detail of Bacchus & Ariadne by Corneille Van Clève, an early eighteenth-century French bronze now in the Legion of Honor
detail of Bacchus & Ariadne by Corneille Van Clève, an early eighteenth-century French bronze now in the Legion of Honor
detail of Legend by Lee ShinJa, currently on view at BAM/PFA as part of Lee ShinJa: Drawing with Thread
(the label gives the title as Legend, but this tapestry is hung so that the back is visible, exposing a label giving the title as Myth, so I guess the viewer can make the call)
This production uses the de Chirico-inspired sets (designed by Michael Yeargan) familiar from previous stagings here of Rigoletto; this was a good as well as probably economical decision, as the sets are striking & effective, setting the stage, literally, for this world that is beautiful & empty. The buildings, often an undifferentiated black, lean in at odd angles, like a German Expressionist film set; the windows glow with strange bright colors: acid greens, icy deep blues, a burning red (the interior of Rigoletto's house, where he hides his beloved daughter Gilda, glows with this red, the color of passion &, since this is Catholic Italy, martyrdom). The buildings are crowded in, leaning over the action, but empty of human life (the action all takes place in front of them, or in the one large room off to the side which converts from Rigoletto's house to the "inn" of Sparafucile & his sister Maddalena, the hired killer & his sex worker/accomplice sister representing a grotesque inversion of the loving family represented by the jester & his daughter). The buildings of the se are omnipresent, looming, a bit threatening beneath the aesthetic veneer, but ultimately empty of human life or warmth: in short, an apt summation of the swirling & glittering world of the Duke's cruel & superficial court.
And here I will look at Rigoletto in the light of The Music Man, which I think, probably vainly, might be a first. I first saw the classic 1962 film just a few years ago (I have never seen it on stage), & contrary to what I had heard & assumed, Marian the Librarian was not a naïve, hopeful young woman whose very innocence is what converts con man Harold Hill to honesty: she was, instead, a restless, intelligent woman who understood perfectly well that Hill was very likely a con man who would bring her heartache instead of happiness: but to her the risk was worth it, to have a life that expanded beyond the narrow confines she was trapped in, even if the expansion led to grief & not joy.
Similarly, Gilda ultimately understands what the Duke is worth. Even his brief moment of genuine feeling for her at the beginning of Act 2 (Ella mi fu rapita!) is self-deluding, though sincere: even if we didn't have the little shock of finding out shortly, via a page sent to look for him, that there is, in fact, already a Duchess married to him, it is inconceivable that a Duke would marry the daughter of his jester. But Gilda chooses an impossible love. She chooses to choose, for herself. I think a lot of contemporary audiences end up angry with the social system that led to this situation, & I would agree with their anger, but they also often seem angry with Gilda for making this decision, & I guess that's where I would disagree: what is the freedom to love if it does not include the freedom to be perverse & self-defeating? As with Cio-Cio San, another woman who chooses to reject her family & create her own identity, we may not approve (for whatever our approval is worth) of the identify she has chosen, but it's the essence of her self-creation that she is free to choose what she thinks is right, not what we'd like her to choose, in some ideal world.
Yongzhao Yu as the Duke floated through his court, projecting the character's easy heedless charm, tossing off his famous aria on the fickleness of women with aplomb. Aleksey Bogdanov thundered authoritatively as Monterone; Peixin Chen made a foreboding Sparafucile (I love the character's flat refusal to cheat a customer by killing him & just taking the money, like a common thief; you can see the bones of Hugo's romantic drama beneath the libretto). J'Nai Bridges is an enticing, complex Maddalena, & I think this is where phrases like "luxury casting" come to mind. All the performers are at a very high level, & that includes the chorus, singing with point & passion. There were staging moments with them that I don't remember from earlier productions: a campy, rather catty re-enactment for the Duke of the kidnapping of Gilda, some coordinated, dance-like movements that looked frivolous & decadent.
I'm kind of sorry to bring down the tone here by mentioning some audience giggles at some of the plot mechanisms – yes, nineteenth century opera / Romantic drama have conventions that now seem outdated to us! Who knew! It's always seemed to me that openness to theatrical conventions, even outmoded ones – openness to the artificial, to the foreign – is the true sign of sophistication, not giggling at plot devices from an obviously different time & place. On the train after the performance, I ended up talking with two young women who asked about Rigoletto. (They were coming from Ray of Light's production of the musical Nine to Five, which they said was really good.) One of them mentioned a man I've often seen around Civic Center after opera performances (he was there again last night). He clearly has a trained operatic voice. He also clearly has fallen on hard times, for the usual reasons, & is now trying to create an acceptable life for himself. The woman who brought up this man said she wished someone would write an opera about him & his struggles, titling it with whatever the masculine equivalent of La Traviata would be. She saw the connection between the world of Romantic opera & the streets around us: beyond the theatrical styles of another time, beyond the outdated concerns for family honor & suchlike, those are our contemporaries on stage: the bitter joker, the heedless, privileged man of power, the young woman who loves not wisely but too well, the sneering, shallow crowds the circulate around the powerful, mocking the weak, the person whose anger ends up destroying himself: this is news from our own time. With this production, San Francisco Opera has done justice to the truth of Verdi[s vision.
