OPERA REVIEW : ‘Makropulos’: A Case for Convention

Leos Janacek’s “Vec Makropulos,” better known hereabouts as “The Makropulos Case,” isn’t exactly an easy opera.

On one level it is a convoluted psychosexual science-fiction thriller about a woman--an almost -eternal woman--who manages to retain her seductive youth until well past the age of 325. Repeat: 325.

Beyond that, it is a crafty philosophical treatise on the redemption of death. The composer’s libretto, inspired by Karel Capek’s play, dabbles in mysterious intrigue as it gropes toward spiritual uplift. This is a complex challenge.

The brilliant, multi-textured score makes it even more complex. The singers communicate, most of the time, in superbly pointed, fragmentary parlando predicated on the inflection of Czech speech patterns. An extraordinarily opulent, very busy orchestra provides subtle comment as well as expressive expansion.

There are numerous bad ways to present “Makropulos” to modern audiences. Long ago, the New York City Opera staged a slick multimedia version that over-stressed the lurid and trivialized the pathos. Just last season, the Music Center Opera cheapened the thoughtful drama with trendy symbolism and Grand Guignol gimmickry.

Janacek’s opera works best when the producers leave well enough alone. The composer knew what he wanted. He knew that the inherent supernatural elements can sustain their shock appeal only if presented within a calm, normal, realistic milieu.

The San Francisco Opera ventured the first American production back in 1966, 40 years after the Brno premiere. Paul Hager’s stage direction was reasonably literal, and Leni Bauer-Ecsy’s picturesque designs--mildly stylized in the popular German idiom of the time--remained essentially conventional. Although one could imagine more imaginative solutions to Janacek’s problems, one was grateful for the freedom from distortion.

Everything was in its proper place. Everything worked.

The production was revived once, in 1976. Then, we feared, it was abandoned and forgotten. Now it has returned in a reasonably faithful, carefully executed facsimile. It looks a little dusty, perhaps, but, thank goodness, it still works.

New staging patterns have been devised by a directorial duo: Lotfi Mansouri, who runs the company when he isn’t serving as regisseur ; and Elisabeth Soderstrom, whose noble career as a singing-actress included memorable interpretations of three Janacek protagonists--including, of course, this one.

It is difficult to know who, in this case, has done what. It is clear, however, that the directors concentrated on defining a set of interesting characters and then credibly motivating their interactions. The plot unfolds neatly, the action moves swiftly.

Exaggeration is blissfully avoided, for the most part. Hokey lighting effects do weaken the beginning and ending of the opera, and one figure is permitted (encouraged?) to dabble in vulgar caricature. For the most part, however, this “Makropulos” savors the virtues of enlightened restraint.

It also savors the virtues of musical sensitivity. Charles Mackerras, Janacek specialist in excelsis, presides in the pit.

He conducted this wonderful music on Wednesday with sympathy predicated on profound understanding and obvious affection. He let the orchestra roar with romantic passion in the grand climaxes, but always kept the vocal line in balance, always stressed telling instrumental nuances, always respected the compatible needs for transparency and propulsion.

The cast, invariably responsive to ensemble values, was dominated, to a degree at least, by Stephanie Sundine in the title role. Like Soderstrom, she avoided grotesquerie and diva grandeur, concentrating instead on Emilia Marty’s muted erotic allure, her dauntless intelligence and her innate charm. This bright-eyed femme fatale actually had a sense of humor.

Sundine, elsewhere a celebrated Salome, was not overwhelmingly magnetic. But she was always attractive, always responsive to tone and text. She discovered early hints of insecurity, even vulnerability, in the contradictory role, and managed to project these frailties on an intimate scale.

Her singing--luminous, precise, nicely shaded--matched her acting. And she looked elegantly seductive in turn-of-the-century gowns designed by Michael Stennett for a Toronto version of this production in 1989.

Graham Clark gave a typically incisive performance as the hypertensive Albert Gregor. Tom Fox exuded proper cynicism as the baritonal Baron Prus. William Burden was properly wimpy as his son Janek, and Kathleen Brett was properly innocent as the ingenue Kristina.

Dalibor Jedlicka and Miroslav Svejda, both distinguished veterans of the Prague Opera, brought crusty authority to the bemused maneuvers of Dr. Kolenaty and his law-clerk Vitek. Telling cameos were contributed by Catherine Cook as the cleaning woman, Earle Patriarco as the stagehand and Marie Plette as the chambermaid.

Gary Rideout did what was asked of him as Hauk-Sendorf, the doddering aristocrat who desperately wants to reclaim his lost love and lost years. Unfortunately, he played the sad old man for easy laughs. It was a painful miscalculation.

The singers diligently delivered the convoluted text in the original Czech. Meanwhile, the distracted audience read detailed supertitles on a screen high atop the proscenium. A good English translation, well articulated, would have made better communicative sense.