The Opera Theatre of Saint Louis presents a 2002 chamber work by Philip Glass, along with trimmed and translated Handel and Puccini stagings with a modern feel.
By
Heidi Waleson
June 24, 2024 at 5:19 pm ET
Vanessa Becerra and Sean Michael Plumb in ‘Galileo.’
PHOTO: ERIC WOOLSEY
Webster Groves, Mo.
Opera Theatre of Saint Louis makes a practice of reviving underperformed contemporary operas. This season’s example is Philip Glass’s “Galileo Galilei” (2002), a chamber piece that examines the courage of the scientist who challenged established orthodoxy. In the thoughtful libretto, written by Mary Zimmerman with Mr. Glass and Arnold Weinstein, Galileo, blind and near death in 1642, looks backward through his life: How the Catholic Church forced him to recant his heretical assertion that the Earth revolves around the stationary sun; at his early discoveries (mechanics, the refracting telescope); and when he attended, as a young child, an opera written by his father, a founder of the Florentine Camerata, the group of artists and intellectuals that invented opera. In an absorbing 90 minutes, Mr. Glass’s opera reflects wistfully on Galileo’s warm relationships with Cardinal Barberini (later Pope Urban VIII), who did not protect him, and with the scientist’s daughter, Maria Celeste, dispatched to a convent. Most poignantly, it stresses Galileo’s belief that inquiry and religion need not be at odds—“When we look, we see all of God’s perfection,” he tells his daughter—a view that remains controversial to this day.
Mr. Glass’s score, with its familiar churning rhythms, brightens as it moves back in time. Tenor Paul Groves brought a weighty weariness to Older Galileo; baritone Sean Michael Plumb was appropriately spirited as Younger Galileo; Vanessa Becerra was touching as his daughter, sending him pears from her convent garden. Countertenor Elijah English stood out in the trio of interrogating cardinals; Hunter Enoch’s powerful bass-baritone was used to good effect as Cardinal Barberini, a friend until he wasn’t. Conductor Kwamé Ryan kept the 13-member orchestra lively, if not always together.
Director James Robinson’s attractive production, anchored by Marco Piemontese’s sumptuous period costumes, celebrated the wonder of scientific discovery. Allen Moyer’s central rotating stage became a canvas for Greg Emetaz’s luminous projections of 17th-century solar-system maps and scientific drawings. At the end, for the Camerata opera, which is about the myth of Orion and Eos, elegant period-style paintings of the astrological figures that give constellations their names reflected the theme of how the stories told to explain the natural world change over time.
Emily Pogorelc PHOTO: ERIC WOOLSEY
Handel operas are long, so conductor Daniela Candillari and director Elkhanah Pulitzer artfully cut the sprawling score of the composer’s “Julius Caesar” to two hours and 45 minutes (including one intermission) by eliminating a dozen arias, trimming expository recitatives, and ruthlessly pruning a whole subplot. The streamlined story deftly preserved the opera’s central elements: The love affair of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra; the hunger for power of Cleopatra’s brother Ptolemy; and the sorrow and desire for revenge of Cornelia and Sextus—the widow and son of Pompey, who was murdered by Ptolemy. It retained all the opera’s hit tunes, though the occasional elimination of an aria’s da capo section felt jarring. OTSL performs in English translation: This one, by Brian Trowell with revisions by Mr. Robinson, flowed well.
Soprano Emily Pogorelc was a sparkling Cleopatra, commanding the stage and fearless in her ornamentation. As a result of the cuts, she had to sing two big arias (“Sè pieta” and “Piangerò” in their more familiar Italian titles) back-to-back yet managed to be exquisitely specific in both. Meridian Prall’s sumptuous, steady mezzo made for a dignified, grief-stricken Cornelia, and countertenor Key’mon W. Murrah, boasting astonishing high notes, embodied the sneering malice of Ptolemy. The two other mezzo leads were less imposing: Sarah Mesko was best in Caesar’s slower arias, such as “Aure, deh, per pietà” and Megan Moore was an underpowered Sextus, though the great farewell duet with Cornelia was well-matched and affecting. In the much-reduced part of Ptolemy’s general, Achillas, bass-baritone Cory McGee mostly blustered. Ms. Candillari, conducting from the harpsichord, drew a stylish, nuanced performance from the members of the St. Louis Symphony who make up OTSL’s pit band, and the obbligato soloists (Roger Kaza, horn, and Celeste Golden Andrews, violin) were first-rate.
The staging had a contemporary look. All the scenes were played in a stark, modernist room—the two black leather loungers were occasionally pushed together to become a bed for Caesar and Cleopatra—designed by Mr. Moyer and severely lighted by Eric Southern. Constance Hoffman’s on-point costumes included chic suits for the Romans, seductive flowing chiffon and lamé for Cleopatra and her four nonsinging ladies, and leisure attire (a smoking jacket and a bathrobe) for Ptolemy. Aided by choreographer Seán Curran, Ms. Pulitzer’s direction was stylized rather than realistic. The gestures and dance routines built into the arias, while strange at first, complemented the music’s formal structure and pulse.
Moisés Salazar and Katerina Burton in ‘La Bohème.’ PHOTO: ERIC WOOLSEY
For Puccini’s “La Bohème,” the English translation by Richard Pearlman and Francis Rizzo with revisions by Kelley Rourke made the high jinks in the Bohemians’ garret funnier than usual. Director Michael Shell and designers Takeshi Kata (sets) and Amanda Seymour (costumes) situated the story in 1950s Paris, so Marcello’s paintings included some Abstract Expressionist-style canvases, Colline’s leather coat gave him a beatnik vibe, and Musetta rocked red toreador pants in Act 3. Musetta also got a gold dress, a microphone and spotlight for her star turn at Café Momus. Marcus Doshi’s lighting enriched the colors and merriment of Acts 1 and 2, and then turned bleached and gray for the opera’s somber second half.
Moisés Salazar’s big Puccini tenor and Katerina Burton’s sumptuous soprano were ideal for Rodolfo and Mimì. But neither is a convincing actor, so the slow death of their love story proved less heart-rending than it should. In Act 3, it took Brittany Renee (Musetta) and Thomas Glass (Marcello) to liven up the quartet. Titus Muzi III was an amusing Schaunard; as Colline, André Courville overdid his “Old coat” farewell; Robert Mellon’s comic cameos as the landlord Benoit and Musetta’s rich patron Alcindoro, both the butt of jokes, were delightful. The star of the show was conductor José Luis Gómez, who led a richly detailed, sensitive performance, supporting the singers and finding authentic delicacy in this familiar score.
Ms. Waleson writes about 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).
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