A Day at the Opera with Earl Schub

L.A. Opera’s “Otello” - - - The Lion Doesn’t Roar

In the program notes to the new L.A. Opera production of Giuseppe Verdi’s “Otello,” the company’s Music Director, James Conlon, who also presided on the podium at the March 2nd matinee performance I attended, wrote: “Despite all the possible dramatic misadventures or vocal inadequacies, this work cannot fail because it is so perfectly conceived, so masterfully executed that not a single note is superfluous or less than inspired.” Not so, Maestro. True it is that Verdi and his brilliant librettist, Arrigo Boito crafted an operatic masterpiece that, in many respects, even surpasses the Shakespeare tragedy on which it is based but “dramatic misadventures and vocal inadequacies” can indeed give us an “Otello” in which the “Lion of Venice” does not roar. Alas, such is the case in the current production on display at the Music Center.

At its best, opera is the greatest of the performing arts precisely because it brings together all the elements which define Music Theater and, when the combination is right, provide us with enriching and ennobling experiences. Music (orchestral and vocal), drama, stage direction, scenic, costume and lighting design, dance (where applicable) - all of these must be taken into account and evaluated when assessing any given performance. There are few, if any, operas which can survive on the score alone, no matter how inspired – not even Verdi’s inspired rendering of Shakespeare tragic Moor. And so, with all due respect and admiration for Maestro Conlon, let’s proceed to the “Otello” in question.

First, the set design. Johan Engels presents us with three large boxes from which all the characters emerge and depart or, in some cases, lurk. The other physical elements are minimal at best or simply not there. There was nothing to indicate that we were at dockside in Act I except some poles (to indicate the masts of ships), a few ropes and one of the boxes placed stage center to simulate the deck of Othello’s ship. The interior settings of Acts II and III for what should be the title character’s palace were bland and totally devoid of grandeur. Finally, the Act IV bedroom in which the innocent Desdemona is murdered by her unhinged husband is totally decorated in red - walls, bed and all. This is obviously a reminder to the audience that a fatal crime is to be committed. Hardly subtle. As to Engels’ costume design, it is drab as well except for the luckless lady. As long as Othello is not convinced of her adultery, she is clad in virginal white; when he succumbs to the villainous Iago’s intrigues, she appears in vivid red, the time-honored color associated with an adulteress. Please – give us a break!

All of the aforementioned must be laid at the doorstep of the director, John Cox. Perhaps, after nearly 50 years of dealing with hundreds of productions, he has simply grown weary of coming up with yet another new, fresh and stimulating concept. If the director has the final say on what sets and costumes are to be used in order to carry out his take on the story then surely he must take on the final responsibility for this dull presentation. Insofar as the specifics of the drama are concerned, the only attempts at something novel were two mystifying misfires. At the very end of this tragic and compelling story of love gone awry, Shakespeare has Iago give no reason for his treachery before he is led away by an armed guard for certain torture and execution. Verdi and his librettist, Arrigo Boito, chose to have Iago attempt to escape but to be pursued for certain capture. Mr. Cox, who for all we know, has bigger and better things in mind for this consummate villain, lets him slink away unnoticed through an entranceway into one of those boxes. Finally, when it is time for the hapless Moor to pull a concealed dagger from his robes and fatally stab himself and then bid his Desdemona farewell with a heartbreaking request for one last kiss from her lifeless body, Mr. Cox’s Othello slashes his throat and, with no visible blood showing nor any apparent impairment to his larynx, begs for the impossible boon. Why oh why do directors and their designers either consistently underrate an audience or insist on spoon feeding them the obvious?

And now, the music. As always (and for this we Los Angeles opera goers should take great and justifiable pride), the orchestra and chorus were wonderful. James Conlon and Grant Gershon have taken two ensembles whose work was already becoming first rate under their predecessors and, in record time, brought them to a standard of excellence where no work exceeds their capabilities. Bravo to all. Most regrettably, the same cannot be said for two of the three principal singers. English tenor Ian Storey was simply in over his head in a role that demands the strength of a heldentenor and the warmth and passion of a singer trained in or, at least, familiar with the Italian bel canto tradition. The sad truth, I suppose, is that without Placido Domingo or Jon Vickers in the title role we simply cannot be moved as Verdi intended. Mr. Storey hit all the notes, to be sure, and tried his very best to wow us with some admittedly impressive dynamics but his ample tenor was forced and pinched from his opening triumphant “Esultate” which most surely did not shake the rafters, to the anger-ridden “Si, pel ciel” duet with Iago which closes Act II, to the intensely introspective “Dio! Mi potevi scagliar” in which he rejects Desdemona’s protestation of innocence and, finally, to the heart rending “Nium me tema” which climaxes in his dying plea for that last kiss. That said, it is equally obvious that Mr. Storey will deservedly have great success in the German repertory as his recent La Scala “Tristan” attests. Cilean soprano Cristina Gallardo-Domas was a disappointing and, for much of the performance, a dramatically underwhelming Desdemona. Whether it was the size of the house, the acoustics, the lingering effects of a throat problem which prevented her from performing on opening night or just her instrument, the voice was simply not lush enough was often shrill for the first three acts. Happily, however, she seemed to come into her own in the final act and gave us a compelling “Willow Song” and “Ave Maria.” Ms. Gallardo-Domas has most impressive credentials and should surely be invited to return perhaps in a lighter role. The one consistently bright spot was the Iago of baritone Mark Delevan. In this age of all too few “Verdi” baritones, a bright future awaits him. Possessed of a ringing, dark tone which has plenty of ping at the top and ample breadth of range, Mr. Delevan gave us an Iago we loved to hate. Sly and insinuating, oozing feigned consolation and understanding and pretending to be the friend of all the characters he actually loathed, he gave us a fully satisfying and convincing performance. The supporting cast was uniformly good with special kudos to the stentorian Lodovico of veteran bass Eric Halverson.

Perhaps, as Maestro Conlon infers, any “Otello” is better than no “Otello” but Los Angeles deserves better and hopefully we’ll get it next time.