San Francisco Opera's Don Giovanni
Baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky Charismatic in Leading Role
by David Gregson, San Diego Magazine Music/Dance Critic, June, 2000.
It's only common sense, but how often we forget: Live performances can change in quality from night to night, and matinees can have an especially severe impact upon the attitudes and energy levels of many performing artists. The greatest singers in the world have their "off" days and nights. In some European countries -- Italy in particular -- singers walk a razor's edge between bravos and boos.
That's one reason why I never worry too much about the "bad" reviews that appear in major daily newspapers. "Oh, that Don Giovanni had a terrible review," someone will tell me. But so what? Maybe the performance I hear will be better. Then I'll decide for myself. If I am personally interested in any of the singers, conductors, stage designers or other artists engaged in the production of an opera, their track record in my experience is more important to me than any review -- even the word-of-mouth review of a close friend.
Thanks to some negative publicity, many opera-goers expected the San Francisco Opera's new production of Don Giovanni to be a loser -- although all the women were rumored to be strong: Only the men, it was said, were not so hot. The night I attended (June 22), this prejudice appeared to remain (judging from conversations both participatory and overheard). The idea that Dmitri Hvorostovsky was somehow stiff and uninteresting in the leading role seemed to persist in everyone I talked to -- yet I found him to be a charming, even charismatic presence. Certainly the Siberian-born baritone can be dour of aspect when he wants to, but on this occasion he was engaging on every level. A handsome man, with his trademark silver mane blowing in the stage breezes, he was a fine physical embodiment of Mozart's hyper-sexed anti-hero, and he sang the whole role in an altogether seductive tone. So what if the misguided stage director decided to make Hvorostovsky imitate Douglas Fairbanks in a rope-swinging aerial exit at the end of Act One. It didn't "work" -- only because the timing of the stunt was off. But this miscalculation hardly detracted from a fine, gorgeously vocalized central performance. My one and only objection would be one of totally personal preference: I like a darker bass voice in this role.
The advance press about the ladies turned out to be more-or-less true; however, soprano Monica Colonna's handsome and dynamic Donna Anna shockingly veered of course vocally towards the end of the last act. Was it something in the air? Something she ate? Could she have sounded so bad when she got those initial rave reviews? Before the final curtain, she was singing well off pitch. On the other hand, popular diva Carol Vaness was up and beyond her usual standards as Donna Elvira. This is certainly one of the best roles in her repertoire.
And soprano Anna Netrebko, a current golden girl who can do no wrong with local audiences, proved to be an unusually beguiling Zerlina. She was also an unusually gutsy one, thanks in part to the inclusion of the rarely performed buffo duet in which she ties up Leporello and threatens him.
This Leporello was bit scruffier than most, and a lot more original in his comic shtick. Admittedly, some of it was wildly broad and didn't quite come off, but on the whole, baritone Alfonso Antoniozzi provided a relief from the run-of-the-mill interpretations of this role. Basso Stanislaw Schwets made a strong Masetto, both masculine and convincingly vulnerable. Meanwhile, tenor Gregory Turay was far from disgraceful as Don Ottavio, a famously thankless part that requires a crack lyric tenor to hang around all evening in order to sing two of the most difficult arias ever written. "Electronically enhanced" in his final appearance as the petrified Commendatore, Reinhard Hagen helped bring the opera to a memorable conclusion. When was the last time you've seen the chorus of demons come up from Hell and drag the Don down into the flames?
The Thierry Bosquet sets broke no new ground with their sliding panels and Palladian symmetries, but they were thankfully cheerful instead of gloomy. They succeeded admirably in their goal of striking a better-than-usual balance between the comic and tragic elements of the opera. The score itself was almost uncut -- with the neatly controlled orchestral proceedings overseen by Daniel Beckwith