Opera : Hugo Weisgall’s Grandiose ‘Esther’ Justifies a Festival

Hats off, gentlemen. An opera.

The real, big, sprawling, irrational, poignant thing.

Hugo Weisgall’s “Esther”--the third and last installment of the oddly conceived and possibly foolhardy “world-premiere festival” celebrating the 50th birthday of the New York City Opera--may, or may not, be a masterpiece. Time will let us know.

But a momentous judgment isn’t particularly relevant at the moment.

Weisgall’s grand opera--and make no mistake, it is very grand--may strike those observers perched on the cutting edge of today’s most trendy isms as a bit old-fashioned. It may be too thick and slow, too ponderous and thoughtful for modernist comfort. One could hardly call it minimalistic in any sense.

Never mind. In this unabashedly massive biblical venture, Weisgall proves that he knows what he wants to say and, more important, that he knows how to say it. It is a rare achievement.

Here is a composer who still values the human voice and who still finds vitality in an ancient expressive tradition. Here is an opera that actually manages to take the challenge of stylistic coherence in easy stride.

A feisty 81-year-old, Weisgall long ago assimilated, and personalized, the thorny lessons of Schoenberg and Berg. He has written 10 distinctive operas in 45 years, three of them for the New York City Opera.

Ironically, it would stretch the truth to claim that he intended “Esther” for this company. The original commission came from Terence McEwen and the San Francisco Opera in 1987. With the changing of the managerial guard in Northern California, however, and the apparent depletion of funds, “Esther” was eventually abandoned.

Luckily, the authorities at the probably more beleaguered City Opera were neither so desperate nor so myopic. This company harbors some odd priorities, financial as well as artistic, but it does not avoid all dangers.

Last Wednesday, it took a risk with “Marilyn,” Ezra Laderman’s Monroe opera, and came up looking silly. It took another risk, of sorts, on Thursday with “Griffelkin,” Lukas Foss’ good-little-devil opera, and came up looking fatuous.

It took a further risk on Friday with Weisgall’s lofty exploration of Old Testament morality--an exploration in 36 scenes spread fluidly over three acts, requiring seven major singers, a large orchestra, a chorus to match, and even a hint of balletic diversion. And here, not a moment too soon, the so-called second company at Lincoln Center came up looking heroic.

Weisgall describes his opera, credibly, as “chromatic but also highly romantic. Very cinematographic too.”

His idiom can sound dissonant only to ears that find Richard Strauss alarmingly advanced. He makes telling use of rhythmic counterpoint to convey chaos, yet he savors the arching line and, yes, melodic invention. He actually dares to be lyrical as well as dramatic.

In matters of structure, he respects the tested impact of the set piece. The ancient tale is told in well-connected arias, duets and concertatos. At one point, the score would permit an impertinent visitor in King Xerxes’ court to ask a classic question: “Do I hear a waltz?”

Weisgall’s music is essentially expansive. Charles Kondek’s text, however, is essentially compact. The contradiction poses no problem. The terse sentiments are eminently singable.

In this day of the dauntless dilettante, one has to admire a composer and librettist who are, if nothing else, patently professional. Even when the progressive impulses in “Esther” threaten to stall, even when one yearns in vain for a genuine surprise, one takes comfort in the technical competence reliably at work.

In the fuzzy light of 1993, “Esther” dares to be conventional. It dares to be conventional, moreover, with bravura and it does so on a portentous scale. The result is comforting and provocative at the same time.

The modest New York City Opera is not ideally equipped to accommodate so extravagant a challenge. “Esther” wants big voices, aggressive personalities, a cast of thousands, armies, dancing girls, elaborate sets, exotic costumes. . . .

Unfazed, the company provided reasonable facsimiles and capitalized on clever illusions. Enlightened fakery has always been a house specialty.

Christopher Mattaliano, the stage director, established a practical middle-ground between broad stylization and the cliches that normally pass for realism in opera. He directed traffic neatly and speedily amid the all-purpose scrims and atmospheric projections of Jerome Sirlin, and focused some picturesque tableaux in the process. This wasn’t great theater, but, under the circumstances, one probably couldn’t ask for more.

Joseph A. Citarella’s costumes--sometimes prissy, sometimes gaudy--suggested a raid on a not-too-well-stocked warehouse. Jennifer Muller’s choreography was confined, for the most part, to innocent gestural embellishment.

Joseph Colaneri, the conductor, sustained a fine balance between tension and expansion. He accompanied the singers most sympathetically, and, despite some signs of inadequate rehearsal, always kept the potentially unwieldy musical apparatus on its circuitous track.

The large orchestra played decently for him. The small chorus tried valiantly, sometimes successfully, to sound large.

The cast was properly dominated by Lauren Flanigan, histrionically a bit staid but vocally radiant and powerful in the demanding title role. Eugene Perry found the passionate utterances of Xerxes something of a strain for his lightweight baritone. Nevertheless, one never doubted his nobility and ardor.

Allan Glassman conveyed the evil hysteria of Haman with a precise, high-pressure heldentenor, deftly seconded by contralto Joyce Castle as his all-too-ambitious wife, Zeresh.

Strong support came from basso Joseph Corteggiano as the virtuous Mordecai, mezzo-soprano Robynne Redmon as the unhappy Vashti and Thomas Mark Fallon, a countertenor cast as the eunuch harem-keeper, Hegai.