Rameau's Hippolyte

It required Kirby's Flying Circus (London), a Godzilla-ish sea monster, smoke generators, a wave-making machine, a mobile cloud-carriage and an expert ballet troupe--but the Boston Opera's unfathomable Sarah Caldwell managed to elevate Jean-Phillipe Rameau's mediocre first opera, Hippolyte et Aricie (1733), in its American premiere, to a delightful rococo Juliet of the Spirits.

Musicologists traditionally have chastized the French for stultifying their music-dramas with interminable ballets and stage spectacles. Few admit, however, that such practices first flourished in an era (Lully's) when musical expression was pictorial (in the broadest sense) rather than truly dramatic, and thus more suited to the accompaniment of dance than the lofty depiction of experience. Hippolyte abounds with charming gavottes and minuets, airily scored (Rameau was one of the few Baroque composers to treat every instrument independently). But the critical theatrical moments--Thesee's confrontation of Hippolyte and Phedre, Neptune's grant of clemency to Thesee, the reuniting of Hippolyte and Aricie--Rameau hardly conveys with any distinctive power.

Yet one cannot deny the quality of Hippolyte's inspired, innovative sections: the Trio for the Fates in the Hades scene, "Quelle soudaine horreur," with its macabre, Gesualdo-like modulations (superbly sung in the production); Phedre's pathetic scena, "Cruella mere des amours": the Act IV Hippolyte-Aricie duet, "Ah! fautil e un jour," with its revealing major-minor key shifts, and Aricie's closing "Nightingale Aria," one of the first soprano vs. flute bel canto trials.

Of course, one particular scene will bring down any house: The hunters and huntresses, after carousing about in a seaside forest and D major for twenty minutes ("A la chasse, a la chasse!") become upset over an ominous tremolo in the strings; the lights go out, the wave machine starts up, and to cries of "Quel bruit! Quelle flamme I'environe!", Neptune's pet sea-dragon emerges in a cloud of smoke. Hippolyte conveniently rushes in, is promptly swallowed (whole), and the scene ends with the chorus solemnly incanting, "O disgrace cruelle ... Hippolyte n'est plus." (Needless to say, the libretcist took his liberties with Rachine's Phedre; Paristans must have been pleased to find the evil Queen disappearing painlessly, and the goddess Diana bringing Hippolyte back to each, in her mechanical cloud, in the last act.)

The "name" singer, if any, in Miss Caldwell's production was Mexican operetta star Placido Domingo, who sang the title role of Ginastera's Don Rodrigo with the New York City Opera this season. As Hippolyte, his lyric tenor projected warmly and well controlled, with little hollowness or break between registers. Unfortunately, he is no Bergonzi; Domingo's sound is marked by continual tightness and lack of real ring. Perhaps his singing on unfamiliar French vowels was part of the problem. His acting usually remained typically tenoristic; that is, non-existent. But Domingo's forthcoming reappearance (opposite Renata Tebaldi in the new Boheme) should provide a fairer indication of his talents, as he undertakes a truly substantial role in a congenial language.

Beverly Sills (Aricie) contributed her usual competent performance, handling the scattered ornaments (such as the arpeggios in the Act I finale) with total assurance. Sills keeps her voice rather supple and unfocused, resulting in dazzling, blended trills, but also a general blurring of the vocal line. Thus she is far more impressive in pure coloratura than in Rameau's customary cantabile style.

The most convincing characterization was Jeanine Crader's Phedre, really the only role of any dimension. Though a small-voiced mezzo, she turned on her contralto chest tones when the occasion demanded, bravely sacrificing tonal purity for dramatic effect. The Thesee of baritone George Fouree was excessively forced, with no top notes; probably he was preoccupied with flailing the devils sailing over his head. Boris Carmeli (Pluton), Carol Bogard (Diana) and Norman Kelly (Tsiphone) were all effective in their smaller parts.

With an intimate score only partially realized, the opera's impact, while considerable, remained more visual than musical. The production featured not only mechanical gimmicks, acrobats on wires, and lavish costumes, but a well-disciplined ballet company led by Niels Kehlett (of the Royal Danish Ballet) whose executions reflected both great strength and refinement.

Osbourne McConathy, a Boston Symphony hornist, is as fine a conductor as the Boston Opera has had: his study of Baroque conventions was entirely evident in ornaments, phrasing, and tempi. His direction in the second performance gained in animation and sensitivity --improvements not totally shared by the singers. The cuts were extensive (the prologue and a half dozen scenes) but no doubt carefully chosen. It is a shame that a production as rare and as entertaining as this one, whatever its shortcomings, must perish after two evenings. Hopefully there is some basis to the rumor that Miss Caldwell may take her amazing Hippolyte to New York.