In this year’s festival, Monteverdi’s myth about lost lovers in the underworld takes the stage; Debussy’s Symbolist story finds orchestral triumph; Dvořák’s fairy tale takes a Freudian turn; and more.
By
Heidi Waleson
Aug. 8, 2023 at 5:42 pm ET
Luke Harnish, Rolando Villazón, Lauren Snouffer, Luke Elmer and Le Bu PHOTO: CURTIS BROWN
Santa Fe, N.M.
This summer, the Santa Fe Opera presented Monteverdi’s “Orfeo” with a new orchestration by Nico Muhly. “Orfeo” (1607), one of the earliest operas, is typically performed with period instruments; Mr. Muhly’s resourceful version captured the tang and transparency of those instruments with the tools of a modern opera orchestra. His selection of sonorities—such as low winds and harp for continuo; a single violin for poignant moments; celesta and piano for color—always fit the moment, supported the vocal line, and never slipped into overblown Romanticism. I missed only the harsh rasp of the regal, the period organ that accompanies the character Caronte. As led by Harry Bicket, the company’s music director and an expert in early repertoire, “Orfeo” retained its 17th-century impulse in a new guise.
As Orfeo, Rolando Villazón was less successful. The tenor’s voice has lowered and darkened in recent years, fitting the role’s baritone tessitura, but his timbre is harsh and barky. Orfeo’s music is supposed to enchant; we got histrionics instead. Lauren Snouffer had a lovely, floating sound as La Musica, who introduces the story, and Speranza, who escorts Orfeo to the portal of the Underworld; Paula Murrihy (La Messaggera) and Blake Denson (Plutone) were also standouts.
The thoughtful production—directed by Yuval Sharon, with a visual environment by Alex Schweder and Matthew Johnson, and lighting by Yuki Nakase Link—had an ingenious solution to the living world/underworld transition. The shepherds’ chorus cavorted on and around a green half-globe. Then the globe gradually lifted, swaths of fabric unfurled beneath it, and Orfeo sang his plea to Caronte while suspended from a harness in the gloom. The gods seemed more powerful because they were invisible; the denizens of the very dark underworld had chic lighted headdresses (Carlos J Soto did the costumes).
Huw Montague Rendall and Samantha Hankey in ‘Pelléas et Mélisande’ PHOTO: CURTIS BROWN
In the production of Debussy’s “Pelléas et Mélisande” by Netia Jones (director; scenic, costume and projection designer), the subtext involving the toxic clash of modernity and nature didn’t read clearly enough. This Symbolist story was set in what appeared to be a dark basement, reached by a pair of spiral staircases, with a large revolving terrarium that also served as a bed. In the first half of the opera, its grass was green; in the second, it was wilted and yellow. A stream ran along the front edge of the stage; the three principal characters, mystifyingly, had doubles who acted out their scenes upstage. Arkel, Golaud and Mélisande all received oxygen when they were ill or wounded; there were projections of computer code, scientific diagrams, and plumbing pipes; even the images of water and trees were gloomy.
Musically, however, it was a triumph. Mr. Bicket brought marked clarity to the orchestra, reflecting the characters’ unspoken emotions through sonic detail rather than indulging in a misty, nonspecific wash of sound. Zachary Nelson was splendid as the tormented Golaud, his velvety baritone turning desperate as he tried unsuccessfully to find out the truth. As Mélisande, Samantha Hankey’s rich, bright mezzo made her more human than fey; Huw Montague Rendall was arresting in Pelléas’s awakening of feeling for her. Raymond Aceto was affecting as Arkel, the king with no power; as Geneviève, Susan Graham’s mezzo has lost luster, but she looked great in the watery green silk gown that seemed to symbolize the family’s last connection to the natural world. Treble Kai Edgar was a strong Yniold.
