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1993-04-08
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REVIEWS, Page 72MUSICMad, Bad and Dangerous
By MICHAEL WALSH
TITLE: LUCIA DI LAMMERMOOR
COMPOSER: Gaetano Donizetti
WHERE: The Metropolitan Opera
THE BOTTOM LINE: The ghosts of Poe and Bram Stoker breathe
new life into an old bel canto war-horse.
In a program note to her startling, macabre -- and, on
opening night, lustily booed -- new production of Donizetti's
Lucia di Lammermoor at the Metropolitan Opera, Fran cesca
Zambello cites as inspiration the gloomy tales of Edgar Allan
Poe and the brooding landscapes of Caspar David Friedrich, both
contemporaries of the composer. Maybe. But those with an eye for
contemporary culture -- and the weekly grosses of Francis Ford
Coppola's latest film in Variety -- can see that the real
influence is one Mr. Zeitgeist. The Bride of Dracula, anybody?
The question of how to refresh opera's inherited visual
cliches occupies every thinking director these days, especially
when the genre is as terminal as bel canto: a collection of
pretty tunes hung on the dusty skeleton of a story. Zambello's
solution may be vilified in tartan-loving, canary-fancying
quarters: unlike traditional stagings of Lucia, this one
includes no kilts, no Scotsmen, no mountain greenery of any
kind.
Instead, set designer John Conklin evokes a gray, gloomy,
decaying world (much like present-day Britain, in fact) that is
literally falling apart. The centerpiece is a crumbling
Ravenswood castle -- nevermore! -- that conjures the shades of
doomed fictional redoubts from the Gibichungs' hall to Carfax
Abbey, replete with scattered coffins, drowning pools and
blood-red skies. So powerful are the designs that, probably for
the first time in Lucia's history, one leaves humming the
scenery.
The undead have stalked opera houses as disparate as San
Francisco and Bayreuth, in both cases in Wagner's The Flying
Dutchman. But Zambello goes further in her use of pop cultural
references, particularly cinematic ones. The expressionistic
sets recall Tod Browning's original 1931 film, Dracula (Bela
Lugosi would have felt right at home at Ravenswood), while
Martin Pakledinaz's costumes evoke David Lynch's sanguinary 1984
intergalactic flop, Dune. In the famous mad scene, Lucia's
descent into insanity is symbolized by a steep staircase, down
which the white-gowned murderess floats like her Nosferatu
namesake, Lucy Westenra, Coppola's hot-pants vamp
extraordinaire.
What may have most roused the normally comatose Met
audience was the production's feminist subtext. This Lucia is
less a helpless damsel in distress than a strong, sexual woman
who chooses death before dishonor -- Elektra's first cousin.
Although she had some vocal difficulties on opening night
(Donizetti's high notes are best not delivered while the soprano
is on her knees or flat on her back), reigning bel canto diva
June Anderson's forceful stage presence ensures that the heroine
gives as good as she gets. Other notables include a promising
American tenor, Richard Leech, as Lucia's lover Edgardo, whose
still raw but heroically enthusiastic singing portends a major
voice; and reliable baritone Juan Pons as Lucia's bad-guy
brother Enrico. Marcello Panni conducts with a Scotch snap.
The cast will change throughout the season, both during
the current run and again when the production is revived in the
spring. What remains is the con troversial conception. When
Zambello and her production team came on for their
opening-night bows, cheers for the plaid-less performers turned
to jeers. And yet the director had just done something usually
only managed in the movies: she had raised the dead.