Manon at San Francisco Opera

The 1731 novel Manon Lescaut by Abbé Prévost depicting the rise and fall of a pleasure-seeking young woman in Paris has spawned adaptations galore over the centuries, from French films to a full-length ballet by Kenneth MacMillan and two major operas, one by Puccini and an earlier 1884 version by Jules Massenet. The San Francisco Opera is currently presenting the Massenet version in a revival of Vincent Boussard's stylish, minimalist production from 2017 with soprano Amina Edris as the title character and Music Director Eun Sun Kim leading the orchestra in an exquisite, colorful rendition of the musical score. (All production photos by Cory Weaver.)

The story begins with the teenage Manon being sent off by her family to be shut away in a convent. She is met at an inn by her cousin Lescaut, a neglectful young guardian who is more interested in drinking and gambling than looking after her. Meanwhile, the rich old Epstein Class of the time, depicted by Stephen Gaertner as De Breigny and Steven Cole as Guillot de Morfrontaine, take notice of the beautiful teenager and offer her enticements to join them and their entertaining harem trio consisting of Sofia Gotch as Poussette, Laura Krumm as Javotte, and Taylor Raven as Rosette.

Coming to the rescue is a young student, the Chevalier des Grieux, who is outraged that Manon's family is cruelly shutting her away, and the pair impulsively escape to Paris together where they cohabitate in a barely furnished garret while apparently making love day and night.

It is here in Act Two that Pene Pati sings a famous aria, En fermant les yeux (Le rêve), where he relates his daydream of living in a cottage in a forest with his beloved. Pati's rendition was so achingly beautiful, singing softly over the simple, wave-like accompaniment of the orchestra, that I burst into tears, especially knowing how the rest of the tale plays out. He is kidnapped soon after by a group hired by his father, the Comte des Grieux, sung powerfully by bass-baritone James Creswell, and Manon goes off with De Bretigny to be a rich man's courtesan.

Act Three begins with Lescaut, sung by the handsome Brazilian baritone Vitor Bispo, leading fellow bon vivants at Paris's boulevard Le Cours-la-Reine, where Manon makes a spectacular entrance involving a high wall and balloons. It was at this point that Amina Edris seemed to falter vocally and dramatically. The role requires a high, sparkling soprano voice (think Beverly Sills or Ruth Ann Swenson) and a surfeit of charm. Edris is beautiful and an accomplished singer, who was totally believable a few years ago as Cleopatra in John Adams's Antony and Cleopatra opera, but she didn't convince as Manon at all for me, even though she's sung the role in France to acclaim a few times.

The performer who stole every scene in which he appeared was the 77-year-old character tenor Steven Cole as the rich, lecherous Guillot de Morfontaine, who's had his eye on Manon since the beginning of the opera. He was by turns funny, creepy, charming, and authoritative, and it's amazing that he's still performing at such a high level.

Meanwhile, des Grieux has taken vows to become an abbé, musing that his only misgiving is his still smoldering love for Manon. Usually, the character of des Grieux comes across as a sap while Manon, for all her flaws, is the vital center. However, in this production, Pati is so sympathetic as an actor and singer that you end up caring more about him than his gold digging ex-lover.

During the St. Sulpice scene, with its Flying Jesus overhead, Manon seduces des Grieux and comes across as a greedy person who wants it all, both riches and true love.

When Manon urges a reluctant des Grieux to gamble so they can live in the style to which she has become accustomed, the scene just feels nasty, and her final death scene as a prisoner marching to Le Havre had me muttering, "Well, she deserves it," which is not the intended emotional response. The production is definitely worth seeing, though. Besides the glorious orchestra, there are dozens of small roles capably filled, and Broussard's direction of the chorus was brilliant. Instead of clunkily moving on and off the stage, they were used abstractly and with wit. Above all, the Pene Pati performance is instantly legendary.