近距离内射合集

Alessandro Talevi鈥檚 production of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky鈥檚 鈥淓ugene Onegin鈥� for the Santa Fe Opera comes very close to perfection.

Not only are all the singers superb, but their voices are more superbly matched than in any other SFO production so far this season or last. Some of the credit for that must go to chorus director Susanne Sheston. The singers鈥� voices also blend beautifully with the orchestra, which was conducted by Keri-Lynn Wilson the night I attended. (Robert Tweten will step in for two performances on Aug. 12 and 19.)

鈥淓ugene Onegin鈥� is based on Alexander Pushkin鈥檚 19th century book-length poem about a fashionable but terminally bored misanthrope, Eugene Onegin, who rejects the love of a virtuous woman, Tatyana Larina, kills his best friend in a duel 鈥� the poet Vladimir Lensky 鈥� and lives to regret both decisions.

Although the story is tragic, Pushkin鈥檚 narrator 鈥� a slightly older friend of Onegin鈥檚 鈥� recalls the events in a tone that vacillates between sympathy and sarcasm. It takes Onegin three hours to get dressed, the narrator tells us, which just shows he鈥檚 as vain as he is splenetic. Onegin, the narcissist, wants people to like him, despite not liking anyone else. He can鈥檛 even enjoy the narrator鈥檚 snarky comments about a party host鈥檚 outdated drawing room furniture, because he finds all drawing rooms equally boring. That鈥檚 the kind of guy he is.

When Tchaikovsky and Konstantin Shilovsky were putting their libretto together, they cribbed many lines of dialogue from Pushkin. But, sadly, they eliminated the narrator, thereby draining 鈥淥negin鈥� of much of its literary complexity and practically all of its humor. In Talevi鈥檚 reinterpretation, some of that complexity, and even a tiny bit of the humor, gets restored with the help of Athol Farmer鈥檚 choreography, Gary McCann鈥檚 set design and Rick Fisher鈥檚 lighting.

The same set is used for all three acts of the opera 鈥� a rather grand interior space with giltwood boiserie and extra-tall doors, but which also has trees in it. By lighting the trees, we move from indoors to out. By adding a bed, the drawing room becomes a bedroom. Other lighting changes take us from a countryside estate to a St. Petersburg palace. But because the basic set doesn鈥檛 change, even between acts, each new location holds the memories of all previous ones. Time and geography collapse, and it feels like we鈥檙e reliving past events in someone鈥檚 mind, as opposed to experiencing them in real time.

That鈥檚 exactly how the narrative is presented in Pushkin. The drama of Onegin鈥檚 life is filtered through the mind of a highly opinionated, intrusive narrator, who was only peripherally involved in the events he describes and who pieces the story together years later. McCann鈥檚 set becomes a theater of memories, dreamlike and surreal.

The surreality is enhanced by Farmer鈥檚 masked dancers, who appear in various fantastical costumes. During Tatyana鈥檚 all-night letter-writing scene in Act I, they enter through the window like pernicious hallucinations, reflecting Tatyana鈥檚 anxious, restless, sleep-deprived mental state. Consumed with passion for Onegin and dreaming herself a heroine from one of the romance novels she loves to read, Tatyana stays up all night writing him a love letter.

Her letter-writing aria is one of the most difficult in the standard operatic repertoire, and Olga Kulchynska sings it magnificently. Alone onstage for a full 15 minutes, she moves seamlessly through various emotional states, expressed through wide-ranging vocal dynamics. When the music crescendoes, Kulchynska鈥檚 voice soars easily over the lush orchestration.

After delivering her final lines a capella on a rainy opening night performance, an actual lightning bolt flashed in the sky behind the open-air stage, like a cosmic exclamation point to punctuate her breathtaking performance. The audience gasped in awe before erupting in loud cheers and shouts of 鈥渂rava.鈥�

The opera is called 鈥淓ugene Onegin,鈥� in tribute to the source material, but it should probably be called 鈥淭atyana Larina,鈥� since the emotional weight of the narrative rests on her. Tchaikovsky greatly expanded her role from what it was in Pushkin, making her into a true tragic heroine. Our antihero, Onegin, by contrast, acts like a selfish scumbag in both the book and the opera. Although the remorse he feels at the end is real, it doesn鈥檛 quite rise to the level of operatic tragedy, as Tatyana鈥檚 suffering does.

