Struggling young artists as struggling young artists

La Bohème has perennially occupied a position among the most beloved operatic scores. Even audience members who aren't familiar with opera will recognize the conclusion of the first act, not to mention the so-called "waltz" of Act II; in a successful performance, the lyric style and the masterful orchestration singular to Puccini's expressionism can overwhelm even the most reluctant listener.

KATHERINE ALDRICH/YH The artist's life was never so...refined.

Yet when considered as a narrative work for the theater, a spectator's skepticism might be justified. Although it is a grand tragedy of the musical stage, there seems something oddly anti-tragic about the way in which the action is conveyed through a series of isolated atmospheric scenes rather than a fluid dramatic sequence. The opera frames two struggling artists, the poet Rodolfo and the painter Marcello, who share a garret in the Quartier Latin and typically find better use for their papers and canvases in the heating stove than at the street markets of Montmartre. Their paths diverge when Rodolfo discovers a new love for Mimi, the archetypical tuberculosis-ridden heroine of opera, and Marcello re-encounters Musetta, an old flame now lavishly attired and just plain rich because of her new husband Alcindoro. The theatrical impetus of any production must radiate from the vivid execution of these characters, true to the spirit of bohemian life in 1830 Paris. The opera is driven more by portraiture than by plot.

The tastefully unadorned staging at the Shubert Theater wisely focuses upon the lives of these artists and turns their struggle into its own self-consciously theatrical conceit. The sheer energy and commitment of the ensemble is fueled by the fact that the cast consists primarily of voice students from the School of Music and several undergraduates: all struggling young artists playing struggling young artists. La Bohème is Puccini's quintessential opera of youth, and Yale Opera presents a rare opportunity to see age-appropriate singers in the principal roles.

Stage director Joshua Major has sculpted each of the four acts with confidence, and the result is an exceptionally clear reading of the opera. Hardly a moment has been left without particular consideration, an attention to detail which becomes most apparent in ensemble scenes when even states of confusion and revelry seem fluid—at times almost illogically graceful. But moment to moment, the emotional gestures are sketched in agreement with the score, the tableaux appear well-balanced, and the characters seem distinctly wrought, down to each chorus member.

The technical design emphasizes human particulars rather than spectacle, and accordingly, the sets are stark yet spacious, almost abstract. Instead of realizing a garret in three dimensions, designer Boyd Ostroff of the Opera Company of Philadelphia provides only the essential structures and the outlines of a room. Icons from intellectual movements in the visual arts of nineteenth-century Paris (Impressionism generally, Toulouse-Lautrec, and lithography) hang freely in the empty space, rendering an otherwise indefinite artistic preoccupation. In this regard, the elements of the design that violate verisimilitude seem most closely aligned with the aesthetic perspective of the opera's principal characters—who are themselves self-consciously avant-garde, as suggested by the title. Additionally, William Warfel's cool lighting stabilizes this visual landscape and subtly changes mid-scene to emotionally respond to the score.

Under the baton of Anton Coppola, the music holds together admirably, though sometimes at the expense of variety. One feels confident that in spite of the ensemble's scope, the maestro will fight for unity of interpretation and a consistent downbeat, even if that means sacrificing the more subtle dynamic markings. The Yale Philharmonia proves capable, though from time to time a lack of balance among parts deceives the group as a collection of soloists.

For the most part, members of the cast offer solid performances. Noteworthy are Nicolai Janitzky, MUS '02, who brings out a low richness to the role of Marcello that is seldom heard; Stephanie Gregory, who integrates vocal precision with a sense of spontaneity essential to the volatile character Musetta; and Thomas Dickinson, MUS '00, and Steven Timoner, MUS '01, who achieve a rowdy atmosphere both vocally and dramatically as Schaunard and Colline. But there can be no question that Laura Whyte's, MUS '01, interpretation of Mimi stands apart for its sheer beauty, remarkable ease of execution, and stamina. Only Daniel Simetin, MUS '01, as Rodolfo seems overwhelmed by his role, perhaps due to recent illness, but he overcomes many of these difficulties through a committed performance.

The singers mentioned above will perform once again on Saturday. The performances on Friday and Sunday will feature an equally capable cast, starring: Mary Petro, MUS '00, (Mimi), Ryan MacPherson, MUS '00, (Rodolfo), Maksim Ivanov (Marcello), Rachel Watkins, MUS '01, (Musetta), and Kzysztof Kowalewski, MUS '01, (Colline).

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