Cosi Fan Tutte

Usually I go to movies, but since the CRIMSON's opera reviewer had to go to a Phi Beta Kappa meeting, I became an opera critic last night. And boy was it ever fun. When I told my roommate just how much fun it was, he said, "Pan it so I can get tickets for Saturday night." But honesty before friendship.

First of all, the lyrics were in English, my native tongue. And it was a clever translation too. Like when the soldiers are going off to war, the girls musically instruct them to "be a stoic. Be heroic." Or when the soldiers come in disguised as lecherous Turks, the girls react in horror: "It's too drastic, too fantastic."

This was the first opera I've ever been to in a Harvard dining hall, but it was a lot different from what it's like when you're just eating lunch there. For me, the costumed doorman, the gala black tie throng, and hot bitter demitasses during the interval were enough to make the evening. But producer Walter Jewell included an opera to boot, with lots of buffa schmaltz, all the trimmings: a bevy of beautiful girls, elegant costumes, and a glittering Mozart score with a light, frothy libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte.

Cosi Fan Tutte, a title truly impossible to translate, roughly means "Women Will Do It All the Time." And in this bubbling tale of feminine frailty, everything happens in pairs. There are two sisters, Fiordiligi and Dorabella, and their lovers, Guglielmo and Ferrando, respectively. Things get rolling when Don Alfonso, an old conniver, bets Guglielmo and Ferrando that their loves would betray them, given the chance.

So the two soldiers disguise themselves as Armenians, or something, and try to seduce each other's girl. After a longish time which passes quickly with this stellar cast, they execute the scheme successfully. Alas! Traiterous, damned women! No, not really, because Mozart was really worried about his wife while he was writing this opera (some say she was the biggest attraction for visiting firemen in Baden toward the end of the eighteenth century) but Mozart loved her. So the troupe with a wonderfully contagious stoicism, sings, "Happy is the man who takes everything as it comes."

John Harger Stewart, as Ferrando, has a fine bel canto tenor, which he uses to good effect. Greg Sandow, his wacky sidekicks Guglielmo, holds his own with the baritone part and caught the audience off guard with his frequent wry sallies. Thomas Weber, as Don Alfonso, was even better, in a difficult part which required him to sing while snickering at the plot all evening. Patricia Stedry, as Despina, a little out of her range perhaps, nevertheless made an excellent co-conspirator with Don Alfonso in their sotto voce duets.

Margaret Yaugher, mezzo, as Dorabella, with her firm rich tones was a mainstay of the ensembles, and Mary Sindoni, her sister Fiordiligi, has the perfect combination of a strong, flexible soprano voice and a genuine flare for high comedy. The chorus was charming and vivacious, except when changing scenery, but when they sang all the world was young and in love and healthy.

Isaiah Jackson, the musical director, is to be congratulated on everything, especially the orchestra, and he certainly was congratulated with bravos. Actually, there were so many bravos, it was hard to tell who they were all for, but everybody deserved them. Except perhaps the scene designer, who made a setting for the show which was real pretty but which tended to slow down the pace between scenes as chorus members clomped around changing it from indoors to outdoors. The stage director, Philip H. Hecksher, could probably have helped the wait between scenes, but he did such a good job with the business in the scenes that it's hardly fair to carp at him for such a little thing.

It's hard to pick out the best thing in this wonderful production, but if I had to pick anything I guess it was those sensuous passages in thirds. When the clarinets wangled around E major, all I could think of was that lovely Italian girl I met by the Mediterranean last summer.