Lensky 鈥� the poet killed in the duel 鈥� is tragic, too, although in Pushkin鈥檚 telling he鈥檚 also a doe-eyed simpleton. Before he leaves for the duel with Onegin, Lensky writes some maudlin poetry about 鈥渓ovely maids鈥� crying over his urn, in a style the narrator calls 鈥渙bscure and stale鈥� (according to Henry Spalding鈥檚 1881 translation). Although he鈥檚 presented more sympathetically in the opera, Lensky remains an artless idealist. We in the audience are free to identify with him, judge him, or both, and this production allows for those differing responses.

Mattia Olivieri portrays an appropriately roguish Onegin, while bringing an emotional depth to the role that allows us to empathize with the otherwise rather unsympathetic character. Even if we鈥檝e never killed a best friend in a duel, most of us have done things we鈥檝e regretted, so we can understand his shame and psychological turmoil, at least when Olivieri delivers those emotions with unparalleled vocal luminosity. Iv谩n Ay贸n-Rivas and Lindsay Ammann are both outstanding as Lensky and Olga, respectively. And Susan Graham 鈥� a singer from Roswell who debuted at SFO in 1989 鈥� has a voice of incredible depth and richness that brings both authority and tenderness to the role of Madame Larina.

What excited me most about this production was the sustained contrast between the singers鈥� raw emotions and the distancing effects Talevi introduces through the lighting and choreography. We can enter each character鈥檚 inner landscape of emotions through their arias, but when the music shifts and the lighting changes, we can pull back and consider their thoughts and actions analytically.

Farmer鈥檚 masked dancers return multiple times over the course of the opera. Each time, their movements take on an increasingly sarcastic character. In Act III, they come back in big poofy dresses and skull masks to do a silly-looking 茅cossaise, a dance that sits somewhere between children鈥檚 television show choreography and the Macarena. Coming as it does after some very emotional singing, their dance appears to mock the characters鈥� emotionality.

This push-pull of empathetic identification and distancing mirrors the complexity of Pushkin鈥檚 narrative voice. 鈥淥h, many a year hath run its course since I beheld Eugene and young Tatyana in a misty dream,鈥� Pushkin鈥檚 narrator says. That voice of misty memory is absent from Tchaikovsky鈥檚 opera, but Talevi is still able to conjure it through his dreamlike staging.

The biggest tragedy in 鈥淓ugene Onegin鈥� is probably not the heartbreak, the duel or Onegin鈥檚 remorse but the societal malaise in which these characters swim 鈥� 鈥渢he awful emptiness of conversation, thought and aims in that morass where you and I wallow,鈥� as Pushkin鈥檚 narrator puts it. Their individual tales of woe are mere symptoms of a decadent aristocracy in terminal decline.

Talevi鈥檚 鈥淓ugene Onegin鈥� may not be the most accessible production for folks who have never attended an opera before. So, if you鈥檙e new, I would recommend either 鈥淭he Magic Flute鈥� 鈥� a whimsical spectacle, presented in English this year 鈥� or 鈥淢adama Butterfly鈥� 鈥� an elegantly staged opera with a simple story and strong emotions. 鈥淥negin鈥� is more literary, so it does demand more from the audience, but it also has more to give. Its exploration of the psychology of guilt is among the most sophisticated I鈥檝e experienced in any art form, and Talevi鈥檚 staging of the opera as a surreal memoryscape is absolutely brilliant.

Logan Royce Beitmen is an arts writer for the 近距离内射合集. He covers visual art, music, fashion, theater and more. Reach him at lbeitmen@abqjournal.com or on Instagram at .