Rare Rossini Gem Triumphs at City Opera

The next time you hear celebrity obsession mentioned as a sign of the decline of popular culture, remind the speaker that envious voyeurism goes back to Homer, and probably farther than that. We've always looked at the wealthy and powerful as gods in the flesh, but we've always simultaneously delighted in proof that their flesh is as weak as ours.

Gioacchino Rossini's Ermione may not quite reach the level of tabloid-worthy shock of the Michael Jackson trial or the David Gest-Liza Minnelli divorce, but for early 19th century opera it comes pretty close to an episode of E! True Hollywood Story. The stock characters are all there: the power-hungry political leader, his feisty fiancée, the woman unwillingly pulled into a love triangle, and the sinister forces lurking in the wings waiting to destroy them all.

But the setting, Greece immediately after the Trojan War, calls for a little more theatrics than usual. After 10 years of fighting Troy, King Pirro (Gregory Kunde, in his City Opera debut) has returned home to start a dynasty. Unfortunately, he has fallen in love with Andromaca (Ursula Ferri), the widow of Trojan hero Hector, and ignores his fiancée Ermione (Alexandrina Pendatchanska). Andromaca tries to reject Pirro's advances, but the king holds her young son Astianatte hostage until she acquiesces to his proposal. Deprived of her position, the desperate Ermione looks to exact revenge on Pirro with the help of her own suitor--Orestes (Barry Banks), son of Achilles.

The resulting crimes, and Ermione's remorse, end the opera.

The story's not that far from most operatic plots, or plots in general: librettist Andrea Leone Tottola's rewrite of Jean Racine's rewrite of Euripides' Andromache. But Ermione was not performed for 163 years after its opening night in 1819, and receives its New York debut with this production. Overshadowed by his comic works Il Barbiere di Siviglia and L'Italiana in Algeri, Rossini's Ermione has remained on the sidelines for decades. But as this New York City Opera production demonstrates, obscurity is no proof of mediocrity.

A stirring overture opens the opera, sung by a chorus of Trojan prisoners. "Troy, how great you once were--what remains of you now? How your ancient splendor has vanished," they lament. The last evidence of Trojan splendor is Andromaca. Ferri brings a solid dignity to the role, retaining the self-possession of a queen even as she grovels to save her son's life. While her technical abilities seemed incomplete in moments of great emotion, her performance was stirring and heartfelt. Kunde's Pirro occasionally sounded similarly limited, but he too conveyed the majesty and raw power of the ruthless king.

But it was the dazzling soprano Pendatchanska who dominated the production. Jealous and fiery--"Tear his deceitful heart to pieces, Furies!" she shrieks at one point--her Ermione was riveting. Pendatchanska's rich, versatile voice gave her arias emotional depth whether delivered with broken resignation or with barely concealed rage. Dressed in Peter J. Hall's brilliantly colored costumes, she angrily stalks across the stage, looking almost like a perfectly choreographed Isadora Duncan routine as voluminous moires and satins swirl about her.

Aside from the deliciously elaborate costumes, this production is one of the powerfully minimalist stagings that City Opera does so well. Designer John Conklin's set is bare: a few small gold tables are brought out occasionally, but usually the dark walls and dramatic murals of the sky are left to stand on their own. (Lighting designer Duane Schuler deserves much credit for dramatically transforming those murals from serene to stormy with swift and almost unnoticeable transitions.) The only flaw is Conklin's bizarre choice to hang massive trompe l'oeil sculptural fragments over the stage; they move up and down and even disappear with no clear rationale and detract from the action on stage.

Besides the small distraction of those fragments, the minimalist set provides the perfect backdrop for the production. It allows the emotions and grandeur of the music and story affect the audience on their own.