The artistic director of St. Pete’s much-acclaimed freeFall Theatre, Davis is making his first foray into opera with this production, but you wouldn’t know it. Or maybe you would; it takes a director with theatrical chops to know how to use a big ensemble (40-plus performers, including principals and dancers) this well. In the relatively intimate confines of the Palladium, the chorus members register not as a mass of backup voices but as a fascinatingly eclectic assemblage of individuals, especially in the drunken Bacchanale (one of the most familiar musical interludes in the opera) in which each of them seems to be having his or her own kind of orgiastic fun. In the opening scenes, in which they're portraying Israelites besieged by the Philistines, their agony is palpable.
Of course, none of this stagecraft would matter much without musicality. And conductor Mark Sforzini, St. Pete Opera’s artistic director, has assembled a terrifically talented crew. Under his direction, singers and orchestra negotiate the swirling lyricism of Saint-Saëns’ score with delicacy and precision, but they can also muster extraordinary power; the choral cries of lament and triumph, the orchestral coda to Dalila’s conquest of Samson, all pack a wallop.
As Samson, the imposing Jon Morrell manages the difficult trick of conveying both strength and vulnerability, whether fighting his attraction to Dalila or, when blinded and shackled in defeat, his powerful tenor is laced with pain. As Dalila, Holly Sorensen is lovely of voice and zaftig of figure (think Liz Taylor in her flowing-caftans period). She’s clearly a conniver; we’re always aware (perhaps too much so) that her flirtatiousness is a trap. (Some unnecessary stage business — clipping the heads off flowers? — doesn’t help.) In her seduction scenes with Samson, she plays Dalila more as coquette than as irresistible force of nature, which is the approach some divas have taken to this role (e.g., Shirley Verrett). But Sorensen's creamy mezzo-soprano soars lusciously in the famous love aria, “Mon coeur s’ouvre à ta voix.” And when she returns in the final act, imperious in victory, her sarcasm as she mockingly reprises the aria to the now-vanquished Samson is breathtaking in its cruelty.
Supporting players are uniformly impressive. I was sorry to see Samson’s first victim fall so soon, if only because Benjamin LeClair was so effective as the contemptuous Philistine governor Abimélech. Anthony Zoeller’s High Priest of Dagon was fearsome, even demonic at times, with a fierce baritone to match; and Fred Furnari brought a sonorous bass voice and charismatic presence to the role of the venerable counselor who warns Samson (to no avail) against the dangerous Dalila.
Michelle Manchess Moore’s costumes mix traditional garb with modern dress, sometimes in the same outfit; though it’s occasionally distracting to see a guard clomping about in black dress shoes and a tunic, the multiple variations that she works with small details, particularly with the chorus, are admirable. The aforementioned lighting, which goes a long way toward transforming what at first appears to be a mundane setting, is by Keith Arsenault, and the simplicity of that set, by T.J. Ecenia, reveals its virtues and its versatility as the production progresses.
I imagine credit is due both Davis and Ecenia for the evening’s final, satisfying scenic surprise. It provided a memorable cap to a splendidly sung, imaginatively staged production that deserved the standing ovation it received.