detail of American Nude Series (Woman with Elbow on Raised Knee) by Viola Frey, now at the Oakland Museum of California
detail of The Crowning of Mirtillo by Ferdinand Bol, now in the Legion of Honor
Mirtillo is a young shepherd disguised as a woman so he can be near his beloved Amarillis; he has won the kissing contest she suggested & she is crowning him/her victor
My reservations mostly had to do with some aspects of the staging. The single set is a bank of chairs, with a clinical greenish look, as if we were in an operating theater or a lecture hall. You get a sense of surveillance, often with an educational veneer, & pedagogic techniques made omnipresent & intrusive – all very well, but the seats weren't actually used much. People rarely sat in them or watched from them, so it was more of a potential metaphor than an actual piece of stagecraft. There was a large drain in the center of the stage that was used for a number of things (the site of experiments on Wozzeck, when water is poured on him; the site of Marie's murder, when buckets of symbolic blood are emptied on her; the site of the pond in which Wozzeck dies) & it is, again, suggestive of lives going down the drain, of wasted resources & abilities, but it wasn't quite the centerpiece of the staging that I was expecting.
This brings us to the topic of what we've heard about a production before we see it & how it influences our viewing; I had been told that the drain was absolutely essential & that the use of it was the reason the opera was, against usual practice, performed with an intermission. Maybe I'm missing something (I say that sincerely) but I didn't see how its use made the intermission necessary, & though I was grateful for said intermission (the first time so I could move away from the people next to me – seriously, who brings a bag of crinkly snacks to Wozzeck? – & the second time so I could relieve the ache in my arthritic knees by standing & walking), it really does lower the dramatic temperature to have a break after only about half an hour.
The staging, though often evocative & poetic – I particularly liked having the chorus of children coming in on all fours, backs arched, like the feral animals children are, before straightening up & doing their thing – is, as I realized when discussing it with some audience members who maybe hadn't seen the opera as often as I have, perhaps a production that works best if you're already very familiar with the action. The staging of Marie's murder & the discovery of her body is particularly confusing, as she gets moved away from the drain/lake but is still supposed to be in the forest so the children can go gawp at the dead woman – you really have to know the appropriate action already for the staging here to make sense.
All that aside, any chance to hear this score (led with strength by Khuner) & to see these superb performers is a pleasure. Obviously I didn't agree with all the staging, but better a production that makes you ponder why you don't like something rather than one that makes you sit back & see just what you expect to see.
I decided to prep by listening to the recording I was sure I had, though as I dug through the boxes & boxes & piles of CDs (if you saw the quantity you would understand why I was so sure I had a recording already) I realized that somehow I had missed this one. Of course I forthwith bought a couple of recordings, one of which came with a blu-ray of a production done in Versailles, which is musically beautiful & gorgeous to look at but frankly incoherent even for someone familiar with the Bible & Handel's Saul. So let me say right off that Streshinsky & Pearl have shaped the work into something that made sense, had dramatic & emotional flow, & was extremely moving, so well done West Edge.
The work's potential incoherence lies not only in the original libretto by the Jesuit priest François Bretonneau – as a work written by a priest for a Jesuit college, he doesn't need to spell out certain plot elements, such as the reason the Witch of Endor is startled & angry when she discovers Saul's identity – but also in its original performance circumstances, as it interlarded a spoken drama in Latin on the same subject that presumably clarified identities & relationships. To add to the confusion, Jonathan in our day is often played by a soprano, & though cross-gender casting is frequent in baroque opera, & even one of its appealing characteristics, it makes more sense to have a tenor play the role, as was done at West Edge (Aaron Sheehan was Jonathan & Derek Chester was David, & both performed with sweet sincerity & plangent beauty).
This is a striking & clever opening, as it sets the tone for what we're going to see: a theatrical representation of a story that is already well known, played in a dramatic, stylish way in front of a court that is also theatrical & on display, with a cheerfully explicit sexuality. As David & Jonathan watch the battle, it is clear that they are in love with each other. This production is what would nowadays be termed joyfully queer. There is a certain element of fantasy to this approach – any dynastic power is going to demand at some point that its heir get together with someone who can produce a succeeding legitimate heir, & never in the history of royal favorites has any favorite, male or female, been greeted with the simple, clear, & genuine joy with which the court, as represented by the chorus, greets this pairing. But the approach makes basic emotional & dramatic sense & I went with it. (I heard some in the audience later criticizing what they felt were overly explicit moments in the staging but there was nothing that we haven't seen staged plenty of times with male/female couples.)
