(Photo: Cory Weaver)

Some operas are able to provide an opulent reminder of just why opera exists and how it can conquer hearts and minds. Giacomo Puccini’s “La Bohème” is at the top of that list. Even 130 years after its debut, this comedic tragedy, set in the Latin Quarter of Paris, remains the most popular and most frequently produced piece in the repertoire. San Francisco Opera’s June 15th performance underlined the opera’s reputation, featuring Pene Pati as Rodolfo and Karen Chia-ling Ho as Mimì. Superbly accompanied by baritone Lucas Meachem as Marcello and soprano Andrea Carroll in her San Francisco Opera debut as Musetta, the singers appeared utterly at home in the vibrant demimonde conceived in 2012 by stage director John Caird.

Production design by David Farley and direction by Katherine M. Carter refreshed Caird’s original staging. In placing the dramatic focus on a quartet of bohemian friends engaged in a pair of love affairs—highlighting the verismo Puccini pioneered—Carter pulled the audience closer into the plight of the impoverished dreamers. However the director seems not to have sent the memo to principals Pati and Ho, whose brief, doomed love lacked the chemistry of even a high school science lab. Kudos to lighting designer Michael Clark, whose haunting interweave of light and shadow created the perfect chiaro scuro poetry for the opera’s closing moments.

Inspired by the work of flâneur/painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, an array of paintings in edgy collage formed the backdrop for each scene, principally the invitingly shabby garret where the bohemians live, work, meet, and drink. The camaraderie of the four men, Rodolfo the poet, Marcello the painter, the philosophical Colline (Bogdan Talos) and musician Schaunard (Samuel Kidd) began and completed the story, punctuated by the pairs of lovers singing some of Puccini’s finest arias and duets in the central acts.

Lovers Lacking Passion

As the poet suffering from writer’s block, Rodolfo is to fall in love at first sight with his surprise visitor Mimì, the local maker of artificial flowers. Even before his love interest enters the humble lodging, Pati dazzled with lyric tenor lines of effortless legato and youthful color. Enter Karen Chia-ling Ho in her role debut as Mimì. The two shyly introduce themselves through arias of almost painful beauty, and then connect, so to speak, when Mimì drops the key for Rodolfo to retrieve. Puccini is telling us that this is a momentous meeting, yet the two singers refuse to comply. Ho’s lovely voice warmed and opened as the opera progressed, and ultimately cast a spell in her final moments. Her “Sì, mi chiamano Mimì” was secure and showed the great promise of her lustrous vibrato-free voice, but lacked the confidence of the final aria. Here in the early moments of their attraction, each singer denied their characters the charm to convince us of their desire. Underscored by orchestral torrents of sweeping ardor, Ho’s stage presence remained curiously wooden, her facial gestures devoid of affect. It was hard to believe what the words and music were telling us. Most distressing was the uncontrolled volume of maestro Ramón Tebar‘s orchestra. In the romantic “Che gelida manina” the voices of the two newfound lovers were overwhelmed by the unrestrained violins.

Thanks to a clever scene change, rendered by a smooth rotation of the side walls of the bohemian garret, the opera’s second act opened into the rowdy hustle of the Parisian demimonde, the boho friends plus Mimì ensconced at a cafe, and a crowd of buskers hawking their wares. Enter the flirtatious Musetta (a playful Andrea Carroll), former love of Marcello (who’s still carrying a torch), along with her latest conquest, an elderly sugar person she flaunts for the crowd. But especially Marcello.

Musetta’s irresistible charms were hampered by clichéd gestures. Flinging her arm up in the air, and wiggling her hips were the two signature movements director Carter felt Musetta should use to signal desirability and saucy naughtiness. References to lounge acts in Las Vegas came to mind. The coquette’s narrow range of gestures and mannerisms were repeated so often as to lose surprise and persuasiveness. While Carroll’s spinto soprano was fine in the Musetta’s famous “Quando m’en vo,” the overall characterization proved tiresome.

Meachem’s Charisma

In Lucas Meachem, San Francisco Opera’s proven leading baritone (Eugene Onegin and Don Giovanni) this production found its true protagonist. A compelling singer with a soaring and confident voice, Meachem is a charismatic stage presence. His least gestures, looks, growls, asides, embraces, all developed a strong emotional vector that lent color and depth to Marcello’s relationships with his comrades, his explosive relationship with Musetta, and his sympathetic care for his friend Rodolfo. In the final act of this opera Meachem provided the gravitas that deepened the company’s anxiety over Mimi’s demise. A fine singing actor, Meachem was adroit in stagecraft, smart physical action, and solid vocal work. Again, it was unfortunate that his duet of commiseration with Rodolfo was all but erased by the volume of Tebar’s unbridled orchestra.

Ramón Tebar seemed unable, or unwilling to control his orchestra during much of the two hours and twenty minutes, allowing what might be generously called rubato to expand many times into mis-matched accompaniment. His musicians frequently wandered off tempo from the singers. The orchestra lines seemed to preface, as well as follow after the voices, creating some moments of chaotic timing especially in the crowd/chorus scenes, as well as the Act three quartet. Another gorgeous duet, “O soave fanciulla” was all but obliterated by Tebar’s sonic overwhelm.

Standout moments of the performance included Romanian bass Talos’ elegie for his old worn coat as he leaves Mimì’s deathbed to sell the coat for her medicine. Kidd’s unrestrained antics as he climbed over furniture in a rapture of pre-dinner optimism injected joy into scenes that often bordered on the emotionally neutral.

Throughout the opera, Puccini’s social justice theme was played with a clear, but light hand. Did poverty play a part in Mimì’s tuberculosis? Might Rodolfo have become another Baudelaire had he a wealthy patron? Would the children of the Latin Quarter—a lively gaggle of young players from the Children’s Chorus—have received the toys and candies they desired had their parents found a living wage somewhere in the environs?

This production’s final scene brought together greater dramatic coherence as well as some fine singing from Pati and Ho, both of whom seemed to have found their characters and rendered the opera’s poignant ending with tender, moving effect. The audience was well and truly spellbound at the inevitable ending. Puccini’s limpid and definitively romantic score lingered long after the curtain went down.