French Fluff Fantastique

Comic opera may appear to be an oxymoron. Opera with a set that looks as though it detached itself from a Frank Gehry building may seem even more anachronistic. The New York City Opera's new adaptation of Emmanuel Chabrier's L'Etoile says otherwise.

L'Etoile, ("The Star") composed in 1877, is a hysterical, light tale of bumbling disguises, mistakes, and love at first sight. Classified as farcical opéra-bouffe, the work made Chabrier's career, highlighting his enchanting orchestrations, which the City Opera pit, conducted by George Manahan, joyfully replicates.

The tale seems complex on paper, yet is quite clear on stage. King Ouf (Robert Orth, baritone) meanders on stage in a round, rolling contraption that resembles a giant eye and operates like the "One-Ton Human Hamster Wheel" of "Double-Dare" fame. Donning an oversized gray-and-white striped coat and one of those three-in-one disguises--glasses, moustache, and oversized nose--he half whispers and half sings "C'est Moi, Le Roi," ("It's Me, The King") alerting the audience to his identity while attempting to hide the information from his subjects going about their business onstage. I could not imagine a better pick for Ouf than Orth, who manages to blend his strong voice and incredible comic timing with gestures that at one instant call to mind Nathan Lane while at others mimic Mike Myers as Dr. Evil.

King Ouf is seeking the sacrificial lamb for his yearly kingdom-wide celebration, the highlight of which is a public execution. The first man to criticize the king will find himself its star. This unfortunate soul turns out to be the young Lazuli (Jennifer Rivera, mezzo-soprano), a peddler who hawks women's beauty products (think Avon Lady à la bicyclette).

Since at least the 1940s, Lazuli has been sung by a woman, the reason for which is not entirely clear, though one can guess it adds to the opera's playfulness and mocking of more serious works. Rivera showcases her comic abilities and is especially in tune with Seàn Curran's creative choreography, which too often suffers from poor execution by the rest of the cast. However, Rivera's voice grows weak at the top and bottom of her range, which throws off her otherwise successful handling of solos like "Romance de l'Étoile" ("Star Romance").

Yet before Ouf encounters Lazuli, a nosy entourage from a neighboring kingdom arrives on the scene. Disguised as traveling salespeople from an "important department store," its members include the King's betrothed, Laoula (Lauren Skuce, soprano), Ambassador Hérisson de Porc-Épic--which translates into Hedgehog Porcupine--(William Ferguson, tenor), his wife Aloès (Kathryn Friest, mezzo-soprano), and secretary Tapioca (Don Frazure, tenor).

The quartet has an endearing entrance on matching scooters outfitted with umbrellas and baskets filled with their wares. All four skillfully manage their parts, the standouts being Ferguson and Friest with their husband-wife banter and rich voices.

The crux of the plot unfolds when all the characters collide. First, Laoula and Lazuli, in an amusing number "Il Faut Le Chatouiller" ("It's Necessary to Tickle Him") see each other and instantly fall in love. Despaired when Laoula leaves, Lazuli runs into the king who then attempts to impale the disrespectful Lazulion on the spot with the aid of "the chair"--which turns out to be a green plaid La-Z-Boy armchair à la Archie Bunker--except that when the footrest extends, a huge dagger rises from the seat (even Meathead would not be made to endure such a painful ending). Yet just as Lazuli is about to meet his bloody end, Siroco, the court astrologer (Kevin Burdette, bass), halts the action, claiming that the lives of King Ouf's and Lazuli are inextricably linked and that to kill Lazuli would usher in the death of Ouf.

Burdette is also blessed with comedic timing that he exhibits while playing on his character's fear that Ouf's death will usher in his own--the king's will stipulates that the astrologer should follow him to the grave. From here, the opera proceeds with a series of shenanigans that arise out of Ouf's attempts to keep Lazuli out of harm's way.

L'Etoile's greatest strength lies in its creative set and lighting design, by Andrew Lieberman and Robert Wierzel, respectively. The look is barebones-plus. The Gehry-esque mirrors and curves frame the stage, which is supplemented by the props already described and other amusing ones, such as an immensely oversized inflatable chair and a backdrop of hanging glittering streamers that in one scene sway back and forth as the characters grow increasingly inebriated. Wierzel's lighting design perfectly complements Lieberman's set. Hues that range from warm green to neon pink illuminate the stage in perfect harmony with the score's mood.

Constance Hoffman's costume designs are also exceedingly brilliant and bright, ranging from Ouf's outlandish getup to the oh-so-French department store cloaks, to the colorful crinolines of the can-can girls that entertain Lazuli in his luxurious prison. Along with the set designs, they create a visually stunning display.

This staging was co-produced with Glimmerglass Opera, and as such it reflects the strengths and flaws of the innovative Cooperstown-based company. The music of L'Étoile is delightful, but Glimmerglass's decision to translate many of the works into English hinders the production. It was apparent that the libretto was not fully synchronized with the music, as demonstrated by the performers' occasional slurring of the words. At least one verse of each of the most famous selections was sung in French, which underscored the difference between the two versions and left me craving an all-French production.

Despite this one distraction, the New York City Opera's L'Étoile oozes charm. Its delightful self-consciousness is apparent throughout, yet becomes incredibly clear in the final number, "Nous Voici Messieurs à la Fin" (no literal translation exists, but the essence is "Stay Seated Until the End"), the details of which I will not give away here. See for yourself: A viewing of L'Étoile is guaranteed to provoke a smile from even the most cynical of New Yorkers--or even Columbia students.

L'Étoile will be performed on Sunday, Nov. 2 at 1:30 p.m. and Thursday, Nov. 7 at 7:30 p.m. at the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center. Regular prices range from $30-$100, but student rush tickets cost $10 with a valid ID and are available at the box office the day of the performance. For more information, call the Student Rush Hotline at (212) 870-5630 or the general box office at (212)870-5570.