Magnificent. Stupendous. Thrilling. Gorgeous. Perfect.
These are a few of the words that come to mind when I think about last night's performance of La Bohème at McCaw Hall. I went in hoping to hear the best that the Seattle Opera can offer; instead, what I feel I got was the best that any opera house can offer. I know we're not supposed to think that a performance at an opera company like Seattle can ever equal something at the Met, Covent Garden, La Scala, etc, but I honestly cannot imagine anything about this production that could have been improved in any way, or that could have increased my enjoyment of it.
My girlfriend and I sat about seven seats over from the center, in the front row of the dress circle, which are considered the "luxury seats" of the house. They did provide an excellent view of the stage, modestly elevated but still fairly close up. Though I can actually imagine enjoying an opera even more sitting closer up on the orchestra level. Even from the front row of the first balcony, the singers were just a bit too far to really see their facial expressions clearly. In any case, we went to our seats about a half hour before the show was to begin, and watched the hall slowly fill up with people. I wore black tie, and Christine wore her bright red dress. I was the only person there in a tuxedo. Not 'one of the only' or 'practically the only,' no. The only one. I did find this a little surprising given that it was a Saturday evening at the opera. The dress code was definitely much better than the average night at the symphony, but it seems that both places have been downgraded in this area. At the opera they wear suits instead of tuxes, and at the symphony they just tuck in their shirts instead of wearing suits.
When it was time for the show to begin the lights in the auditorium dimmed completely, leaving the audience in total darkness. I much prefer this to the quasi-dimmed lighting they do at the symphony, leaving the audience perfectly capable of looking awkwardly at each other throughout the entire performance.
Carlo Montanaro came into the pit to conduct the orchestra, and peeked over the edge of the high pit wall in order to receive his applause. Montanaro is an Italian conductor who I had never heard of before, but I certainly won't be forgetting him after last night. He gave the orchestra the downbeat, and off they went, briskly playing the galloping opening motives of Puccini's famous opera as the curtain rose on the familiar scene of the Bohemians abode. The set was stellar, rich in detail, with three dimensional backdrops behind it creating an extremely vivid and expansive feel on the stage.
Everything seemed meticulously rehearsed and flawlessly executed, from the blocking to the singing to the connection between the singers and the orchestra. Of course, anyone who is familiar with La Bohème knows that one can't really know what they're dealing with until 'Che gelida manina' begins, Rodolfo's first aria to Mimì after he finds her hand in the dark. After the other three men take off for Cafe Momus and Rodolfo stays back to try to work on some writing, Mimì knocks on his door seeking help with her blown out candle, and it is at this moment that we get the first really beautiful, sensual music in the opera. Montanaro and the orchestra now really began to prove their mettle, providing a lush, velvet cushion of rich sound to support the initial meeting of the two soon-to-be lovers.
Not long after that, their famous arias to each other begin, starting with 'Che gelida minina.' Francesco Demuro was a perfect Rodolfo, and his singing in this aria was beautiful. He also looked very much the part. His voice soared out, filling the auditorium with its rich, creamy texture, supported by an equally compelling orchestra whose execution of Puccini's romantic music gave the impression that these instruments were designed, and these people born, to perform this music.
What struck me the most was how flawlessly connected the singers were with the orchestra. It was as if every orchestra member and every singer had the same mind last night. The togetherness was impeccable. And during moments of great expressivity, where singers would take extra time to draw out the romance and beauty of the music, the result of the continuous, impeccable synchronization with the orchestra was a goose bump inducing effect. When orchestra and singers speak in the same voice, and move together as one through any and all rubatos, it sweeps out across the hall with such definitive power. Both Christine and I got goose bumps as Mimì sang of how when spring comes she gets the first warmth of the sun, the first kiss of April. Elizabeth Caballero's voice was truly a magical thing. If there were any hearts in the audience that were not captured and taken away by her aria, it was only those not connected to functioning ears.
There was one interesting thing I noticed towards the end of the first act, a place where I felt Montanaro could have drawn out of the orchestra more of what I believe Puccini meant to say with the music. After Rodolfo kisses Mimì for the first time, she pulls away and says "No, I beg you!" and a short dialog filled with hesitation ensues between them. But underneath, with the orchestra, Puccini leaves no doubt as to what they are feeling inside. The progression of haunting, gorgeous, expanding, sinking chords portrays them falling in love even as they are hesitant to say it with their words. But I feel that perhaps Montanaro or the orchestra didn't pick up on this fully, or at least didn't spend much time thinking about it or making a point of drawing that out.
The curtain came down at the end of the first act, and there was a short pause before it went up again for the second act. I'm not personally a huge fan of the second act. The set for the bustling Latin Quarter and Cafe Momus was very nice, and there was certainly plenty of action and excitement going on, but not nearly as much really beautiful music as there is in the first, third and fourth acts. Musetta's song is nice, the one that she sings to seduce Marcello, though Norah Amsellem's voice had a bit too much vibrato for my taste when she hit the high notes; however, I believe it's quite likely that this was done intentionally, since Musetta is supposed to come across as slightly annoying in this act.
After the second act there was an intermission. We wandered around, but didn't accomplish anything too productive. Before too long the five-minute bell sound was heard and we made our way back to our seats.
The third act is probably my favorite act. I had high hopes for the appearance of the set for this act, and they were surpassed. The curtain rose to reveal the freezing winter morning scene, the door to the tavern on the right, the gate, the snow falling; it was exquisite. The set design really paid tribute to Puccini's masterful musical painting of the frigid morning. He spends a good four or five minutes having different groups of people enter through the gate, engaging in little morning chit chat, etc, so that he can establish the feel of the scene musically with his brilliant use of flutes, harp and string pizzicato. I was hoping that Demarre McGill would be playing flute in the pit, but from the sound of it I doubted it was him, and looking at the list of orchestra players later, I was right.
