The second show of the Merola program, Il Matrimonio Segreto, opened last night at the Cowell Theater in Fort Mason. Just to recap: the Merola program was funded in 1957 by Kurt Adler and James Schwabacher to offer a training program to young singers, with real staged performances, and a Gala in the War Memorial Opera House as a conclusion. We actually were a bit surprised that Schwabacher was not eulogized at this first Merola performance since he passed away last week (the SF Opera did request a moment of silence in his memory last Sunday's beautiful performance at Stern Grove).

We saw James Schwabacher once, at his debut recital series, which he endowed in perpetuity, and where he introduced the singers. He was 86 yo, but still had the quick wit of a much younger man, cracking jokes about the announcement he had to make (basically, move that BMW blocking a driveway) and playfully offering to sing a duet with another MC. Obviously, he was still having a blast listening to new singers, and helping them with their careers. We wish we too can find a passion with such a fire that it will still be with us when we turn 86.

Picture by Kristen Loken, courtesy of SF Opera, with from left to right, Caryn Marlowe, Andriana Chuchman, Jessica Vanderhoof, Daniel Billings, Kyle Albertson, and David Portillo.

We were not too passionate about Il Matrimonio Segreto. First, we got very cranky during the first Act due to an insistent and annoying chirping sound behind us. We tried to imagine it was the seagulls on the roof of the Cowell Theater, a splendid space on a pier extending over the bay. We tried to convince ourselves it was summery crickets, or a frog pond. But it was some kind of electronic device, beeping with metronomic regularity, and we were ready to strangle whoever was emitting that noise pollution. Luckily, the cause of the noise had the good grace of not returning during Act II. Still, it put us in a sour mood, so forgive us if we are not as generous as we should.

Then, we got annoyed by the 1930's staging. Ok, we'd kill to have that 1929 Le Corbusier/Perriand black leather couch and matching armchairs which anchored the set. Also, unlike some SF Opera people who want a return to glamour and tradition, we don't have anything a priori against modernizing period pieces, if the new historical setting brings something to the story. Setting Cosi Fan Tutte at the eve of WWI: fine with us. But here, we don't see the benefit of anachronism. Au contraire, we lose an important social subtext, the relationship between the noblemen and the bourgeois.

Il Matrimonio Segreto is an Opera Buffa, a light comedy. As comedy is not taken as seriously, it was also a way to push forward a serious message without receiving the ire of the authority (the first representation happened for the court of Vienna, and the Emperor liked it so much he ordered a second performance for the same day). Think if you will of the Marriage of Figaro (Mozart's opera was written five years before), with a Count preying on the wife of someone of lower condition. Here Carolina is not a servant, but the daughter of a rich bourgeois, who has secretly married Paolino, her father's secretary. Of course, after many twists, Paolino and Carolina end up happily together, and the Count has to marry Carolina's sister, Elisetta, something he wowed earlier he would rather die than do. We find this pretty subversive, only two years after a French Revolution. After all, the composer, Domenica Cimarosa later went to prison due to his embrace of the republican ideals.

All this to say: take this opera, put it in the Corbusier "grand confort" living room, and you have killed the underlying social hierarchy and put up a shallow farce. The Count is not asserting is nobility prerogative anymore, he is just a lecherous tool dressed as a pimp. Obviously, this was an artistic choice, as the stage direction too embraced silly slapstick, and over-acting from the School of Jack Nicholson. There must be some warm-up exercises to roll eyes so much without straining a muscle. The direction chose to ignore the text, which got some unintentionally hilarious moment: Carolina, a glamorous Jean Harlow-looking Goddess, wearing a diamond studded scintillating silk dress, sings she's a "simple little girl." Imagine not chuckling if Paris Hilton was saying the same thing. Or imagine Paolino telling Carolina "presto avra fin la pena" (this sadness will soon be over) while playing tennis. Ooops, that backhand went wide, must be the tears in your eyes.

The cast thus faces an uphill battle, with a stale direction which has them pour glasses after glasses from the same bourbon decanter. Had they gone back to it one more time, we'd be asking for a stiff dose to tide us over, no ice, thank you. Three characters come out of it unscathed. Bass Kyle Albertson was a genial Geronimo, with a mellifluous voice. Baritone Daniel Billings' acting was over over the top, but his arias came out with clarity and assurance. And Andriana Chuchman, who is stunningly beautiful, showed flashes of brilliance. She lacked a bit of control in the trebles, her voice on the verge of shrieking rather than singing, but once she puts a bit of honey in her tea, she could be a perfect Susanna.

Steve Osgood conducted with a firm hand, pushing and pulling some of the singers a bit roughly for their ability, but getting a rich, textured sound from the small thirty piece ensemble.