Ailyn Pérez in ‘Rusalka’
PHOTO: CURTIS BROWN
David Pountney’s production of Dvořák’s fairy tale “Rusalka” also required advance information for full comprehension. But even without that, it was theatrically clearer than “Pelléas.” Set in a Viennese psychiatric hospital, circa 1900, it explored water nymph Rusalka’s yearning for a human form and soul through a Freudian lens—the violent and confusing sexual transition from childhood to adulthood. The intriguing set (Leslie Travers) went from an orderly white room of closets and drawers to the Prince’s palace, in which glass display cases housed his other female conquests. For Act 3, when everything has fallen apart for both the Prince and Rusalka, the cases were empty and chaotically tilted. Marie-Jeanne Lecca’s Victorian costumes underlined the power of the adult women who control everything: The witch Ježibaba wore a corseted black gown, and a red riding habit, complete with tall boots and a riding crop, gave the Foreign Princess a dominatrix vibe.
The singers brought out the complexity of the characters beyond their fairy-tale identities. Ailyn Pérez was a passionate Rusalka, especially forceful in Act 3, as she asks the Prince why he betrayed her. Raehann Bryce-Davis brought a big sound and almost comical vanity to Ježibaba; Robert Watson made the Prince, for all his tenorial bluster, a weak man; and as Vodník, James Creswell—who had excellent diction—could only threaten vengeance on those who hurt his daughter, as he was trapped in a wheelchair. Mary Elizabeth Williams’s harsh timbre felt right for the imperious Foreign Princess. Conductor Lidiya Yankovskaya captured the score’s jaunty folk-tinged sections along with its sweep and lyricism.
Morris Robinson and chorus in ‘The Flying Dutchman’
PHOTO: CURTIS BROWN
For the most part, the company orchestra sounded much more polished this season than it has in recent years, with the exception of Wagner’s “The Flying Dutchman.” Conducted by Thomas Guggeis, it was raucously loud throughout, with no expressive subtleties. The principal singers, all substantial Wagnerians boasting excellent range, breath control and volume, seemed to be trying to match the orchestra for sheer decibel level. As the Dutchman, Nicholas Brownlee sounded thrillingly savage as he launched his opening aria, “Die Frist ist um,” but it quickly became assaultive rather than exciting. Morris Robinson (Daland), Elza van den Heever (Senta) and Chad Shelton (Erik) were similarly afflicted. Only Bille Bruley (the Steersman) escaped that fate—his ballad is brief. “Dutchman” needs more than a little bel canto spirit; there was none to be had here.
David Alden’s ugly, updated production matched the hard-edge musicianship. Paul Steinberg’s set appeared to be built of shipping containers; the women’s chorus in the Spinning Song were working in some sort of industrial plant, dressed in protective gear (Constance Hoffman did the costumes) and moving like automatons. Other chorus scenes were chaotic in addition to being earsplitting, with sailors rolling around the stage. The Act 3 party, in which the sailors and the women try to awaken the Dutchman’s crew, was a bacchanal; strangely, everyone was facing away from the Dutchman’s barely visible ship (Maxine Braham was credited with choreography). Direction of character scenes was minimal to nonexistent. The most entertaining moments involved some zombies who periodically carted the Dutchman’s treasure on and off the stage.
Leah Hawkins in ‘Tosca’
PHOTO: CURTIS BROWN
Puccini’s “Tosca” was also hard to take. Designer Ashley Martin-Davis’s De Chirico-inspired sets, sensitively lighted by Allen Hahn, were fine, but his 1930s diva costumes did not flatter Leah Hawkins in the title role, and Keith Warner’s directing made Tosca a vain egotist without vulnerability and Scarpia (Reginald Smith Jr.) a leering, eye-rolling sex maniac. Joshua Guerrero’s Cavaradossi was comparatively unobjectionable; his “E lucevan le stelle” was the evening’s sole musical high point. John Fiore’s conducting—ploddingly slow in Act 1, slightly more buoyant in Acts 2 and 3—reflected the production’s overall confusion. The season runs through Aug. 26.
Ms. Waleson writes on opera for the Journal and is the author of “Mad Scenes and Exit Arias: The Death of the New York City Opera and the Future of Opera in America” (Metropolitan).
AndyManshel.nyc 
Thanks!
LikeLike