Not-So-Fine Madness in San Diego

When the San Diego Opera is good, it is very good indeed.

Remember “Rusalka” just last month.

When the San Diego Opera is bad, it’s provincial.

Try to forget the revival of “Lucia di Lammermoor,” Donizetti’s very Italian translation of Sir Walter Scott’s very Scottish novel, which opened Saturday night at the Civic Theatre.

This was a rather crass, possibly even cynical demonstration of easy, old-fashioned, laissez-faire opera. This was instant opera, bargain-basement opera, opera by the numbers. This was opera cranked out without the benefit of a unifying musical or dramatic vision.

It was the sort of dull, dumb and clunky thing the Marx Brothers used to celebrate. And elevate.

Where, oh where, are those Marx Brothers when we need them?

Not all was lost. Not quite. Martile Rowland, making her local debut as the diva with a penchant for dainty dementia, had a few effective moments. Ramon Vargas, the Mexican tenor cast as her mellifluously passionate lover, had a lot of them. Haijing Fu, the Chinese baritone who has enjoyed Verdian triumphs both here and in Costa Mesa, held his own despite some vocal problems as the resident bad guy.

These uneven, passing virtues, alas, were hardly enough to salvage an essentially dismal night at the opera. The dressy audience (which included Mitchell L. Lathrop, the distinguished opera company president, in a kilt) seemed to have a decent time. But the credit for that would seem to belong to the composer, not his interpreters.

The production looked awful. Period.

The incongruous unit set, a cheap thing of scrims, shreds and patches, was designed long ago for the Tulsa Opera by Neil Peter Jampolis. It defines neither locales nor moods. It doesn’t even afford the protagonists effective entrances. Mercifully, Gregory Allen Hirsch, credited as lighting director, kept the stage in shadows as much as possible.

Apart from an exceptionally bloody nightie allotted the hapless heroine, the costumes, designed long ago by Peter J. Hall for the Dallas Opera, looked generic. At least they could offend no one.

The stage direction was attributed to Johnathon Pape, who had done nice work here last year on behalf of “Rappaccini’s Daughter.” On this occasion, his greatest achievement seemed to be preventing the characters from tripping over each other.

The conductor was Willie Anthony Waters of Chautauqua and the Florida Grand Opera. Although we know he is a discerning musician, he couldn’t prove it this time. Keeping the disparate forces together seemed to be his primary goal, often an elusive one. His beat tended to be sluggish, his concern for niceties of the ornate style minimal.

Under the circumstances, it may seem fatuous to complain of cuts (“The food in this place is terrible . . . and such small portions!”). Still, most contemporary productions of “Lucia” restore the tempestuous Wolf Crag scene. It was described in the San Diego program, but omitted from the performance.

Don’t blame the omission on the limitations of the set. After all, the same pathetic cardboard rocks and broken arches had already served as a ruined park, lakeside retreat, castle study, festive ballroom and desolate tomb. Why not a tower?

And so to the cast. . . .

Rowland is not the cute but vulnerable canary one often associates with the title role. Forget Lily Pons. Nor is the American soprano a compelling theatrical force. Forget Maria Callas and Beverly Sills.

A large woman with a large voice that happens to boast an unusual top extension, Rowland hardly conveys innate fragility. Matronly rather than girlish, this Lucia has to work hard at establishing innocent pathos.

She does muster a wide scale of vocal color, however. She does offer a sensitive range of dynamics and considerable heft for the dramatic outbursts. Unfortunately, her performance seems little more than a compendium of isolated effects.

Expressive interpretation is reduced to a series of coy poses. Proper intonation seemed to be a consistent problem, and on Saturday the final stratospheric assault in the mad scene turned out to be sadly anticlimactic.

Perhaps under better conditions. . . .

Vargas partnered her as an Edgardo as elegant and as ardent as the surroundings would allow. He sang with rare sensitivity and bel-canto purity, filing his slender tenore di grazia to a perfectly poised whisper in moments of tenderness yet rising to the heroic outbursts with ample thrust. His model, it would seem, is Alfredo Kraus. He could do a lot worse.

As Enrico, Fu was incisive and urgent, just as his Rigoletto and Germont had led us to expect. There were explosive moments, however, when he pushed his plangent baritone beyond the comfort zone, and one heard a few signs of a wobble. Such signs are dangerous.

The supporting ensemble was led by Richard Vernon, a Raimondo of gravelly basso tone and placid demeanor. Jospeh Hu introduced a stolid, sweet-toned Arturo. The others--scraggly chorus included--faded into the tacky woodwork.

The evening, incidentally, was not totally devoid of novelty. As the patrons entered the auditorium, they were serenaded by a visiting Dudelsackpfeiffer . Perhaps his name was Schwanda. Sorry, wrong opera.

*

“Lucia di Lammermoor,” the San Diego Opera, Civic Theatre, 3rd Avenue and B Street, San Diego. Remaining performances: Tuesday at 7 p.m., Friday at 8 p.m., Sunday at 2 p.m., Feb. 22 at 7 p.m. $20 to $90. (619) 236-6510.