Arts & Events

John Corigliano’s The Ghosts of Versailles was first given at New York’s Metro-politan Opera back in 1991; but aside from a Chicago Lyric Opera production two decades ago, it has henceforth been presented only in scaled-down versions at various music festivals. On Saturday, February 7, 2015, Los Angeles Opera opened an extravagant, full-scale production in Dorothy Chandler Pavilion of The Ghosts of Versailles, which received its West Coast premiere. This work was dubbed by composer Corigliano as a “grand opera buffa.” Grand it certainly is – and expensive to produce -- sporting a huge cast, an enormous orchestra, lavish sets, an opera-within-an-opera, and a wild Turkish embassy scene with a mock elephant.  

Loosely based on Beaumarchais’ play La mère coupable (The Guilty Mother), the third of his Figaro trilogy, Ghosts picks up the familiar Beaumarchais characters – Figaro, the Count and Countess Almaviva, Susanna, et al --where The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro left off. Only here, in Corigliano’s opera set to William M. Hoffman’s libretto, the characters are all dead, some having perished in the French Revolution; and it is only their ghosts who appear. Moreover, Beaumarchais himself appears, enamored of the guillotined Marie Antoinette, whom he promises to restore to life. Beaumarchais, sung by baritone Christopher Maltman, and Marie Antoinette (aka Antonia), sung by soprano Patricia Racette, are the principal singing roles in Corigliano’s Ghosts. Maltman and Racette are on-stage almost throughout the entire work, and on the opening night performance I attended they sang beautifully.  

As the opera begins, a modernist musical style introduces “ghost music” comprised of avant-garde clusters and microtones. Musically, however, Ghosts quickly transitions into pastiches of classical and romantic styles, with hints of Mozart here, hints of Richard Strauss there, and a patter aria for Figaro, performed by baritone Lucas Meachem, which, sung in rapid-fire English, seems to be Rossini-meets-Gilbert-and-Sullivan. During this aria, an aerialist flies across the stage. Why he does so is not clear. It seems to be gratuitous spectacle for its own sake. 

Beaumarchais seeks to cheer up Marie Antoinette, so he stages an opera-within-an-opera for her amusement. He reveals what the Almavivas have been doing since The Marriage of Figaro. The countess, Rosina, sung by soprano Guanqun Yu, had an affair with Cherubino, sung here by mezzo-soprano Renée Rapier, that produced a son, Léon; and the count, sung by tenor Joshua Guerrero, had a liaison that produced a daughter, Florestine. Now these illegitimate children have grown-up and fallen in love with each other and seek to marry. The Count opposes this marriage, while the Countess supports it.  

A sub-plot in this opera-within-an-opera involves a villainous character, Bégearss, sung by tenor Robert Brubaker, who hopes to steal the queen’s necklace from Count Almaviva, who for his part seeks to buy Marie Antoinette’s freedom by selling her necklace to the English ambassador. (How this might save the queen’s life is never made clear, however.) Bégearss also hopes to steal Florestine from Léon and marry her himself. Rosina begs her husband the Count to permit their children to marry, but the Count refuses.  

Left alone, Rosina weeps as she conjures up a vision of the beginning of her past affair with the young page Cherubino. Watching this scene, Beaumarchais and Marie Antoinette are moved by the ardent wooing of Cherubino, sung by mezzo-soprano Renée Rapier, and Rosina, sung by soprano Guanqun Yu, whom they join in singing a beautiful quartet. As the quartet ends, Beaumarchais and Marie Antioin-ette almost kiss; but they are interrupted by a furiously jealous Louis XVI, sung by bass Kristinn Sigmundsson, who challenges Beaumarchais to a duel. As the two men fight, the king runs Beaumarchais through; but the playwright merely laughs and reminds the king they are dead already, so what’s the point of a duel?  

