(Photo: Cory Weaver/San Francisco Opera)

Whether Nietzsche actually meant it when he declared Bizet’s “Carmen” to be the perfect opera, or whether it was merely a literary tantrum aimed at his once-beloved Richard Wagner, it matters not. The resounding overture to “Carmen” provides its own argument as to the opera’s justified and beloved place in the canon.

Love is a rebellious bird—”L’amour est un oiseau rebelle”—Carmen insists, in her renowned opening Habanera, a Cuban-influenced dance of seduction that immediately raises every pulse. Making her American debut as Bizet’s fiery centerpiece, Swiss mezzo-soprano Eve-Maud Hubeaux clearly embodies the gypsy child who only loves whomever doesn’t love her. From a stiff swirl of angular gestures and tight vocalizing, Hubeaux soon loosened and slipped into character as a haughty wanton. Once the second act arrived, Hubeaux had relaxed with obvious comfort and abandon into the role of Bizet’s mercurial temptress. The proudly proclaimed changeability of Carmen’s lusty temperament is key both to her personality, and to the plot pivots to follow. Bringing a fluent instrument to the flamboyant role, with spinto to spare, Hubeaux’s stage choreography came to match the vocal demands by the second act.

Sensuous mise en scène

The rich colors and bright textures of Bizet’s score cast their immediate and predictable spell from the opening note of last week’s matinee performance, the 35th presentation of the opera at San Francisco Opera originally created and directed by Francesca Zambello of Washington National Opera.  A centerpiece of the mid-to-late 19th century European craze for exotic themes and locales, the opera is now a leading crowd-pleaser in the standard repertoire. But in 1874, its debut was considered outrageous. Taken from the novella by Prosper Merimée, “Carmen” was filled with smugglers, gypsies, street people, lecherous soldiers, tobacco factory workers, cigarette-smoking floozies, dark-skinned Romani women on the prowl for, what else?, “l’amour!”

Hardly the stuff of proper opera, even the opéra comique. With one foot in the 19th century, the other in the 21st, the incendiary character of Carmen is a free spirit, full of fire and appetite for a steady stream of new lovers. Quickly attracting and discarding her willing admirers, she is true only to herself. But when she tosses a red rose in the direction of corporal Don José, we start to wonder whether she might not have actually fallen in love.

Flexing her voice up and down her wide tessitura, Hubeaux tackled arias so familiar and delicious that most of the audience struggled to keep from humming along. Bizet’s compelling orchestration was in good hands with guest conductor Benjamin Manis who led the excellent San Francisco Opera orchestra through a confident unflagging pace, the conductor’s sensitivity to tempo matching the needs of the singers. Everyone on the stage was audible, never obfuscated by overly-enthusiastic brass, from the high-spirited youth performers to the impeccable Opera Chorus, all clearly enjoying themselves in an Iberian love-death tale that allows for plenty of sassy fun.

The spare set created an instantly legible mise en scène. Adobe walls of the garrison patroled by uniformed guards atop the ramparts. In the central plaza workers from the adjoining tobacco factory burst forth in the opening moments, excited by a brawl erupting among the Romani women. The warm tones of the plaza and the women’s swirling skirts and leather bodices contrasted smartly with the grey-blues of the soldier’s uniforms.

Carmen’s Cohorts

However much this is the tale of desperate love, Carmen hews to the operatic trope contrasting innocence and worldliness. As the sweet country girlfriend of Don José, Louise Alder’s Micaëla has a difficult road to hoe. Alder had some lovely moments, lifting her clear soprano up to pray that her childhood sweetheart would somehow resist temptation and return home to the countryside. Usually played for unsophisticated sweetness, Alder’s portrayal was notably on the flirtatious side. Her scenes with the uncouth garrison soldiers showed her to be more of a player than a prayer. As a result, the contrast between her character and that of Carmen was less than clear. The costumes, Micaela’a pale blue frock and Carmen’s off-the-shoulder peach and crimson tones, marked the women as opposing rivals for the affection of Don José. But the role required unequivocal innocence. And Alder’s prominent vibrato threatened to derail some lovely singing, elegant passages of pleading and quiet moments of acceptance, and occasional beautifully-spun topnotes. Alas, he has chosen Carmen. And we all know it.

Opening in the tavern Lillas Pastia, Act two was ablaze with some of the finest musical moments of both the opera and this production. From the flamenco choreography by Associate Director Anna Maria Bruzzese, sensuous and graceful dancing by the corps principals, to the inventive staging of the two lead smugglers and Carmen’s playful Romani girlfriends, this was the memorable center of the melodrama. Terrific production design by Tanya McCallin and tight choreography (kudos to Dance Master Colm Seery) made the obligatory dance numbers (obligatory by 19th century operatic standards) genuinely enjoyable and narrative-enhancing. Enlivening each sinuous movement, special praise goes to Blanche Hampton as Manuelita and exciting corps partner Brett Conway. Achieving an almost perfect blend of voices, the singers were herded through the tralalalas by the orchestra’s sudden decision to rush the beautiful quintet. And given the pace set by Bizet’s orchestration, this led to a few moments that veered into incomprehensible diction. But the tight vocal balance in this intricately composed ensemble piece was luscious.

Not only do Adler Fellows soprano Arianna Rodriguez as Frasquita, and mezzo-soprano Nikola Printz bring brio to their acting, but astute vocal sensitivity as well. Rodriguez’ flashing beauty and superb soprano predict title role of Carmen for her own in the near future. The trio of women’s voices were joined by two fine actors with vocal dazzle and acting panache to match: tenor Christopher Oglesby’s Dancaire and Alex Boyer as Remendado, as assured a pair of smugglers as Mérimée ever dreamed up.

