By Robert Croan
For her first production as general director and CEO of Florida Grand Opera, Maria Todaro came up with an original, innovative concept of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) by Jeffrey Marc Buchman, in which the protagonists were present-day teenagers playing immersive fantasy role-playing board games — something like Dungeons and Dragons, according to the director.
Sounds like a risky proposition, but it was remarkably successful — a most auspicious start to Todaro’s tenure. None of the updating interfered with Mozart’s glorious score, nor with the work’s essential message, and the young cast enacted their reconstructed protagonists with obvious relish and a sense of fun.
This all involved stunning high-tech visuals, brilliantly accomplished by Stephan Moravski’s laser-assisted scenic designs, Robert Wierzel’s lighting, and Greg Emetaz’s video work. Additional credit goes to Camilla Haith’s colorful costumes, Brittany Rappise’s wigs and make-up and Rosa Mercedes’ choreography.
Unlike Mozart’s Italian operas, The Magic Flute was a German Singspiel (think of an off-Broadway musical, the songs interspersed with spoken dialogue) composed for a small Viennese theater in 1791. The impresario, Emanuel Schikaneder, was a comedian who performed the comic role of the bird-catcher Papageno, who gets the most time on stage and the most audience-catching lines. FGO’s production made the currently popular compromise of German for the musical numbers, with the dialogue in English (all with supertitles in English and Spanish), which I find jarring. Why not do the whole opera in English? Mozart himself often adjusted his works to the language of his audience.
The Magic Flute is no ordinary Singspiel, however. Mozart and Schikaneder mingled their low-end comedy with serious socio-political elements, pitting the ancient Middle Eastern philosophy of Zoroaster (Sarastro in the opera) against what would now be called pop culture. Papageno sings simple strophic songs, while the prince Tamino and the princess Pamina express themselves in operatic grandeur. Even more elaborate are the rage-filled outbursts of Pamina’s evil mother, the Queen of the Night, and the noble dicta of the high priest Sarastro, whose arias George Bernard Shaw described as “the only music which might be put into the mouth of God without blasphemy.”
It was in fact Sarastro and the Queen of the Night who provided the best singing of the evening. Each is a rising artist exemplary of a rare vocal type. Andrew W. Potter, who at 6 feet, 10 inches, can dominate the stage with his voice as well as his presence, is an authentic basso profundo. His huge sound is round and reverberant; his range is even from the top of the gamut down to an amazing low C. His phrasing was more straightforward than sculptured, but with a voice and persona like his it’s reasonable to predict that this will come with time and maturity.
Cuban-American Laura León is that rare bird demanded by the role of Queen of the Night: a dramatic coloratura. With a solid mid-range that blossoms to plushness in the higher octaves, spot-on accurate roulades, glittering staccato, and robust pitch-perfect high Fs that she nailed every time, this remarkable vocalist elicited bravos and virtually stopped the show after her iconic second act rage aria.
And, speaking of birds, Alex DeSocio’s birdman Papageno dominated the stage whenever he was on. His vibrant baritone projected the words in both song and speech, his comedic flair and affable disposition made him an audience favorite from his tuneful entrance song to his final bow.
Ricardo Garcia’s light tenor was strained by Tamino’s music. He delivered his early-on portrait aria appealingly, but had to fake the high A of his flute narration in the first act finale, then faded for much of the second act. He was convincing, however, in the staging’s required transition from teenager to storybook hero and back again. The clear- and light-voiced Sara Kennedy is a very likable figure on stage, who did nicely with the intricate turns and brief staccatos of her single solo, “Ach, ich fühl’s,” without fully capturing that exquisite moment’s emotional impact.
Among the large cast, which included numerous well-prepared children as singers and dancers, the ever-reliable Neil Nelson proclaimed the Speaker’s lines with resonance and clarity of the German text. Tenor David Margulis successfully re-created the Moor Monostatos in a staging that avoided the racism of the 18th-century original. Sydney Dardis was a delightful, sexy Papagena. Excellent ensemble work — vocally and histrionically was provided by the Three Ladies (Avery Boettcher, Mary Burke Barber, Monique Galvao) and the Two Priests (James A. Mancuso, Andrew Payne).
The orchestral element, under Christine Brandes (formerly known as an accomplished Mozart soprano) was uneven. The overture was not without some smudges; attacks and cutoffs ranged from precise to variable. Often the conductor gave her soloists on stage appropriate leeway in stretching or tightening a phrase, while at other times her phrasing of important lines was lackluster and perfunctory.