Lopsided love

An insidious thought came to me during MSU Opera Theatre’senergetic “Miami Vice” remake of Charles Gounod’s 1867 Shakespearean opera“Romeo et Juliette.” I could flee the hall at halftime — that’s March madnessfor entr’acte — and walk away whistling the happy marriage duet that ends theopera’s first half. By the time stabbed and poisoned bodies started to pile upon stage, I could have been sipping a latte at Biggby’s while catching up onKyle Melinn’s column. Even the opera’s doomed lovers agreed to this inprinciple: Better to slip out of the bedchamber while the nightingale is stillsinging, before the lark summons the cruel dawn.

But I didn’t, and I’m glad. I would have missed the bestpart of the show.

Director Melanie Helton wrote in the program notes that shemoved the opera’s action from 14^th-century Verona to 1980s Miami tosave money on costumes, because Miami’s clashing gangs resemble Shakespeare’sfeuding families, and also because Helton herself is a creature of the ‘80s.(She lived around the corner from Studio 54 as a young New York singer.)

All of that may be true, but the ‘80s theme didn’t pay offfor me until just after intermission, when Jackie King strutted on stage forher a spectacular girl-plays-boy turn as Stephano, Romeo’s cousin. Fridaynight, King cavorted across the stage in male drag, hair upswept, phonymoustache glued on, boombox on her shoulder, singing a lovely aria in acompletely assured, ringing voice. Close your eyes and it was perfect Gounod;open them and it was “Three’s Company.” King had it both ways, straight andfarcical, at once, and pulled off the paradox with no seeming effort.

The MSU production’s 1980s trappings include outré dancemoves, a poolside setting (with pretentious Ionic columns that could have cometo 1980s Miami from 14^th-century Verona), plenty of loud printshirts, sequined dresses, sunglasses and open shirts. When one of the Montagueboys sings from the diaphragm, you know he is, because you can see hisdiaphragm.

By now, it’s become a counter-cliché to drag classic operasinto weird times and settings, but in this show, the colorful 1980s trappingsdid a lot to keep eyes and ears open. Fitting Gounod’s fusty, melodramaticscore with traditional, lacy trappings would be like stacking doilies on top ofdoilies.

Instead, MSU had Gounod’s French libretto, already atranslation of Shakespeare, re-translated into English for supertitlesprojected over the stage. Thus, at three removes, Shakespeare’s sublime Englishis reduced to down-to-Earth phrases like “Who’s that guy who put his mask onwhen I showed up?”

Most of all, two hallmarks of MSU Opera Theatre — greatsinging and complicated, multi-layered stage action — helped keep this hoaryopera in the land of the living.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of bits of deftly managed bits ofbusiness livened up the molasses-thick score. Juliet grabbed a dummy microphoneto sing her opening aria, giving it a slight tap to see if it was “on.” (Shedidn’t need it.) The Montague boys cut up so broadly behind Mercutio’s big ariayou wish you could press “rewind” to find out what he sang. Even the choruspulled off complicated collective bits, such as posing for a group photograph,while winding up a big number.

The principals all were in fine voice, and most had more tooffer than singing. As Juliette, soprano Elizabeth Toy seamlessly fused acting,singing and movement into an integral, convincing and completely seductiveperformance. By virtue of sheer energy and talent, Toy is in a class byherself, but she doesn’t sit on her gift or let it run amok. She’s always plottingthe calculus of emotion, from charm to anger to despair to lust, in such a waythat all the audience sees is a smooth curve. And she never switches herselfoff. Even when she stands still, she holds her arms slightly apart andshoulders forward, ready to pounce on life.

Friday’s Romeo, Griffin Candey, has a strong bronze voice tomatch Toy’s silver, with real thrills in the high register. Close your eyes,and you could hear his voice intertwine warmly with Toy’s, especially in thesecond act’s bedroom scene.

Unfortunately, Candey doesn’t have one-tenth the stagepresence Toy has, and the charisma deficit took all the charge out of theirlove scenes. Dressed like a Peanuts character in the same blue T-shirt allnight, Candey sported a sugar bowl hairdo similar to that of Ken Burns, andabout the same level of Romeosity. While she sang to him of passion, he lookedat her like a center fielder waiting for the ground crew to finish.

As a priest who tries to make peace between the feudingCapulets and Montagues, Matthew Scollin sang his troubled role with understatedbrilliance. Though his character is not drawn fully in the libretto, Scollinexuded a paralyzing frustration at his man-in-the-middle status, earningaudience sympathy a huge cheer at the end of the evening.

Toy, Candey, Scollin and King will return for Sunday’s show;a different cast will appear Saturday.

As the head Capulet, Jonathan Kirkland contributed gravitas,charm, and a mighty baritone that clamped down on every note like a steamshovel. Kirkland will be back both Saturday and Sunday.

Rafael Jimenez and his pit orchestra ably handled Gounod’sangelic gl-l-l-l-l-lings on harp and ominous oompahs in the brass, along withsomber interludes, happy waltzes, churning fugues and many other moods. Thestrings pretty much held together, the winds and brass provided strongdefinition and backbone, and the flute player did a fetching impression of alark.

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