Coup de théâtre

And then came a singular coup de théâtre as Escamillo, the toreador actually rode onto the stage astride a live horse! It was an amazing moment, as the beautiful 18-year-old Gypsy Vanner gelding pranced into the assembled company and posed as if for a Velasquez portrait in the center of the stage. As the bullfighter bass/baritone Christian Van Horn looked 200 percent the part. His stage presence and robust masculinity filled in some of the rough edges of his vocal delivery, notably the lowest notes of his bass/baritone tessitura that descended into rumble at the ends of phrases. Nonetheless, his abundant stage presence made up for vocal inelegance. After his triumphant horseback declaration, en garde! he cast his eyes on Carmen, who insisted that she was footloose and didn’t need love from anyone. But of course he’d take that bet, and rode off to keep his date with the bull ring.

The quintet that follows treated us to some of Bizet’s finest writing. As the smugglers and girlfriends try to convince Carmen to come with them on their mountain foray, she insisted she won’t because she thinks she’s fallen in love. Yes, she is that mercurial. “Je suis amoureuse!” she proclaims.

Tetelman’s Irresistible Serenade

In “Carmen,” Bizet has given us an impetuous anti-heroine who is psychologically unknowable but always compelling. As her acting and singing gained footing, Hubeaux shined in her role’s opéra comique intimacy and earthiness, with spoken passages entwined with lilting arias. The speaking further grounds this opera with an appealing accessibility. We feel, thanks to music and staging that we are in the midst of a real place, whose inhabitants’ lives are filled with relatable hopes and dreams.

When Don José, fresh from two months in prison, again met up with his paramour, we began to get a fuller picture of tenor Jonathan Tetelman’s ownership of his role. His duet with Carmen wove a vibrant picture of the tragedy to come. He hasn’t been able to forget her, or the flower she gave to him. She, as always, is of two minds. Conductor Manis kept the orchestra firm and mezzoforte so that we could hear both voices as they engage in a musical negotiation, part declaration of love, part true or dare.

As she sang and danced just for him, Hubeaux kept rhythm with castanets. The effect should have been hypnotic. Instead, watching her negotiate the wooden hand cymbals was distracting, both to us, and apparently to her as well. The need to carefully manipulate the hand-held percussion removed the easy sexiness needed to deliver the song. Neither effortless nor seductive, it looked like a chore that she had worked hard to memorize. As he declared his love, Carmen rejected him and mocked his refusal to come with her to the mountains. Here Hubeaux did a fine job of demonstrating Carmen’s ability to seduce by mockery with her sarcastic rendition of the Taratata aria.

Au Revoir Innocence

Ah yes, but what of the other woman? Micaela, valiantly sung by Louise Alder, is a thankless role. She must be able to tempt Don José with her innocence (and the message that his mother is dying), while admitting that what she offers can’t compare with the captivating Carmen. She even suffers the humiliation of overhearing the two rivals, Escamillo and Jose fighting over Carmen in the mountain hideout of the smugglers. Satisfied that he is Carmen’s favorite, Escamillo invites the entire company to his bullfight in Seville. As the preening matador, Van Horn makes the most of his time onstage. His braggadocio provides the sort of powerful allure that would appeal to Carmen. Van Horn has confidence to burn, and as the two rivals continue their pursuit of the Roma temptress we see the matador grow strong while José grows desperate. Terrific acting amplifies the swirling tragedy conveyed by Bizet’s score. Peeling away more layers of reserve, Tetelman’s José starts coming unglued in his resolve to win Carmen. The tenor was utterly convincing in his realization that there would be no happy ending to his passion. Particularly compelling was his ability to maintain secure intonation and projection, even as his voice acquired more urgency. He offered a beautiful, burnished tone as well as convincing anguish. Dark eyes flashing with desperation, Tetelman acted with his entire body, long dark hair falling into his eyes as he implored Carmen to accept his love. All of this enhanced by the fact that Tetelman is matinee idol handsome.

The final act was charmingly staged, from the children’s chorus prancing about like little toreadors, to the various towns folk, astonished at the beauty of the banderilleros and picadors.

The pageantry the city offset the tale of hot and reckless love, brilliantly displayed in the colorful costumes, flags, flashing gold ornaments, and the marching soldiers parodied by the ruffian children. Entering the plaza in triumph with Escamillo, Carmen was now transformed by a magnificent gown and festive mantilla. The brilliance of this moment was again thanks to designer Tanya McCallin. The richly costumed couple sing of their love for each other, with Carmen pronouncing the fateful line: may I die if I have ever loved anyone as much as you!

Just who might she have loved more than this bull fighter? Alone on the stage, Carmen is confronted by the love-sick José.

Rising Star

In his final entreaty to Carmen that she come with him, that he loves her madly and will not let her go, Tetelman ascended with a powerful yet silken legato up to an astonishing top of his range, holding the suspension with only the slightest, poignant bit of cover. Here the actor and singer became a single instrument, stopping the show while the audience responded with an exuberant ovation. Much deserved. It was one of those powerful moments that underscore exactly why nothing can ever take the place of live performance. Tetelman was embedded in his role as the love-stricken soldier from the very first. Yet he took his time unleashing the full power of both his character, and his voice.

Matching the evolution of Hubeaux’ ill-fated yet defiant Roma, Tetelman was convincingly obsessed with his sometime lover. The more she rejected him, the stronger became his desperation. The passionate young tenor was exactly what Bizet wanted. Capable of wearing his heart on his sleeve, wringing the agony out of each aching legato line, Tetelman built steadily from dimenuendo to soaring fortissimi. The long lines ended with clear, notes held just long enough to break our hearts. Never too showy, this was bravura acting matched with superb vocalization.

Amidst captivating performances by tutti, Jonathan Tetelman stood out. An authentic star in a dazzling production.