WEEKEND REVIEWS : Music : Mauceri’s Night at the Opera

John Mauceri--dauntless, ambitious and witty maestro of the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra--likes thematic programs. For his first effort of the summer, Friday at a cool and windy Cahuenga Pass, he heralded “A Grand Night at the Opera.”

It didn’t turn out to be very grand.

Bad luck struck even before the downbeat. A throat ailment forced the withdrawal of Jane Eaglen, the extraordinary British soprano scheduled to sing Turandot and Aida.

“I spoke to her on the phone this morning,” Mauceri told the sparse audience officially tallied at 5,877. “She sounded like Bea Arthur.”

Then there was the matter of supertitles. For reasons difficult to fathom, the management decided that the Verdi and Puccini excerpts before intermission required no translations. But, for the second act of “Aida,” which followed, the English text was to be flashed on a screen above the podium. Unfortunately, the system misbehaved, and most of the fuzzy, flickering words were illegible from the eighth row of boxes.

Then, even more irksome, there was the matter of amplification. Human voices have never fared particularly well in the vast open spaces of the Bowl. On this unhappy occasion, they sounded like hoarse calliopes piped in via faulty shortwave radio from Timbuktu. It wasn’t exactly pretty.

Compounding the sonic disorientation, the new microphones created overlapping waves of echoes, plucked irrelevant details out of the orchestral fabric and reduced the Pacific Chorale, stationed far upstage, to a distant rumble. It wasn’t a reassuring testimonial for modern technology.

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Under the circumstances, the quality of the music-making became nearly irrelevant. Still, stubborn ears could discern that the quality wasn’t very high.

Mauceri, a seasoned operatic pro, did his best to at least keep things together. His best didn’t turn out to be good enough.

The orchestra played as if it were sight-reading, and not very accurately at that. After a brisk dispatch of the “Forza del Destino” overture, the conductor concentrated on tempos that ranged from slow to sluggish. Fast and feverish would have been more merciful.

The vocal festivities began with Florence Quivar singing an impassioned “O don fatale” from Verdi’s “Don Carlo.” The high climaxes stretched her resources, but the purple glow on the stage shell was terrific.

Puccini time brought throbbing crimson hues to the world’s biggest jukebox as Gregg Baker lavished an orotund baritone on the Te Deum. Only one serious problem faced this Scarpia: He had to compete with the comical sonic booms of an offstage mock cannon. What, no fireworks?

Blushing pink became the favored inner-proscenium color when Patricia Baskerville, Eaglen’s brave, lyrical replacement, went through the plaintive motions of “Vissi d’arte.”

Nocturnal blue enveloped the scene for the first finale, in which Richard di Renzi mustered a reasonably suave approximation of “Nessun dorma” without benefit of Pavarotti’s hankie or ringing high notes. (In a delirious flight of historical obfuscation, Mauceri told the crowd that this piece represented “the last Italian aria,” and that the operatic muse moved thereafter to Broadway.) Baskerville, somewhat overextended as Turandot, joined the tenor in the brassy climactic duet as originally pieced together after Puccini’s death by Franco Alfano.

The lengthy “Aida” escapade (color it yellow) proved notable for two elements: Quivar’s heroic yet sensuous Amneris and a silly sextet of trumpeters who rose and descended on cue via the forestage elevator.

Baskerville sang the title role with much feeling, not so much finesse. Di Renzi and Baker did what they could as Radames and Amonasro. As Ramfis, basso Richard Bernstein sounded imposing. As the King, basso Michael Geiger didn’t. The orchestra and chorus performed with rugged and ragged determination.

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