A Really Russian ‘Ruslan’ : S.F. Opera Stages First Authentic U.S. Performance of the Work

Everybody knows the exhilarating overture to Glinka’s “Ruslan and Lyudmila.”

Most serious record collectors have at least heard the crusty basso of Feodor Chaliapin in an aria from this folksy, exotic, extravagantly romantic, intrinsically Russian fairy-tale opera.

Bookish aficionados have, no doubt, examined quaint photos of ancient, ornate, presumably definitive productions at the Maryinsky Theater, a.k.a. Kirov, of St. Petersburg. That’s where the first performance took place, back in 1842.

But Americans have seen very little of Glinka’s epochal opus on the stage. New York mustered a concert approximation at Town Hall to commemorate the “Ruslan” centenary. Sarah Caldwell, ever-dauntless and ever-beleaguered, presented an English-language modification with her Boston Opera in 1977. And that’s about it.

Until this month, no U.S. company has ventured an authentic, full-scale recreation of this sprawling, forbidding, uneven, deceptively complex masterpiece. Now, 153 years after the premiere, all that has been changed. It has been changed, moreover, handsomely, stylishly and memorably.

In conjunction with the recently-emancipated Kirov, the San Francisco Opera has brought an authentically Russian “Ruslan” to Van Ness Avenue--lock, stock and flying dwarf. It is discovery time.

Glinka’s second opera may not be everyone’s glass of vodka. It fluctuates from naive ritual to universal fable, pauses frequently for indulgent operatic conventions, dabbles in a lot of hand-me-down Orientalism, and, taking four hours to unravel, veers in too many directions for narrative comfort.

Still, the composer generously rewarded his audience’s patience. In retelling Pushkin’s story of the Kiev knight who saves his innocent betrothed from the clutches of an evil mini-sorcerer, Glinka made even the most primitive impulse seem extraordinarily sophisticated.

He wrote gut-thumping choruses for the teeming masses, exquisite sylph music for the lengthy ballet interludes, bravura arias in several flavors for the serious characters, buffo showpieces for the comedians and nice creepy-snarly tunes for the villains. He showed that he was a master of color, a subtle manipulator of dramatic harmony, and perhaps even a precursor of the distant Impressionists.

He proved that he had studied his formal Italian lessons well. At the same time, he pointed the way for the school of rugged Russian nationalists who breathed their last with Igor Stravinsky.

The current production, introduced at the Kirov in 1994, serves as an eloquent act of homage. The director from San Francisco, Lotfi Mansouri, and the conductor from St. Petersburg, Valery Gergiev, could have subjected “Ruslan” to revisionist updating. As anyone who has endured “Der Fliegende Hollander” at the Music Center knows, that’s the raging trend these days. But Mansouri and Gergiev decided to go the other way.

They tried literally to recreate the production staged in celebration of Glinka’s 100th birthday in 1904. The only admitted anachronism--a tiny but wonderful anachronism--involved restoration of the legendary choreography envisioned by Michel (a.k.a. Mikhail) Fokine for a St. Petersburg revival in 1917.

The result couldn’t be a gripping example of modern musical-theater. It isn’t supposed to be. It is, however, a revelation on its own historic terms, a backward time-trip par excellence, and a grandiose demonstration of opera as vital museum art.

The original sets by Alexander Golovin and Konstantin Korovin, recreated here by Thierry Bosquet, decorate the myth with magnificent painterly drops and scrims that fuse ethnic fantasy with heroic drama. A canvas reproduction of the famous Kirov curtain adds evocative punctuation. Atmosphere, here, is everything.

The costumes--450 of them, according to Koraljka Lockhart, the dauntless company Boswell--look preposterously lavish. Even better, they look delightfully witty.

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Mansouri tells the story with one keen eye on theatrical definition, the other on picturesque composition. One may question a few touches: the intrusion of an all-too zany gang of servants in the nasty wizard’s garden, or an unmotivated mime episode in which the hero forgives his quasi-comic rival. For most of the almost-endless evening, however, the outsider’s vision of this period piece is illuminating.

Gergiev, a stellar presence in the pit, conducts with breathless compulsion and heroic propulsion. It’s a nice combination. He moves so fast the overture almost becomes a blur, and he doesn’t make life easy for his singers in moments of rondo agitation. Still, his bravado is rewarding. Tension never flags when this man is around, and, goodness knows, he understands the tradition.

The cast, mostly Russian, is gratifyingly strong in matters of manner and expressive conviction. It isn’t quite so strong in matters of vocal finesse. In context, that doesn’t detract much.

Vladimir Ognovenko brings sympathetic valor and a rough basso to the courtly duties of Ruslan. Anna Netrebko pipes sweetly, if tightly, and with considerably coloratura flexibility as his would-be bride.

Elena Zaremba exudes mock-macho dignity, vocal as well as histrionic, in the Hosenrolle of Ratmir, Lyudmila’s rejected suitor. Gennadi Bezubenkov bumbles amiably as a rather weak-toned Farlaf, another contender for Lyudmila’s hand. He returns to boom imposingly as the deep offstage voice of the Giant Head in a scene that inspires odd recollections of Fafner in “Siegfried.”

Vladimir Atlantov, erstwhile tenor-divo of the Bolshoi, brings much authority and the wavery wreck of a great voice to the plaints of old Finn, the good wizard. (One worries about his forthcoming Otello in Orange County.) Catherine Cook, a lonely American on the stage, brings a gutsy contralto cackle and a fine half-set of claws to the connivings of Naina, the bad wizard.

Yuri Masurin sings the prophetic verses of the old minstrel Bayan poignantly. But Gabor Andrasy sounds unsteady as Lyudmila’s dad, and Valentina Tsidipova sounds shrill as Gorislava, the slave who loves Ratmir.

The exquisite Fokine divertissements, recreated by Alexander Shavrov, are seductively danced by six strong and/or willowy guests from the Kirov, sensitively seconded by the local corps. For once, miracle of miracles, an operatic ballet actually makes sense.

* Remaining performances of “Ruslan and Lyudmila” at the War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Ave . , San Francisco, Tuesday and Friday at 7:30. $31-$135. (415) 864-3330.