Disappointing 'Dido' Dies Early at PfoHo

The Pforzheimer dining hall provides an intimate atmosphere for Dido and Aeneas. Only about 80 seats are available, and these were nearly filled last Friday--mostly by cast supporters and friends.

With all this, anticipation ran high and alas, was not entirely fulfilled. While musical talent is undeniably present in this ensemble, and occasionally shines in a few standout performers, the production overall is seriously handicapped by overacting, an ill-prepared orchestra and a lack of strength and clarity even in the best of its choral passages.

The chamber orchestra plays from the balcony behind the audience, directing attention to the sparsely furnished stage. The set consists of a wooden platform with a few copper colored and terra cotta vessels, a pair of bronze-like columns and a garden statue cherub.

On Friday night, the overture, though clearly supported by a few more able performers, sounded sadly under-rehearsed. Expression was lacking; even a real sense of unity among the different instruments and the certainty vital to any performance were surprisingly absent.

Much appreciated relief came with the entrance of Sarita Cannon '98 as Belinda, Dido's confidante. Cannon's voice is consistently strong, clear and confidently delivered. As Dido, Lara Bruckmann is decidedly less imposing. Though her voice is clearly very highly trained, and possesses a wonderful, delicate vibrato and a good range, Bruckmann's performance, particularly in the first act of the two-part operetta, is hesitant and overly breathy.

A second supporting character likewise outshines Bruckmann: Jung Oh '00 as the unimpressively named Second Woman is fabulous. In marked contrast to Dido's cautious strains and pensive, almost petulant facial expressions, Oh breaks into her minor lines with unrestrained power and wonderful clarity. Her articulation is superb, though at times she seems to rush through the music in her enthusiasm. However, her performance distinguishes her as one clearly bound for greater roles than that of "second" anything.

A particularly striking moment arrives with the duet of Belinda and the Second Woman, "Fear no danger to ensue/The hero loves as well as you...." The close harmonies are lovely, and the two women's strong, ringing voices are well-matched. Despite slight difficulties with intonation at a few points, both Cannon and Oh demonstrate remarkable facility in the duet's challenging runs. The chorus' reiteration of the verse, on the other hand--the opera's first big choral part--lacks clarity and strength. The choral "Cupid only throws the dart/That's dreadful to the warrior's heart..." is much better in terms of musicality and volume, despite problems with unity and articulation of final consonants.

Purcell's music itself is wonderful, full of interesting harmonies and surprising contrasts. Unfortunately, the beauty of his work is too often obliterated by the shoddy instrumental delivery or weak chorus, if not utterly disguised by the distractingly awful acting. Dido, even in her more musically successful moments, maintains a dreadful expression of peevish nervousness. Even as Belinda liltingly intones of the beautiful queen, "Her eyes confess the flame her tongue denies," all that this reviewer could observe in Bruckmann's eye was a sour distaste for the whole situation.

The blocking and slight choreography are generally well done. The "Triumphing Dance" in particular is prettily, though simply, executed. The various members of the Carthaginian court and chorus leave the stage in pairs, dropping smiles and curtsies all around, and file down the central aisle. In comparison with the power achieved by the two diminutive female soloists alone, the ensemble's volume is downright puny. Once more, difficulties which could easily have been worked out by additional rehearsing mar an otherwise pleasant sequence in the production.

Yet another demonstration of questionable judgment surfaces in the character of the Sorceress, who takes on the role which the gods held in the classical story of Virgil's Aeneid. This part, an alto role traditionally assigned to female singers, is performed by a male student, Christopher Thorpe '98, who someone must have decided was a counter-tenor of some sort. However, all of his lines sounded as if they were sung in a bad falsetto. The odd effect was emphasized by a very strange makeup job which made Thorpe's Sorcerer seem not like something supernatural or frightening but merely a werewolfish extra from a very bad horror movie.

Depicting the forces of darkness is something which this Dido never does well. Perhaps the cast is just too nice--rare, indeed, would be the group of people which smiled more! The chorus of ostensible witches is, of course, the same which minutes before played a group of cherubic courtiers and flower girls. The actors seem to be relying on the black cloaks which partially cover their usual white robes to convey the transformation of their characters. They certainly don't act any differently, or smile any less. They do, however, make lots of silly ghost sounds and giggly cackles. They hiss a great deal, as well, as they bound about the stage, apparently carrying out very complex, though incomprehensible, choreography. Unfortunately their bumping and stomping is very loud on the hollow wood stage, and distracts from the sorcerer and main witches. One can only wonder at the lack of discernment which allowed the director either to encourage or to tolerate these devices. Dimpled and angelically beaming, the chorus' strange behavior during the witches' seance only heightened the viewer's impression that she was attending a children's performance intended to showcase the actors' endearing cuteness.

The two main witches, who have several recitatives each, a couple of duets and solos in a choral verse, are quite skilled in their musical delivery, though their acting, too, leaves much to be desired. Especially outstanding is the wild-haired Anja Blair, who projects wonderfully and exhibits a very clear, strong vibrato. The witches' scene, however, is too highly lit, giving the impression of a parody of a scene of darkness and evil. The sorcerer sings at the scene's opening, "Wayward sisters, you that fright/The lonely traveler by night...." Frightening lyrics, set to suitably dark, minor music. But when undermined by the sexy, ingratiating main witches and the white-sheeted children mugging and giggling, as though for the benefit of Mom and Dad in their first appearance, the whole effect is simply laughable. Or it would be, if it weren't so pathetic.

Dido's acting problems do not end with the minor characters. Aeneas (Christian Quilici '01) smirks slyly to himself all the way through the scene in which he is first introduced to Dido. Coyly, he looks off to the side, away from Dido and all the other actors with whom he is supposed to be interacting. He beams like a bridegroom, embarrassed but already certain of his prize. Fortunately both the fated lovers sing better than they act, delivering consistently competent, and sometimes lovely passages. However, neither lead ever wins the audience's heart. The end of Dido, and of Dido, comes as a relief to us--also no doubt to the actors, whose jaws and cheeks must surely be sore with so much smiling.

Cannon, as Belinda, is a lonely point of light in this largely disappointing production. More than any other performer, Cannon takes great advantage of the surprisingly good acoustics of the PfoHo dining hall: her strong, lovely soprano resounds thrillingly, even above the frequent fits of scuffling from the chorus members and recurring orchestral problems. Her Act II opening solo, "Thanks to these lonesome vales..." is excellent, demonstrating especially skillful use of dynamics and vibrato.

A welcome exception to the flatness of the acting can be found in the unfortunately far too small part of a sailor played by Joseph Specter. Specter sang with a very pleasing, quick vibrato, fine enunciation of his words and clear tone. And he is one of the few actors, if not the only one, who projects a consistent, believable stage presence. He simply assumes the character of the role he played, without pandering to the audience or looking shell-shocked by their presence.

All in all, the performances of Cannon and Oh do much toward the production's redemption, but ultimately cannot compensate for the rest of the cast. Much of Bruckmann's singing, when she's not grimacing or missing her note in a dramatic squawk, is also worthwhile, as are many of Quilici's passages. But neither lead is ultimately compelling as a character or performer. And many of the choral members are simply liabilities to the production--their varying quality of vocal contributions fail to outweigh the ridiculous mugging and noise-making which someone apparently considered lively or endearing. In a fourth-grade production, such bounding and gasping might be cute, but here at Harvard, where great dramatic and musical talent abounds, and in Purcell's lovely setting of a great tragedy, these can only appear as lapses of taste.