After the opening portion of the act, Mimì comes in, staggering through the icy morning, seeking out Marcello at the tavern. Shortly after she came on stage, it was revealed that there had still been in front of the scene a transparent curtain that dimmed everything and obscured clarity just a little bit, as it then began to rise, rendering the scene and the singers crystal clear, almost shockingly clear compared to before. I remember this trick from Lucia di Lammermoor back in 2010; it's one of my favorite stage tricks at the Seattle Opera.
Some of my favorite music in the opera occurs as Mimì laments to Marcello about her troubles with Rodolfo and how jealous he is. Puccini portrays grief with such heart-wrenchingly beautiful, sad music, and the sublime performance by the singers and orchestra delivered it 100%. Listening to this music, one would almost be seduced into thinking that there must be something beautiful and attractive about sadness, and perhaps there is. The voices of Elizabeth Caballero and Michael Todd Simpson filled the hall completely, doubled by the gorgeous playing of the strings in the orchestra below them. Eventually Marcello convinces her to go home, and says that he will speak with Rodolfo.
There was a humorous moment as Marcello was heading back into the tavern, and Rodolfo bursts out of the door just as Marcello is approaching. The ensuing scene contains some of the saddest moments in the opera, as Rodolfo confesses to Marcello that he is afraid and feels ashamed, because Mimì is very ill and is dying. Mimì hears him saying this, having waited around to eavesdrop rather than go home as Marcello suggested. She realizes for the first time that she is definitely going to die.
Toward the end of the act, Mimì and Rodolfo decide to stay together until spring, and at the same time Marcello and Musetta are insulting each other and breaking up. I'm not sure how I feel about the way Puccini goes back and forth between the slow, beautiful music of the former and the quirky, comic music of the latter, but I suppose there is something poignant in the juxtaposition. They did do something odd in this production with Marcello and Musetta though. After they finished their argument by calling each other a toad and a witch, Marcello kissed Musetta and then picked her up and carried her inside, implying something that I don't think Puccini had in mind.
After the third act there was another intermission. This time we got a chai latte and a cookie, and wandered over to where it said "Private Reception" and looked inside to where all the rich people were socializing. The doors were wide open, so anybody could look in. What was amazing was that to be able to go in there you had to be a donor of $50,000 a year or more! So we were looking into this room where every single person was a multi-millionaire.
The fourth act begins with music similar to the beginning of the first act, and the curtain rises to reveal Rodolfo and Marcello alone, back in their apartment from the first act, lamenting the loss of their girlfriends. The other two guys end up joining them, bringing some food, and they end up horsing about, pretending to be at a grand ball, and eventually getting into a play sword fight. Right in the midst of complete whacky chaos, Musetta bursts into the apartment frantically, saying that she has Mimì with her and that she's really ill and couldn't even make it up the stairs. The effect of her bursting in like that with such news, in the midst of them playing about, is truly shocking and tragic. It's almost as if we are beginning to see how for the four of them life will go on and they will be okay, but suddenly this is not to be the case.
Mimì's entrance casts a dark shadow over everything, as she is extremely sick and on the verge of death. Another slight quibble I had with this production occurred at this point, when Rodolfo helped Mimì inside and into bed. It seemed to happen too quickly. One minute she's at the door, and the next she's in bed and under the covers. It felt a little bit like "okay, Mimi's here, she needs to go in the bed now because that's where she dies." Perhaps it's realistic though; if she looked really sick maybe they would just take her straight to the bed with no hesitation. In any case, it did come across to me a bit rushed and like "this is what's supposed to happen next so let's get on with it."
In the music leading up to "Sono andati" they did something unique in this production which I really liked. As the music rises and expands, Mimì wakes up and begins to look around, unable to find Rodolfo, who has gone to the doorway to see Schaunard out. She gets out of bed and anxiously looks around for him, and after the music has 'searched' its way up, the soaring love theme takes off from there, and at that moment she sees him and reaches out to him, and he comes over to her and they collapse in each others arms onto the floor. The music she sings then is the most sad and beautiful in the opera as far as I'm concerned, and it was executed perfectly by the orchestra and Caballero. The lush sound of the pulsing, weeping string chords beneath her voice were soft dark clouds.
The rest of the act followed much as one would expect it to in a production of this caliber. Arthur Woodley was wonderful in the aria where Colline says goodbye to his beloved coat (he's going to sell it to help get medicine for Mimì), the violins were haunting as they played around Mimì's last words, and the orchestra sounded like death as Puccini's erie chords punctuated her passing. When Rodolfo realizes that she is dead, the orchestra plays three loud tragic chords, and then commences a sweeping, epic rendition of Mimì's "Sono andati" music as Rodolfo cries out her name.
The orchestra continues alone to bring the opera to a close, and when it reached the dominant chord with the drumroll, Montanaro led the orchestra in a captivating drawing-out of that chord, extending the drumroll and pulling as much sound as possible out of the orchestra in a thrilling crescendo, before finally crashing onto the C# minor chord and coming to a dark, hushed close. In those last moments of the music an erie white light lit up Mimì and Rodolfo (the former in bed, the latter collapsed at her side), and the rest of the stage dimmed. Then as the last chord faded away the curtain came down.
It was magnificent. I am now very excited about The Ring in August, even more than I was before. The Seattle Opera is a serious opera company.
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