AT WORTHAM CENTER : AN ‘ABDUCTION’ WITH A TOUCH OF MOVIE MELODRAMA

HOUSTON — The brand-new, $72-million Wortham Center has caused a big stir with its gala, glamorous, admittedly provocative production of Verdi’s “Aida” in the 2,200-seat Brown Theater.

The same fancy hall has attracted even more brouhaha, and greater controversy, with the premiere of John Adams’ super-trendy, quasi-historical, minimalistically romantic popera, “Nixon in China.”

Meanwhile, next door in the comparatively modest--even Spartan--1,100-seat Cullen Theater, the Houston Grand Opera has quietly been doing rather ungrand things to, and with, “The Abduction From the Seraglio.”

Mozart’s wondrous music remains essentially unscathed, and, luckily, the acoustical ambiance turns out to be bright and lively.

John DeMain, the same maestro who counted measures so fastidiously and beat time so dauntlessly for the Dick and Mao Show, treats this delicate score with sprightly, appreciative care.

The fresh, young cast meets the formidable vocal demands without flinching, looks splendid, acts with suavity, flexibility and point.

There should be general rejoicing deep in the heart of Texas, and beyond. Unfortunately, this isn’t the “Abduction” we know and love as conceived in 1782.

This isn’t the charming formula tale of love and heroism, sacrifice and pain, flirtation and intrigue in a picturesque quasi-Turkish harem.

This turns out to be another of those oh-so-modern theatrical-gimmick extravaganzas that rethink the plot, change the characters and move the action way, way forward.

The Houston forces do all this, of course, for the noble sake of being different.

One never objects to a novel perspective if it sheds new light on the original. One cannot complain when ancient conventions are made pertinent for contemporary audiences. Even Mozart isn’t sacred.

But, if someone wants to second-guess this genius, the modern ideas had better be brilliant.

Peter Mark Schifter’s ideas in this case are mildly amusing for a while. Then, alas, they become contradictory, silly and confusing.

The director has decided to play “The Abduction,” literally, as a banal Hollywood melodrama of the 1930s within a melodrama. While the actors and actresses go through the scripted motions of their little cinematic singspiel on a sound stage, they--guess what?--find themselves embroiled at the same time in a parallel real-life soap opera.

Constanza, the serious starlet, loves Belmonte, her purple (as in “Rose of Cairo”) leading man, but she owes a few too many favors to Selim, the all-powerful Erich von Stroheim-type director who happens to be playing the Pasha in the film.

Get it?

Getting it isn’t always easy, and the longer Schifter toys with the contrivance of this flimsy double plot, the more he blurs the edges between his phony film and his even phonier reality.

There are clever moments here, to be sure. Most are reinforced by the witty designs of Lowell Detweiler. There also are amusing mixed-media sequences in which the audience gets to watch the actors on the screen as well as on the stage.

Unfortunately, Schifter’s cutesy narrative tricks often contradict the elegant tone of the score. Even more damaging, they trivialize the lofty emotions.

It is hard to convey much heroic pathos in “Martern aller Arten” (or its American equivalent in Donald Pippin’s very loose English version) when the soprano is busy preening for the cameras, the crew and the folks out there in movieland.

It is impossible to be moved by the aching sentiment of the final reconciliation duet when the lovers are merely close-up images flickering on the screen, their voices “dubbed” by singers standing idly at the side.

The comic scenes have less to lose in stylistic translation. Still, they depend on such dubious inspirations as the erstwhile British Blondchen transformed into a Jean Harlow-ish Blondie, and a bottle of Coca Cola spiked with a handy “Mickey Finn” for the “Vivat Bacchus” duet. The impositions wear thin all too soon.

Under the circumstances, one left the Cullen on Friday with admiration for the ultra-cooperative singers, and with a certain degree of sympathy for them too.

Evelyn de la Rosa braved the dramatic coloratura of Constanza with strength, steadiness and reasonable finesse. Mark Thomsen sang Belmonte’s long, florid lines (including those of the usually omitted third aria) steadily and sweetly.

Jeanine Thames flitted and chirped adorably as Blondie. Instead of the expected Dagwood, she found herself paired with a beguiling, mellifluous, eminently British Pedrillo whose name happens to be eminently Italian: Bonaventura Bottone.

Francois Loup made a good-natured old carpet-salesman of Osmin, and sang with a basso that remained agreeably fuzzy until it had to skirt the notorious low D in the Vengeance Aria.

The happy Houstonians, not incidentally, managed to savor most of the jokes without the intrusive aid of supertitles.