The final scene of Act I takes place at the Turkish embassy in Paris, where the entertainment is provided by a famous Turkish singer, Samira, and a troupe of dancing girls. Samira, played by mezzo-soprano Patti LuPone of Broadway fame, arrives riding a mock elephant and proceeds to wow the audience with Corigliano’s send-up of Turkish music, complete with exotic percussive rhythms. Meanwhile, Figaro, dressed in drag as a dancing girl and flaunting his enormous falsies, swipes the queen’s necklace from Almaviva and quickly escapes by leaping off a balcony. It all gets pretty wild; and a Teutonic Walkyrie suddenly appears with sword, shield and helmet, and declares loudly: “This isn’t opera. Wagner is opera!” Thus ends Act I of The Ghosts of Versailles. 

At intermission I walked out into the lobby shaking my head in consternation. It was all a bit much, I thought. Musically, Act I was all over the place. Ably conducted by James Conlon, the modernist microtones of the opening “ghost music” soon gave way to pastiches of Mozart, Richard Strauss, and Rossini; and Act I ended with a wildly entertaining pastiche of Turkish music. Likewise, the stage direction of Darko Tresnjak kept everything moving. But did it all hang together? I wasn’t sure. Dramatically, the plot seemed convoluted; and there was a tendency to rely on verbal jokes to create a sense of whimsy, as when one courtier at Versailles complains, “Another night at the opera. I’m so bored.” To which another courtier adds, “bored as an egg.” To which a third courtier says, “bored as a potato.” We in the audience laughed; but it struck me that we were laughing at the absence of good opera in the work being presented to us. I found myself wondering if ironic self-deprecation was any valid substitute for the fine music we expect of opera. 

As Act II begins, Beaumarchais vows to change history; but Figaro, sung by baritone Lucas Meachem, stymies Beaumarchais by refusing to return the queen’s necklace. The queen, says Figaro in an act of revolutionary fervor, is not worth saving; he will strive instead to save the Almavivas from the treachery of Bégearss. Rosina and Susanna sing a lovely duet in which they commiserate about their husbands. In this duet, the soaring soprano of Guanqun Yu as Rosina blended beautifully with the lilting mezzo-soprano of Lucy Schaufer as Susanna.  

Seeking to persuade Figaro of the queen’s innocence, Beaumarchais conjures up her trial, with Beaumarchais playing the part of the Revolution’s sinister public prosecutor. The injustice of the trial persuades Figaro, who promises to return her necklace. Meanwhile, Count Almaviva hosts an aristocratic ball at which young Léon, sung by ténor Brenton Ryan, and Florestine, sung by soprano Stacey Tappan, flirt and hopefully anticipate their marriage. The villain Bégearss suddenly bursts into the ballroom with a revolutionary mob and demands the necklace in the name of the Rev-olution. Figaro reluctantly hands over the necklace under threat; but he escapes before Bégearss can arrest him along with all the others at Count Almaviva’s ball. 

In prison, the Almavivas await execution; and the Count begs his family’s forgiveness. The queen, in a nearby cell, asks God to forgive those who have harmed her. Figaro and Beaumarchais enter, disguised as executioners. With the help of the feminine wiles of Rosina, Susanna, and Florestine, they obtain the keys to their cell from the guard. The Almavivas escape; but just as Beaumarchais is about to unlock the door to Marie Antoinette’s cell, the spectral queen stops him, saying she does not want to change history. Realising she loves Beaumarchais, she does not want to lose him by returning to life while he remains dead. She thus prefers to go to her death as history has recorded it. She is led to the guillotine and beheaded. The adoring Beaumarchais places the necklace below the head of the decapitated Marie Antoinette, as the Almavivas, their children, Susanna and Figaro fly off to the New World in a balloon. 

It’s a madcap story, for sure. But is it great – or even good – opera? The critic for the Los Angeles Times, Richard S. Ginell, thinks The Ghosts of Versailles is not only great but will prove to be an immortal work worthy of the opera pantheon. Let’s just say that, for my part, I have my doubts, and leave it at that.