David & Jonathan go through a coupling ceremony, but David soon has to flee the court, as Saul's jealousy, suspicions, & instability grow. He goes incognito to see the Witch of Endor, who gives him an oracular & striking session (sung with smooth power by Laurel Semerdjian). I know this scene is supposed to take place at night, hidden away, but this was one of several moments when I wished the lighting had been a little brighter, if only so I could fully appreciate the wild black loops & Spanish-moss-like hangings of the Witch's outfit (Marina Polakoff designed the costumes). The Ghost of Samuel (Richard Mix) shows up in white, & gravely gives Saul the news he guesses & we already know: he has been jettisoned by Jehovah.
A little re-arranging, a little re-visioning, & we have a dramatically successful work, beautifully staged. This year's West Edge Festival really went from strength to strength. I'm already looking forward to next season, which will include Handel's Rinaldo.
References to RFK increase during the first half, but we need to see, hear, & feel him in person, & that's why we need the extended victory speech, in which, along with random little jokes & banalities, you hear him reaching out to what we'd now call marginalized groups (the immigrant farmworkers, mainly Mexican & Filipino; the Black populace) with charm, grace, & inclusiveness. I'm old enough to remember the grape boycott that is a major feature of the opera (my family boycotted grapes, as my mother was a long-time subscriber to Dorothy Day's Catholic Worker paper), but I do not remember RFK & his assassination, or many of the participants in the story other than Cesar Chavez & Nixon. Before the audience can weigh the magnitude of the loss, we have to feel the weight of RFK's presence.
But there is some irony in the treatment of RFK & what is now called the mainstream media. We, attending an opera titled Dolores, know that she is the story here: Huerta, & Itliong, & Chavez, & the workers they fight for. We learn that they've been struggling for years, getting traction only slowly. When does the press show up? When a glamorous politician, a handsome man from a powerful family, shows up & teases running for the Presidency. That's the story the press cares about: the top levels of power, who's in, who's out, & not those toiling anonymously at the bottom of the pyramid. (There was a bit of this going on at the second performance, when State Attorney General Rob Bonta made an appearance, to much buzzing.)
So the events around the grape strike & the RFK assassination are clearly laid out, as prior knowledge cannot be assumed, but there is a certain memory-play aspect to the opera which works powerfully, freeing it from a documentary / straight narrative style into something more suggestively dreamlike, even, at moments, surreal. The dead RFK will appear to Huerta. There are elliptical suggestions of the lives going on out of view while the work gets done. The repeated choruses of No grapes / strike (in both English & Spanish) are a powerful way of suggesting the passage of time. And the on-goingnesss of any lengthy effort – the boycott has been underway for three years when the opera opens – is a difficult thing to convey theatrically, where activities that last for years, whose essence is their grinding, relentless dailiness, must necessarily be compressed into the two hours' traffic of the stage (this is a problem with pretty much every work-related drama I've seen). These chants rise fluidly from the music & action, from the emotions at play, rather than from specific situations; they echo throughout the action.
A good example of what I mean by the almost dreamlike aspect is the treatment of Tricky Dick. His scenes arrive like great slabs of weirdness in between the scenes of the union struggles. Initially he doesn't directly attack the Union or the boycott. Instead, he sings, in sinuous, insinuating tones, about the lovely tastiness of grapes. As he sings, the projection screens behind him show gloriously lit, sparkling, nearly erotic shots of green grapes. Maybe because of that imagery I kept picturing Tricky Dick as the snake in the garden. His music is sprightly, appealing, with a little touch of Weimar cabaret, & a bit of a lounge singer's louche seductiveness. It is indicative of what a powerful, disturbing creation he is that both times I saw the opera the audience, though clearly all-in for Huerta & the farmworkers, burst into applause at the end of his first scene.
The irony, of course, is that Tricky Dick uses words like Order & Discipline as code words for keeping down the people who are already down. They are, in fact, the ones who live lives of discipline & order: we've seen Huerta, a single mother of a large brood, struggling to support her family, pinching pennies, stretching dollars, continuing to work hard every day in the face of injustice & cruelty. That's real discipline, of a kind the politically scheming climber Tricky Dick doesn't understand, or appreciate despite his political success.
Calling the character Tricky Dick rather than Richard Nixon emphasizes the archetypal, recurring nature of the character: he's practically a trickster god, though on the side of complacency & evil. No matter what he does, the ultimate beneficiary is always meant to be himself (I've read Paradise Lost, I recognize the type.) The naming also allows for the freedom to add some Trumpery touches to the characterization: he holds a Bible, but upside down, as in the infamous Bible photo-op, & along with documentary photographs from 1968 we see video from recent No Kings rallies (just in case anyone was missing the sad fact that this opera, set in 1968, is frighteningly relevant now, in 2025).
