Review: DIE FLEDERMAUS at Opera Theatre Of St. Louis

For nearly half a century the Opera Theatre of St. Louis has been bringing quite glorious opera to our fair city.  It just opened its semicentennial season with a brilliant and lively production of Die Fledermaus, by Johann Strauss (ii). 

Saturday was opening night—and it was a sublimely beautiful evening for enjoying a glass of wine and perhaps a gourmet picnic on the beautiful grounds of the Loretta Hilton Theatre before the show.  The day’s Maxfield Parrish clouds were fading into a sweet cool gloaming, and the large crowd of opera-lovers were softly, excitedly chatting like trees full of cicadas.

Die Fledermaus!  As always Opera Theatre sings in English, but the title stayed in German because—well, that title is so familiar and so beloved.

The Strauss family of Vienna was heavily laden with composers.  Johann II (our Johann) was “the Waltz King”.  (Johann I was his father, Johann III his cousin.  And they are no relation to Richard Strauss, who wrote Salome.)  Johann II goes down in history as the one composer who made more money with his works than any other (except George Gershwin).  He got into writing operettas late in his career.  Fledermaus (1874) is by far his most popular work.

This production, under the stage direction of Shawna Lucey, is transposed from the Austrian Empire under Franz Josef to New York City, 1959.  Now I, as a card-carrying curmudgeon, might expect my gorge to rise at such a presumption.  But whaddya know?  It works!!

This was, all in all, the funniest, most entertaining evening I’ve ever spent at OTSL.

Die Fledermaus (The Bat) is a melodramatic sex farce.  It tells of a revengeful practical joke by one good friend on another.   The central characters are Gabriel von Eisenstein and his wife Rosalinde.  Two years ago, after a drunken masquerade party, Eisenstein had abandoned his friend Dr. Falke who was  passed out on the subway (wearing a bat costume).  Now, two years later, Falke arranges a superbly embarrassing revenge on Eisenstein.  (The sub-title of the operetta is Revenge of the Bat.)  Falke obtains invitations to a lavish gala being held by Prince Orlofsky, an almost infinitely rich Russian.  Falke plans to let Rosalinde (in disguise) observe the mischievous behavior of her husband.

Fledermaus has a rather lengthy overture.  It flourishes most of the melodies we will find later in the evening.  Maestro George Manahan raises his baton and away we go!  During the overture we are given an extended “dumb show” on stage showing us the back-story incident on the subway.  Falke (in a Batman costume) and Eisenstein (as the Green Lantern) engage in some wildly vaudevillian and hilarious silent physical comedy.  It's all quite beautifully staged.

Act I begins.  We meet Rosalinde (Sarah Gartland).  She’s the iconic affluent 1950’s housewife: that full-skirted, narrow-waisted dress, heels, and (of course) a string of pearls.  We meet Adele, her clever and vivacious maid (Deanna Breiwick).  And who’s that serenading from the street?  Good grief!  It’s Alfred, Rosalinde’s old flame from years ago (Joshua Blue with a very sweet tenor voice).  Actually, Rosalinde wouldn’t mind a little serious flirting.  But her husband must never know!

Gabriel (Edward Nelson), when he appears, seems the ideal mate for Rosalinde.  They are a very attractive couple.  Slim and beautiful, they are perfect—in a Barbie and Ken sort of way.  Well, Barbie came into the world in 1959, and Rosalinde does have a pink kitchen range.

The delightfully complex plot involves disguises, identity swaps, brushes with infidelity (and efforts to hide them), a mistaken arrest, a stolen musical pocket-watch, and a little strip-tease. 

The climax of Dr. Falke’s revenge must, of course, take place at Orlofsky’s wild party.  And where is that to be held?  Well, where do overly-rich folks go to have expensive, uninhibited fun?  Where else but The Playboy Club!   (Well, it is officially Prince Orlofsky’s private club, but you and I know it’s really the Playboy Club.)

