"Of Mice and Men" To Die For
Strained economy or no, the University of
Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music continues to produce opera to die for.
Case in point: Carlisle Floyd’s “Of Mice and Men,” which opened Thursday night (May 13) in Corbett Auditorium.
Even Candy’s dog, who is led off the stage in the first act to be shot by the hard-hearted ranch hand Carlson -- was perfect.
The singers, the Philharmonia Orchestra led by Mark Gibson, the production conceived and directed by Nicholas Muni, the set designed by Thomas Umfrid and lit by Corey Felgenhauer -- everything down to the last Levi Strauss thread worn by the ranch hands contributed to an evening that brought Floyd’s 1970 interpretation of the Steinbeck novel wrenchingly to life.
Based on John Steinbeck’s novel, the story is heart-breaking. George and Lennie, a pair of migrant workers hoping to build a better life by buying their own farm, arrive at a ranch in northern California after another brush with the law. Lennie, a giant of a man with the mind of a child, keeps getting them into trouble, usually because of his compulsive need to stroke soft objects. Candy, a ranch hand who has just lost a beloved old dog, offers them his savings (hidden in a sock under his mattress) to help them buy their dream farm. The ranch owner’s wife becomes the fatal obstacle when she lets Lennie stroke her hair. She panics, he tries to stop her screaming and breaks her neck in the process. George, knowing Lennie will be lynched, mercifully shoots him instead.
Literally towering over the cast was six-foot-seven-inch tenor John Christopher Adams. Adams had it all, not just size and stature, but a steely bright tenor that soared over everything and, topping it off, the genuine demeanor of a child. The way Adams wrung his hands and shuffled his feet, his wide-eyed, uncomprehending gaze and his obvious dependence on George were profoundly touching.
Baritone Noel Bouley as the burdened but loving George was comparably moving. He sang with a warm, enveloping voice that differed qualitatively from the other ranch hands. This enhanced his character’s moral authority and commanded attention.
George and Lennie’s dream of owning their own farm, where Lennie can have rabbits to pet and they can “live off the fatta the lan’,” is the opera’s beating heart. Adams and Bouley gave it rapturous expression, both in act one where they are hiding in a gulley to escape the police, and in the final scene where Lennie has again sought refuge after having killed Curley’s Wife. George comforts Lennie by singing of their new home “across the river.” Hands over his eyes, Lennie says he can finally “see” it and in one of the saddest moments in opera, George, in order to save Lennie from lynching, sends him off with a merciful shot to the head.
The cast was all-male except for soprano Alison Scherzer as Curley’s Wife (neither Steinbeck nor Floyd dignified her with a name). She is the “femme fatale” who spoils George and Lennie’s dream, though as Floyd stressed in a pre-show presentation, she is as much a victim of the bleak environment as the male characters. Scherzer flaunted a high, sweet, coloratura as the lonely, neglected wife, nailing her often jagged lines and high notes with precision.
Curley, as sung by tenor Jesse Ragland III, had all the tense bravado built into the role. Bass David Swain as the crippled old foreman Candy was also a fully realized character, warm and welcoming of voice and achingly sorrowful as he curled up on his bunk to mourn the loss of his dog (played by an adorable old shepherd named Captain, owned by a CCM staffer). Tenor Marco Cammarota was suitably menacing as Carlson, whether bullying Candy out of his beloved pet, or pinning Curley’s Wife against the bunkhouse wall.
Baritone Frederick Ballentine Jr. as the well-meaning new foreman Slim, displayed one of the most beautiful voices of the evening, while tenor Daniel O’Dea as the Ballad Singer (a creation of Floyd’s) added welcome, lyrical commentary on the bleak goings-on. The chorus of ranch hands (nine) was extremely effective in all their guises, whether big, brawny and business-as-usual, or awed by the conflicts surrounding them. One of the opera’s most poignant moments came at the end of act I, where the men sounded a soft, wordless lament in recognition of Candy’s grief at the death of his dog.
Gibson and the 63-piece Philharmonia Orchestra delivered handsomely all the emotional color that Floyd invests in the orchestra, supporting the singers without covering them and setting finely-crafted scenes for the action. Floyd’s music is tonal, but with lots of chromaticism, angular lines and constantly changing meters. Much of it is folk-influenced, but without quoting actual folk melodies. Note the “doom” chords in the scene in the barn where Lennie has his fatal encounter with Curley’s Wife.
Visually, the production comprises a vast, mostly empty landscape against which the light of human relationships burns brightly. The gulley in the first and last acts is commanded by two mountainous shapes, with an over-sized, surreal moon waxing and waning behind them. The bunkhouse is sparse, just a table and bare walls. The scene in the barn, where Lennie accidentally kills Curley’s Wife, is set far downstage against a floor-to-ceiling panel of patched, corrugated cardboard.
Felgenhauer’s lighting was transformative. Scherzer’s blonde hair took on an iridescent color in the barn as Lennie stroked her hair. He appeared in a soft halo in the final scene as he sat waiting for George in the gulley. The gulley itself, initially bathed in white moonlight, took on color and grew more distinct as Lennie and George sang about their shared dream, now lost, but only to George. The ranch hands arrived, Curley with a torch, as the Ballad Singer took the gun gently from George’s hand.
The opera, sung in English with alternating student casts, utilizes English supertitles projected over the stage. Repeats are 8 p.m. tonight and Saturday (May 14 and 15) and 2:30 p.m. Sunday. Tickets are $26-$28, $15-$17 for students. Call (513) 556-4183 or visit www.ccm.uc.edu.