'ORFEO' TOO HARSH TO CHARM IN L.A.

Byline: David Mermelstein Correspondent

CHRISTOPH Willibald Gluck knew a good wellspring. His ``Orfeo ed Euridice'' written in 1762 sprang from the same source, the Greek legend, that had produced the first extant opera, Jacopo Peri's ``Euridice,'' and the first great one, Monteverdi's ``Orfeo,'' about 150 years earlier. But though revolutionary at its premiere, Gluck's ``Orfeo'' has become a problematic work in our day. It is difficult to stage effectively, as was obvious when the Los Angeles Opera opened a new production of it Saturday night.

Despite the opera's three acts and three characters, Orfeo singularly dominates the work. Euridice doesn't even appear until the end of Act 2. And Amor, the god of love, shows up only fleetingly. There are the members of the chorus, of course, who serve an important function as the Underworld's furies and blessed spirits. But the opera's success hinges on its Orfeo. It's no coincidence that such great singers as Kathleen Ferrier and Janet Baker helped secure their reputations by making Orfeo their own.

The Alaskan-born mezzo-soprano Vivica Genaux, extolled as a major operatic talent specializing in trouser roles, might also like to make Orfeo her own, though her specialty thus far has been music by Handel. Yet anyone who heard her in Handel's ``Ariodante'' at San Diego Opera two seasons ago knows she can produce harsh and ugly tones. Those unattractive sounds also mar her Orfeo, a role she assumed for the first time in her company debut with L.A. Opera. But the problems aren't only restricted to her timbre. Genaux's stage manner is awkward and brusque. In Orfeo's great lament, ``Che faro senza Euridice,'' Genaux races through the music as if she were late for a dinner date. Perhaps her approach represents a lame attempt at masculinity, but are audiences really expected to believe this cloddish Orfeo capable of charming the forces of Hades into relinquishing a beauty like Euridice?

And speaking of those charms, Orfeo is supposed to plead his case through music, his virtuosity on the lyre so compelling as to melt all opposition to his outlandish request. Yet Genaux carries no harp or any other instrument with her. She merely declaims Gluck's elegant lines crudely. That is, of course, when one can hear her, for she is too often covered by the small pit orchestra led by Baroque music specialist Hartmut Haenchen.

No such problems attend Spanish soprano Maria Bayo, though. Her voice is much bigger than Genaux's and more than half again as pleasant to listen to. L.A. Opera regulars will recall Bayo's spunky, sweet-voiced Susanna from the company's last staging of ``The Marriage of Figaro.'' Here her part is considerably smaller, yet she etches an impassioned Euridice that one is unlikely to forget.

As Amor, soprano Carmen Giannattasio descends from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion's rafters in true deus-ex-machina fashion, at first to encourage Orfeo in his quest and later to prevent his suicide. Looking for all the world like the Columbia Lady sitting atop the Universal Pictures globe, Giannattasio proves game and sings charmingly.

Director Lucinda Childs, best-known as a choreographer, has evident talents, but they get sabotaged by her corresponding lack of imagination. Childs favors simplicity, which is commendable until it turns to dullness. Her tableaux are stark and static in the manner of Bill Viola's video art. And with the help of Alan Burrett's subtle lighting and Tobias Hoheisel's smart, spiffy costumes, she can stage scenes of great beauty. But Childs, whose specialty is movement, seems unable to muster energy on the stage, even when she has Hades' furies and real flames to work with.

ORFEO ED EURIDICE - Two stars

Where: Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles.

When: 7:30 tonight and Dec. 10, 13 and 19; 2 p.m. Saturday and Dec. 21.

Tickets: $25 to $170. [phone], www.losangelesopera.com.

In a nutshell: Gluck's glorious score deserves better than a dud debut by mezzo Vivica Genaux and Lucinda Childs' uneven direction.