Let me spring back to the beginning of the opera to look at the character of Dolores. The opera opens with quiet but tense music, as she is being driven (her car is in the shop & she can't afford to get it out until payday) by fellow labor leader Larry Itliong. She refers to her children, & says that her divorce has been hard on them. It's a normal, workaday conversation, & the only other (possible) reference we hear to the divorce is her passing comment later that her children have seen the effects of farm work, & the way farmworkers are treated, on their father. The opera does not give a Wikipedia-style bio of Huerta, but you will get a clear sense of who she is as a person: strong, resourceful, resilient. And very much a person who is about "people power": the power of unions, of uniting, of forming alliances & coalitions.
Her approach is subtly contrasted with that of her fellow leaders, Itliong & Chavez. Itliong is very much about his own ethnic group (the Filipino workers) & has a short fuse, which is sometimes amusing & satirical (as in his sarcastically chipper number about the politicians who talk-talk-talk, while on the screens behind him the jaws of various politicians waggle back & forth in time) & sometimes short-sighted (as in his angry explosions at Huerta & Chavez when things don't go the way he thinks they should). Chavez is a bit messianic, a bit of a loner (he decides on his hunger strike without consulting the others), very much immersed in Catholic ideas of redemption through self-sacrifice (there is an interesting Catholic undercurrent in the opera: as a link between Kennedy & Chavez, as the source of understanding & strength – Huerta calls on Our Lady of Guadalupe as well as Our Lady of Sorrows, for whom she is named).
But there are also drawbacks to Huerta's collaborative approach: is it wise to put all the eggs in the Kennedy basket? There is a bleak chorus before RFK appears warning her not to count on him, that he will be killed the way his brother was. We hear the news of Dr Martin Luther King Jr's assassination, with a somber chorus to Aeschylus's words from Agamemnon about suffering into wisdom through the grace of God. This chorus will be repeated to powerful effect when RFK is shot (the reference to the great Greek tragedian deepens the sense of world-historical suffering & sorrow here).. After he has been shot but is not yet officially dead, Itliong already wants to come up with a new strategy. This is the sort of cold-blooded calculation politicians need. Huerta, though, cannot bring herself to recalibrate so soon. She is dealing with a deep personal as well as political blow – the loss of the first major politician who seemed genuinely willing to listen to them, include them, & help them with actions as well as words.
We get the social / political / community view of things, but there is also a powerful scene of Huerta's inward reckoning. As she prepares for bed, praying, she reflects, thinking of her children, wishing she were with them, knowing that she needs to keep fighting for them & others. The brass instruments have been commenting throughout the opera, sometimes inspirationally, sometimes satirically. But for this scene, they recede, & we have a string-heavy section, interior & searching, with a lovely solo violin floating above. Then as Huerta sleeps, the music changes as Tricky Dick appears again, looming on the platform directly above her, as in an evil dream.
There is another string-heavy scene with violin solo: the aria of the busboy Juan Romero, who cradled RFK right after the shooting. He sings of his recent arrival in America, & of how rare it was for him to be treated with the respect with which Kennedy had treated him the night before, when he delivered room service to him & his wife. This scene shows us the genuine empathy of RFK, the ability to connect with people (or just to notice people) that most others ignore. As with Dolores's nighttime reverie, it is meditative, complex, beautiful: the real life of people, as opposed to what the politicians say or the media report. It is in a generous spirit that this moving aria is given to someone who could be seen in the wider sweep of things as a minor character.
(from the second performance: Huerta in black in the center; to her right is Mark Streshinsky, General Director of West Edge Opera)The entire cast is strong & deserved the enthusiastic cheers they received; I'm just going to list names (I discuss the main performers more specifically in the preview post mentioned above): Kelly Guerra as Dolores Huerta, Phillip Lopez as Cesar Chavez, Rolfe Dauz as Larry Itliong, Alex Boyer as Senator Kennedy, Sam Faustine as Tricky Dick, Chelsea Hollow as Helen Chavez / Ethel Kennedy, Sergio Gonzalez as Juan / a Journalist, Caleb Alexander as Paul Schrade of the United Auto Workers: all superb, all memorable. The staging by Octavio Cardenas was masterly & Mary Chun conducted the score with power & tenderness. Dolores Huerta herself was there in person, & spoke after the two performances I saw. She is still powerful, still fighting; the opera ends with her resolution to continue fighting despite the loss of their great ally RFK, & the communal cries of Sí ,se puede ring out so bravely that I felt sure the audience was about to join in (maybe they did, it was hard to tell); the cries end somewhat suddenly, but with the feeling that they are actually still sounding around us. What a memorable event this was! Congratulations to all involved, to West Edge Opera for midwifing, & to Benavides & Martin Koch for producing such a powerful work.