Opera is supposed to be the “complete” art form because it combines music, drama, poetry, visual design, movement, and performance into one experience. Out of all these, dance, or “movement” gets short shrift regularly at Santa Fe Opera. “Eugene Onegin,” the third opera in repertory this summer, is a case in point. Choreographer Athol Farmer and Gary McCann, the scenic and costume designer, along with director Alessandro Talevi, came up with the idea of using dancers to represent figures from the active dreamworld of the leading female character, a bookish spinster-in-training, Tatyana.
These dream figures first appear as creatures milling around in the orchard outside the window of the family estate, a haunting vision only Tatyana sees. Later, these same figures attend balls, and serve as a creepy chorus line, complete with wobbly synchronized steps. The ghosts are costumed beautifully, in shimmering ballgowns, the men with deer headdresses, fencing masks and horns. The problem is that there is a glaring lack of choreography to match some of the most gorgeous dance melodies Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky ever wrote. What choreography there is, seemed to consist of walking in circles. It was a very “Night of the Living Dead” look. Zombies as dancers. Dancers as zombies.
Of course, music and singing belong at the top of the heap when it comes to the art forms combining in “Eugene Onegin.” However, this being a work composed by the creator of “Swan Lake” and “The Nutcracker,” a choreographer would be hard-pressed not to hear all the dance rhythm written into the score, although that seems to be exactly what Farmer has done. Instead of a“Bridgerton”-like take on Russian society, where couples always seem to be swirling and hopping around in complicated social dances at endless balls, this was a kind of aimless fashion show with models standing around in masks. These ghosts don’t dance.
In “Onegin” (spoiler alert) poor Lensky (the Peruvian tenor Iván Ayón-Rivas) may get shot by his best friend in a duel, but not before pulling off a stunning rendition of “Kuda, kuda, vi udalilis’. Onegin, a cad , was played with ardor and perhaps too much desperation in Act Three by Mattia Olivieri from Sassuolo, Italy. Olivieri offers a powerful and lyrical baritone voice, but seemed to let his naturally emotive Italian nature overpower Onegin’s disaffected, cynical Russian tendencies. Love can be fraught, but a jilted lover has narrative potency.
Soprano Olga Kulchynska was Tatyana, “the sad, quiet one,” compared to her vivacious (and engaged) sister Olga, played confidently by Lindsay Ammann. Kulchynska has a stunning voice, and her nearly 20-minute solo, known as “The Letter” aria, was a tour-de-force of both acting and vocal prowess. Susan Graham was a happy replacement in the part of the mother, Larina. Graham may no longer be at the vocal heights of her youth, but she can act the paint off the walls. Russian nesting dolls have never looked as symbolic. Like another Russian staple–the humble onion, these characters, and this story, have many layers–translucent, filmy versions of youth, love and life–always carrying with them a bite.
* * *
“Rodelinda” by George Frideric Handel, was perhaps conductor and Music Director Harry Bickett’s idea. After all, he is a harpsichordist and organist and is known as a baroque music specialist. Handel is definitely in his wheelhouse, and the chamber orchestra he conducted offered a clear and elegant rendition of this 1725 opera. Unfortunately, the nature of baroque opera and the direction, which was mysteriously uncredited on the program, (unless “Production” by R.B. Schlather, encompasses the job) offered a plodding pace and deadening blackness, both in the scenic design and the costumes. Singing, especially by Lucy Crowe, in the title role, was an education in the clean, ornament-laden vocal lines of the era. Anthony Gregory’s Grimoaldo, William Guanbo Su as the villainous Garibaldo, and Hugh Cutting, a countertenor, as Unulfo, all seemed to offer dramatic intelligence in addition to vocal prowess.
Handel may have been born in Germany (in 1685), but he spent much of his early career in Italy before moving to England, where he eventually became a naturalized citizen. His first success in England, in 1711, was for introducing Italian “opera seria,” a form focused overwhelmingly on solo arias for the star virtuoso singers. In that style, “Rodelinda” was written in a rush of creativity for Handel during a period that included two other works, “Giulio Cesare” and “Tamerlano.” “Rodelinda” was originally scored for two recorders, flute, two oboes, bassoon, two horns, strings and continuo (cello, lute, harpsichord), but Bickett’s orchestra in Santa Fe was expanded beyond Handel’s casting, to include many more strings and, as intended, a bigger, fuller sound to match the wide open spaces at Santa Fe Opera.
“Rodelinda” features 28 individual arias and was written for six singers–soprano, three altos (two of them male), tenor, and bass. Just as the orgy-of-arias format of baroque opera may seem jarring for those accustomed to the trios, sextets and choruses of romantic period opera, the plot, here, unfortunately has an irrelevant feel to it. There is action, but somehow, one singer singing at a time, never allows dramatic entanglements to seem earned.
