Style subdues
Cendrillon
's subtle substance.
If ever there were a butterfly in danger of being crushed by a wheel, that unhappy insect would be Jules Massenet's fragile fairy-tale opera,
Cendrillon
, struggling for life under the heavy ministrations of director Laurent Pelly's production by the Santa Fe Opera. Librettist Henri Cain and the composer provide a gossamer retelling of the Cinderella story that barely survives the look-at-me layering of Gallic malice in the SFO's stylish, cool-hearted new show.
***image1***
Tut, tut, you may say. It's only Massenet, the lightweight, the inconsequential. In fact, since the
SFO's founding 50 years and 137 operas ago, only 11 other French pieces have made it to the stage, including just one by Massenet, his
Chérubin
produced in 1989 for Frederica von Stade. Of his two most popular works, there's been no
Manon
here (though Henze's version of Prévost's story,
Boulevard Solitude
, has been done), nor a
Werther
(though Böse's
The Sorrows of Young Werther
made an appearance).
With the exception of tried-and-true Offenbach and
Carmen
, French opera at Santa Fe has largely been, in Hamlet's words, caviare to the general. But there's nothing fishy about Massenet's beautiful, glass-slippered
bon-bon
. The hugely productive composer attempted 40-something operas, of which over two dozen made it to the stage, with exotic locales ranging from the Alexandrian desert to ancient Persia. The French public's fondness for exoticism, soon to fade, extended as well to the fantastic realm of fairy tales like those published in Charles Perrault's late 17th century collections of
Contes
. Massenet composed two of these, the now-forgotten
Grisélidis
and this
Cendrillon
.
It's a candy-box score filled with surprise and delight. Massenet's court music pays homage to the Baroque past, then moves on to minuets,
gavottes
and elaborate processionals.
His love for Berlioz is everywhere. There's a bit of Rossini, some Mendelssohn, a hint of the last scene of Verdi's
Falstaff
, and even a touch of Wagner in the opera's heavily chromatic love duets.
While everybody knows the essential outline of the ancient Cinderella story, variations abound, some of them pretty grim-think
King Lear
. Perrault's tale includes the heroine's hen-pecked papa, Pandolfe, an unhappy social climber who reluctantly abandons his daughter in favor of her autocratic stepmother and the usual pair of goosey stepsisters. In his setting of Perrault, Massenet strongly favors the female voice. Cinderella is a mezzo with some high-ish reaches; Fairy Godmother
***image2***
is a light, agile coloratura; Prince Charming, a trouser role, requires what the French call a
falcon
, a mezzo with a solid upper range. Tipping the vocal balance toward the top gives Massenet's score an irresistible lightness and innocence that's equally apparent in his deft, quicksilver orchestration.
Kenneth Montgomery, a familiar figure in the SFO pit, generally gets swell results from orchestra and singers, but this time out he's using a heavy stick. There's too much lead in the pompous court music and too little magic in the opera's bewitching fairy music. Part of that's due to miscasting Elise Gutierrez as Fairy Godmother. Her
coloratura
, at times smeary, lacks the silvery ping the role requires. Add to that the crabby stage direction which turns her into a be-feathered Music Hall dominatrix, more Eartha Kitt than Billie Burke.
In the title role, Joyce DiDonato handles the complex, extended solo dramatic scenes with skill and is touching in her duets with Pandolfe and the Prince, but lacks the ingratiating warmth and pathos of other singers who've taken the role. Jennifer Holloway, a second-year apprentice, is simply terrific as Prince Charming. She's a believable love-struck adolescent who embodies teenage sulks and passions with remarkable vocal assurance and sympathetic stage presence.
It's great to have Richard Stilwell back, now singing Pandolfe. Though his voice is drier than it was as Pelléas a few years ago, he's the human heart that gives a degree of warmth to this show. Judith Forst, another wonderful old-timer, leaves no scenery unchewed as Madame de la Haltière, less wicked stepmother than a paragon of vanity.
Which brings us back to Pelly's bright and brittle production. We get his grotesque, eye-popping costumes for the court scenes and plenty of witty, bustling movement. We miss any sense of mystery, the fantastic, and-an all-important metaphor in the piece-of the dream. Barbara de Limburg's set couldn't be any more flatly literal: Perrault's words plaster over every inch. The Fairy Godmother's nocturnal domain substitutes smoking chimney-pots for a magic oak and scads of flowers.
The stylistic touchstone for French fairy tales will always be the Cocteau/Bérard film
La belle et le bête
. At its last scene, as the Beast is transformed into a foppish, be-ribboned Prince Charming, Garbo is said to have wailed, "Give me back my Beast!"
I'll echo that. M. Pelly
et cie.
: Give me back my
Cendrillon
!
