SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Cast:

Werther: Ramón Vargas

Charlotte: Alice Coote

Sophie: Heidi Stober

Albert: Brian Mulligan

The Bailiff: Christian Van Horn

Schmidt: Robert MacNeil

Kätchen: Susannah Biller

Brühlmann: Austin Kness

Johann: Bojan Knezevic

Production:

Conductor: Emmanuel Villaume

Director: Francisco Negrin

Production Designer: Louis Désiré

Lighting Designer: Duane Schuler

Charlotte (Alice Coote) and Werther (Ramón Vargas) Picture © Cory Weaver

Americans understandably have a difficult time relating to the story of Werther. In Massenet’s opera, the title character falls madly in love with a woman, who has momentarily forgotten that she is promised to another. Werther, crushed, threatens suicide, but doesn’t actually do it until the final act (or there wouldn’t be an opera). Meanwhile, he obsesses over her, pretends to be friendly to the family, and writes her poetic letters. An American guy in his position would shrug it off and maybe take a second look at Charlotte’s little sister, Sophie, who so clearly has a crush on him.

It’s a downer, no doubt about it. In hopes of injecting life into it, San Francisco Opera’s new staging, a co-production with Lyric Opera of Chicago, which debuted Wednesday, tosses out the stage directions and messes with the story. On some level, director Francisco Negrin’s changes do work. On another, they just cause confusion.

He raises the stage a couple of meters to make a crowded space for Werther’s scruffy apartment downstage, where, instead of disappearing offstage, he can retreat throughout the opera to obsess over Charlotte and paint her name on a long black wall, gazing at her image as it flits across his flat-screen TV. The stage is enclosed by a stainless steel fence and dominated by several stylized trees. Characters climb over a stack of suitcases, armoires and boxes (belonging to Charlotte’s recently departed mother?).

In the climactic suicide scene not one, not two, but three Werthers shoot themselves on stage, not in Werther’s apartment. Two of them roll off stage as the tenor sings the long final scene as a ghost whispering in a distraught Charlotte’s ear. This has the advantage of relieving the tenor of having to sing on his back, and therefore probably improved the music. But it also introduced ideas that were not there in the original libretto.

Although turning Werther into an existential psychological study not only adds extra layers, for better or worse, it changes the story substantially. In the famous letter scene, Charlotte (alone on Christmas Eve, says the libretto) reads Werther’s missives in the presence of her long-suffering husband, Albert. Would she really be that thoughtless or mean-spirited? Knowing this certainly underlines Albert’s motivation to accede to Werther’s request to borrow his dueling pistols.

In the long instrumental interlude before the death scene, we see what seems to be a dream sequence in which Werther and Charlotte finally consummate their passion—sort of; they remain clothed. All this activity also robs Charlotte’s line to the dying Werther, “Here is the kiss you wanted,” of its power.

Fortunately, a luminous performance of Massenet’s music by the orchestra, shaped with depth and flair by Emmanuel Villaume, and praiseworthy efforts by the singers, led by tenor Ramón Vargas as Werther and Alice Coote as Charlotte, made up for any directorial confusion.

Vargas used his silken lyric voice to shape phrases with refinement. Although he held back on high notes, he sang with precision and created a character with fatal human flaws. The big aria, “Pourquoi me reveiller?” had everything but thrilling high notes at the climax. Coote, who has been heard in San Francisco before only in Händel and Mozart, made a comfortable musical match with Vargas’ lightweight sound. She sang Charlotte’s music with similar precision, neatly shaping the phrases and making them flow smoothly even when the building tensions may have warranted something a bit more unbuttoned. Her letter scene came off as wistful and regretful rather than pulsating with passion. (Originally, Elina Garanca was scheduled to sing this role in a company debut, but bowed out last spring for “personal reasons.”)

Soprano Heidi Stober made an impressive company debut as Charlotte’s teenage sister Sophie. With her clear, agile voice she provided some brightness in a dark story. Baritone Brian Mulligan, last heard here as Marcello in 2008’s La Bohème, sang with plangency as a sympathetic Albert. Among the rest, bass-baritone Christian van Horn fussed engagingly as Charlotte’s widowed father, The Bailiff, while bass Bojan Knezevic and bass-baritone Austin Kness had fun with their roles as his ever-drinking pals.

In the end, for all the directorial glosses, Massenet’s music carried the day, especially in the extraordinarily fine sounds coming from the orchestra pit. And, if the lead singers can loosen up a bit, the remaining performances (through Oct. 1) could be even more rewarding.

Harvey Steiman