long pianissimo phrases that define enlightened artistry in this music, and her histrionic involvement seemed minimal.

Lando Bartolini complemented her, unfortunately, as a musically troubled, dramatically rather stilted Alvaro. Unlike many a colleague, he commands the appropriate vocal equipment: a big, bright tenor that betrays no fear of the steely climax. But he contented himself here with mighty penetrating cries, ignoring the contrasting soft tones Verdi prescribed for moments of introspection. His intonation went a-wandering at aria time, and he found it difficult to blend with Chernov in the great duet, “Solenne in quest’ora.”

The hero at the opening, it should be noted, was supposed to have been Giuseppe Giacomini. When he canceled, Bartolini--who had been scheduled to replace him in the final performances anyway--took over the entire run.

The Gypsy-pipsy platitudes and awkward coloratura of Preziosilla were once again entrusted to Judith Forst, who has owned this role in San Francisco since 1979. It is time for a change.

In supporting assignments, Scott Wilde introduced a resonant but unsteady basso as the ill-fated Marchese di Calatrava. Euro Nava offered a reticent Trabucco, but Maria Fortuna made the most of the modest opportunities afforded the heroine’s maid, Curra. The chorus, trained by Ian Robertson, was strong.

Even with cuts, the performance lasted nearly four hours. When Chernov, Scandiuzzi and Antoniozzi didn’t happen to be around, the time passed slowly.