A 'Trovatore' by the book

An impressive cast and no-nonsense production by Opera Pacific allow the Verdi work to shine.

By TIMOTHY MANGAN

The Orange County Register

Perhaps the strangest thing about Opera Pacific's production of Verdi's "II Trovatore" - heard Tuesday at the Orange County Performing Arts Center - was the publicaddress announcement beforehand. It encouraged patrons to turn up the ringers on their cell phones, to wait for the quietest spots in the music before unwrapping candies, to be sure to discuss your day in minute detail with your neighbor once the opera began.

On the other hand, it would be difficult these days to find a more straightforward production of "Trovatore" than this one. Which isn't necessarily, or even probably, a bad thing.

Director Dejan Miladinovic and conductor John DeMain have apparently understood the most basic thing about this opera - it is a singers' opera. That is, when all is said and done, it is about singing. The sets and costumes were period, the staging traditional. The singers were allowed to plant their feet, clench their fists and deliver the goods. When creating this "Trovatore," the enlightened minds in charge had decided to live by the Nike rule of thumb: Just do it.

A welcome decision, for those who like their opera without the chaser. A wise decision, considering the cast on hand. You could search far and wide in this country's regional opera houses and not find a better quartet than the one that showed up in the lead roles Tuesday. (Tonight's and Saturday's performances feature the same quartet; another one steps in Friday and Sunday.)

Whether by design or chance (Miladinovic hails from Belgrade and a former prime minister of Yugoslavia helped underwrite the production), the casting had a strong Eastern European slant. Leonora was a Bulgarian, Azucena a Russian and Count di Luna a Macedonian. And they weren't greenhorns, either.

Zvetelina Vassileva, who sang the role at the Met this

season, brought equal parts poise and brilliance to Leonora. She turned on a dime from dramatic heft to chirping coloratura, no sweat. Golden- toned with a silver edge, she tended to take things on the slow side, as if to highlight the quality of her voice. The line may have occasionally sagged; her voice did not.

Irina Mishura, who gave us a fine Carmen in 2001, returned as a memorable Azucena. This was compelling acting matched by compelling singing, always undercomplete control. What's more, she brought a wide range of color to bear - from girlish simplicity, to nonvibrato intensity, to ripping high notes - all the while choosing not to chew the scenery. The long line was her forte, so were fortes and pianos and points in between. The result: The tortured gypsy became sympathetic.

Boris Trajanov, who was making his so-called mainstage debut in the United States, provided a Count di Luna of eloquent power. The voice has a great depth, as if his entire body is ringing, yet it remains crisply articulated at all times. Given his polished demeanor and singing, he made the Count into something other than a stock villain.

The odd man out, American tenor Hugh Smith, introduced a mellifluous, creamy Manrico. It's the perfect bel canto voice, gently delivered, so it wasn't surprising that it was sometimes lost in the Verdian din. Still, he remained a steady, expressive presence throughout.

Valerian Ruminski (no, he was born in Buffalo) added a dependable, remarkably burnished Ferrando.

One felt that Miladinovic could have tutored the actors more. The singers seemed left to their own devices and, with the exception of Mishura, these devices were mainly stock gestures or standing still.

The sturdily walled sets, effectively lighted, provided an aptly cold, imposing mood. Some flying-saucer wagon wheels and a giant chain link - adornments - would have been the only thing to catch Verdi's eye. Projections of the burning gypsy and a silhouette of the singing troubadour served the drama well.

DeMain led elegantly from the pit, leaning more toward the bel canto style than riproaring Verdi. (This is a transitional work in the composer's output that looks both ways.) If one at times wanted a bit more vim, the gloom was darkly underscored and subtle details of instrumentation were nicely pointed. The Opera Pacific Chorus sang gracefully and richly, as need be, though ensemble cohesion proved less than perfect.

One heard no cell phones, no candy wrappers and little talking. Perhaps Opera Pacific is onto something: opera, without the distractions.