Long Beach Opera, ever daring, opened its 2013 season Sunday with the gloom and doom of Philip Glass’ 1988 “The Fall of the House of Usher,” in what was billed as its West Coast premiere. The venue seemed right for the retelling of Poe’s story: The Warner Grand Theatre in San Pedro is a partly restored but still dowdy 1930s movie palace, dimly lit inside and touched with the odor of a long dampness. Theatrical smoke wafted across the stage and out into the auditorium.
Gothic horror: Are we supposed to take it seriously? The company did. The nice press lady informed me as I was walking in that the production would be “Long Beach Opera at its edgiest.” Gulping (metaphorically), I had an idea what I was in for. Ah yes, simulated sex acts – man on man, sister on brother, a threesome, woeful writhing and tragic ecstasies, all somehow worse because everyone was more or less clothed. Edgy? You decide.
Somehow, seeing Poe’s vague, portentous and symbol-laden tale turned into flesh seemed ridiculous. Turning a piece of literature into a film, a play or an opera is always a tricky thing. The style of the thing is sacrificed for plot; the mood created by the manipulation and arrangement of words on a page – the poetry – must somehow be translated into concrete form. Long Beach Opera’s production tries to get it right, but it’s too unambiguous, too prosaic and not spooky at all.
Glass’ music doesn’t really help. It’s a softer-hued minimalism, bereft of the antic nervousness and energy of his earlier style. Arpeggios whir and stir, simple patterns in simple harmonies are created, rinse and repeat. His endless toggling from major to minor and back to major as if the switch holds some secret of the universe (Schubert did it better) becomes tiresome. The singing is most of the time rudimentary and anti-lyrical: One note for every syllable, stepwise, fitting squarely in the harmonic scheme. One advantage: You can understand every word.
The sets (by Alan E. Muraoka), the lighting (by David Jacques) and the direction (by Ken Cazan) were all effective, with a couple of notable miscues. The supernumeraries, who rolled the sets and props around, stayed on to watch the action and acted belligerently in it at times. They were dressed, in Mohawks and leather, as Goths. Get it? When Roderick Usher’s sister, Madeline, dies, Roderick and William have dinner atop her coffin. A bit much? I could have done without the sexual escapades as well; it takes one out of the story. But maybe that’s just me?
The cast was uniformly excellent: Lee Gregory as William (the narrator in Poe), Suzan Hanson as the mad Madeline Usher (she doesn’t use her words well, wailing all the time) and especially Ryan MacPherson as a richly voiced, bent and obsessed Roderick. He even played his own guitar. Nick Shelton and Jonathan Mack handled their small parts efficiently. Andreas Mitisek conducted the chamber orchestra with suppleness.
One admires what this company is doing, and tries to do, without invariably liking the results. But that’s what happens with experiments sometimes, and the often too-predictable world of opera could use a little more experimentation. The rest of the company’s season features operas by Gabriela Ortiz, Stewart Copeland (yes, of “The Police”), Michael Gordon and Ernest Bloch (his exceedingly rare “Macbeth”). You won’t find many companies, anywhere, offering seasons like that.
Contact the writer: 714-796-6811 or tmangan@ocregister.com
