AP Features, December 17th, 2007
History hovers nearby at the Lyric Opera of Chicago, where John Adams' ambitious but uneven work about the creation of the atom bomb is being staged just a few miles from the site of the world's first controlled nuclear chain reaction.
"Doctor Atomic," which had its local premiere Friday night, is a worthy successor to "Nixon in China" and Adams' other operatic treatments of touchstone historical events — but it's not a complete triumph. Exciting, deeply moving and intensely lyrical throughout its first act, the opera sputters in Act 2 as a series of prolonged, static scenes drain tension just as it should be building through the countdown toward the first test explosion.
But it would be a major mistake to understate what Adams and his librettist, Peter Sellars, have accomplished in bringing to life 1945's world-changing events in the New Mexico desert. They have succeeded in dramatizing the internal doubts and conflicts that beset the participants, principally J. Robert Oppenheimer, the guiding genius of the project, but also such real historical figures as Edward Teller, Gen. Leslie Groves, and Oppenheimer's wife, Kitty.
Sellars' libretto is adapted partly from original documents of the period — memoirs, scientific journals, government documents — and partly from poetry known to have special meaning to the characters. Thus the Oppenheimers' fondness for the French poet Charles Baudelaire inspires a passionate love scene; his admiration for John Donne gives rise to a haunting aria that closes Act 1, set to one of the English poet's sonnets, "Batter my heart, three-person'd God."
If Act 1 moves briskly toward the night of the countdown, Act 2 stalls there. Kitty and her Tewa Indian nursemaid, Pasqualita, keep watch at home 200 miles from the test site, while Oppenheimer and the others fret about the weather and the unfounded fear that the explosion might set fire to the atmosphere. Kitty drinks herself into oblivion singing verses by Muriel Rukeyser as Pasqualita croons a lullaby about the cloudflower that warns of the disruption of the natural order. But the women's scenes are needlessly drawn out and the symbolism becomes heavy-handed, slowing the forward momentum of the score.
Adams and Sellars have already revised the piece since its world premiere two years ago in San Francisco and again last summer in the Netherlands, so there's reason to hope it will emerge tighter and more dramatic when the Metropolitan Opera stages it next season. The Met's general manager, Peter Gelb, has ordered up a new production directed by Penny Woolcock, after finding that the current version doesn't do justice to the work.
One aspect that could scarcely be improved is the singing. Gerald Finley performs eloquently, perfectly capturing the intellect and spiritual torment of Oppenheimer. Richard Paul Fink matches Edward Teller's droll and sinister humor with vocal wit, with a couple of phrases that brush the bottom of the baritone's range. Eric Owens makes a surprisingly sympathetic figure as the blustery Gen. Leslie Groves, the military man in charge of the project who finds time to bemoan his dieting failures. (All three are repeating roles they sang at the premiere.) Soprano Jessica Rivera brings a silvery tone reminiscent of Dawn Upshaw to the role of Kitty; contralto Meredith Arwady displays impressive power as Pasqualita.
Robert Spano leads the orchestra in a stirring performance of the score, a rich and varied amalgam that incorporates electronic effects, majestic orchestral interludes, full-scale choruses and many quiet, conversational passages.
"Doctor Atomic" is a fitting project for the Lyric given Chicago's role in the history of the atom bomb. Three years before the first test explosion, a team of scientists led by Enrico Fermi had set off the first controlled, self-sustaining nuclear reaction underneath the stands of an old athletic field at the University of Chicago.
While "Doctor Atomic" continues into January, an operatic challenge of a very different kind is concluding its run. Sunday afternoon marked the penultimate performance of Richard Strauss' monumental "Die Frau ohne Schatten" ("The Woman Without a Shadow"). Set to a libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, it's a sprawling work filled with supernatural effects whose settings range from the spirit realm to the world of human toil and suffering.
The new production, by Scottish director Paul Curran, offers little of the spectacle and stage magic that the work invites, but does a reasonably effective job on its own stripped-down terms. Much of the action takes place on a bare, darkly lit stage with bits of scenery rolled in as needed. Characters sometimes appear from above — the singing Falcon lowered in a gilded cage, the Emperor descending from the flies riding a hobbyhorse. The main set is the house where Barak the dyer and his unhappy wife live, with a footbridge overhead. It comes and goes on a revolving turntable to speed the many scene changes.
The main attraction of this "Frau" is the extraordinary cast the Lyric has assembled, with not a weak link in any of the five major roles. Pride of place must go to Christine Brewer, whose stentorian soprano fills the house with thrilling sound as Barak's wife. It's an often thankless role for the first two acts, requiring harsh and discordant utterances that most sopranos cannot manage without turning strident. Brewer is a revelation because she actually sings the notes as written with no sign of forcing. Then, when she comes to the great lyrical duet with Barak in Act 3, the results are overpowering. It's Brewer's first outing in the role, and it's hard to think of a soprano singing today who could match her.
Deborah Voigt is no stranger to the role of the ethereal Empress, and the soprano brings to it her usual rhapsodic tone (though without the high note in her opening scene). Tenor Robert Dean Smith makes the cruel demands Strauss puts on the Emperor sound easy; as Barak, German baritone Franz Hawlata, the lone non-American among the principals, is always engaging if occasionally muffled; mezzo Jill Groves provides a virtuoso display of potent high notes and chilling low ones as the malevolent Nurse.
Sir Andrew Davis, the Lyric's music director, brings out a lovely chamber music sound from the orchestra, which serves the quieter interludes well. But in the climactic moments he fails to whip the orchestra into the kind of controlled frenzy Strauss intended.