Yes, it’s 1959—the year the first Playboy Club opened in New York.  Scene and Costume Designer Robert Innes Hopkins gives us the real thing—including a Bunny with her proudly-displayed cotton tail.  Here Falke introduces Eisenstein as the “Marquis de Renard”, and they meet:

1. Young Prince Orlafsky who was “born to be bored”.
2. Adele (disguised) and her sister Sally.  To Eisenstein she (Adele) bears an amazing resemblance to his maid.  He shrugs that off and begins pursuit.  Just as he’s kissing her …
3. A mysterious Hungarian princess arrives.  It is, of course, Rosalinde, but her eye-mask conceals her identity.  (Well, Clark Kent can take off his glasses and not be recognized, so … )  Eisenstein turns his attentions toward seducing this glamorous woman (who knows full well who he is). 
4. Mr. Frank, the governor of the prison, under the nom de gala of “the Chevalier de Chagrin”.  He thinks he has already arrested Eisenstein—but in fact it is the old flame Alfred who is pacing the floor of the jail.

Comedy ensues—and glorious singing too.  Ms. Breiwick, with a fine comic sense, gives dazzling coloratura decorations to Adele’s “Laughing Song”. 

Rosalinde is asked to prove she is Hungarian, so she sings a czardas.  Ms. Gartland is amazing.  She fills it with rich ethnic drama and lifts the ending to an exciting frenzy—all with a beautiful sense of comedy.

Edward Nelson sings Eisenstein.  His voice has superb power and clarity, and his comic work throughout is brilliant.  Such confidence!

Dr. Falke is sung by Jonathan McCullough, who fills the role with enormous energy and craft.  He drives the story.

Prince Orlofsky is written as “trousers role”—a man’s role to be sung by a woman.  In this role mezzo-soprano Kelsey Lauritano nearly steals the show.  Classily togged out in top-hat and tails, with stiletto heels, she is the epitome of sexy good humor.

The thusly gender-bent Prince leads the ensemble in a roistering celebration of champagne, the King of wines.  “Should it be ‘King’ or ‘Queen’?” somebody asks, to which the Prince replies:  “Bah!  In Russia we don’t give two kopeks for gender identity!”
(Audience cheers.)

When Eisenstein tries to get Rosalinde to take off her mask she refuses;  the Prince intervenes saying, “At my parties a woman may reveal as little—or as much—as she wishes.”  Not too long after that Rosalinde, while keeping the mask, strips off her clothes—at least as far as a respectable soprano should be expected to go;  i.e. down to a very sexy black teddy.  (My part of the audience cheers.)  The lady has the figure to do such things.

Robert Mellon sings Frank, the prison governor.  Another fine, strong voice and an utterly first-rate comedian.  His drunken solo scene at the prison is delightful.

Supporting roles are filled, as usual, with fine talent.  Gregory V. Sliskovich plays Dr. Blind, Eisenstein’s comically inept lawyer, and Sophia Baete plays Adele’s charming sister Sally.  Both are from the Gerdine Young Artists program. 

One other significant talent blesses this show.  In his program bio Oscar Olivo’s vocal range is specified as “actor”.  What an understatement!  In Orlofsky’s club he plays an obsequious underling who grandly announces the arrivals—and spends the rest of his time scurrying around seemingly trying to polish the floor any time anyone steps on it.  But his moment of glory is in the final jail-house act, where he plays Frosch, the jailer.  In a monologue he explains his great plan to end crime by enlisting all the grannies in the world.  They will eliminate crime by fiercely scolding all the criminals before they misbehave.  Olivo throws himself wildly about the stage, flipping and flopping with enthusiasm.  It's weird, it’s crazy, it has nothing to do with the plot, but it’s very, very funny.  (I’ve not found this speech in any of the libretti I’ve looked at.   It felt like what we used to call a “carpenters’ scene”—put there to allow time for set or costume changes.  But no, all of that stuff had been covered by the intermission.  Wherever that monologue  came from I’m glad we saw it!)

The orchestra (a tranche of the St. Louis Symphony) gave their expected perfection, beautifully supporting and never competing with the singers.

I did have a tiny quibble or two. 

• There was an occasional anachronism in the text.  (Who, in 1959, has a “chambermaid”.)
• More importantly, there was no waltzing!  Choreographer Seán Curran made the party very exciting, and I’m sure he had a hand in all the graceful and clever blocking and business throughout the evening.  But where was the waltzing?  In the party I saw a little Twist, a touch of Bunny Hop, but no waltzing!  Nary a full skirt swirling.  My God, this is Fledermaus!  This is Strauss! 

Nevertheless this Fledermaus is a brilliant, funny, and wonderfully satisfying evening of opera.  The audience, packed to the rafters, stood and cheered for a long, long time..

It continues at Opera Theatre of Saint Louis through June 28.

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