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Queen of Spades
By Michael Van Duzer
No doubt the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center had something to do with the smattering of empty seats in the audience for Los Angeles Opera's opening production of the The Queen of Spades. The previous evening's opening performance of Lohengrin had actually been cancelled. But, two days after the tragedy, the company had rallied and, with Artistic Director Placido Domingo onstage, gave Los Angeles Opera audiences their first taste of Russian Opera.
For this opening to the sixteenth season, Domingo placed himself front and center as Tchaikovsky's tortured anti-hero Herman. Considering his brutally punishing international schedule, a record number of 118 roles under his belt, and the fact that most singers of his age sound like Shakespeare's "bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang," one might reasonably expect his vocal production to suffer. But Domingo's voice is a miracle: strong, supple, vibrant, and full of emotive power. His acting is assured, responsive, and generous. He has more than earned his place in the pantheon of opera legends, and it is a tribute to his artistry that only a national tragedy could afford him anything less than SRO crowds.
The Queen of Spades, written more than a decade after Eugene Onegin, seems, in many ways, to be less assured; more dramatically diffuse. Tchaikovsky certainly poured his heart into Herman and Lisa's love music, but it never truly convinces. The main problem lies with the libretto by Modest Tchaikovsky (his brother), which attempts to turn Pushkin's ironically nasty tale into a full-blown romantic tragedy. The composer obviously enjoyed composing the "song" set pieces and experimenting with Rococo musical elements, but, attractive as they are, they're dramatically inert and fail to provide any depth for the paper-thin characters. That said, Tchaikovsky's genius is enough to satisfy when coupled with splendid singers and a firm directorial concept.
Director/Designer Gottfried Pilz boldly staged the entire opera in a stately ballroom tilted at a precarious angle-a metaphor for a world gone terribly askew. Unfortunately, his directorial ideas were disconcertingly timid when played out against such strong visual elements. Conventionally realistic groupings and let's-rush-the-chorus-across-the-stage blocking wasted the possibilities of the setting. The opera seemed vaguely updated to the time of its composition, but most of the women's costumes recalled RKO rather than Romanoff Russia. One scene found the female chorus members sporting black and white sheath dresses with puffy sleeves as if about to dance the Carioca with Fred and Ginger.
Vocally the evening was far more successful. Galina Gorchakova effortlessly negotiated Lisa's music and, if her early scenes were a bit too cloyingly schoolgirlish, she gained presence and intensity as the opera progressed. Vladimir Chernov was a graceful and distinguished Yeletsky, while veteran Elena Obraztsova neatly mopped the floor with anyone sharing the stage with her. In smaller roles, Suzanna Poretsky spun gloriously sensual sounds as Pauline, James Creswell impressed as Narumoff, and Suzanna Guzman handled the duties of the Governess with her customary aplomb. The only true vocal disappointment was some uncharacteristically sloppy singing from the chorus.
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