Mr. Menotti, my apologies. I should have written about your adorable opera straight away. The Last Savage, which I saw at Santa Fe Opera on Thursday, turned out to be one of the most fun filled evenings I've ever spent at the opera. I love MGM musicals, and this opera looked and felt like an MGM musical — but with even more singing and funnier jokes. The score is good, not great, but Menotti's dramatic instincts are sterling as ever (as were those of conductor George Manahan) and the opera is genuinely entertaining. It definitely deserves better than the obscurity it's enjoyed since its Paris, New York and Venice premieres flopped so resoundingly.
So, the plot, briefly. Kitty is a budding anthropologist from Vassar. Her wealthy father has taken her to India, where he meets the Maharajah and negotiates a marriage between his daughter and the Maharajah's son. Kitty, however, won't marry anybody — or give up anthropology — until she finds the titular "last savage". So a country boy is found to impersonate said savage. It works, but then, because it's opera, everybody starts falling in love the wrong way round and complications ensue, until a G&S-style revelation intervenes to sort everybody out for a happy Ever After.
You see what I mean. It could easily be an MGM movie. In fact, it probably is, so it was fitting that Anna Christy (Kitty) looked eerily like Jane Powell. She sang, of course, far better — I'm no fan of those tweety Hollywood sopranos — which is fortunate, since the role is full of deliberately over-the-top coloratura. Kevin Burdette channelled that MGM vibe perfectly as well — the man can not only sing (and he sure can sing), he's a first rate comic actor, who stole the show even when standing in the corner of the stage not singing.
Those two were probably the highest of the highlights, but it's a close call — everyone was beautifully in on the joke, throwing themselves into the madcap fun of the show and singing wonderfully to boot. Daniel Okulitch has far more than just a talent for shirtlessness to recommend him for the role of the so-called savage; Jennifer Zetlan's Sardula was lovely, particular in her rather long, serious aria which calls Leïla's "Comme autrefois" from Pearlfishers to mind; Jamie Barton was a campy delight as the oversized Maharani and the list goes on...truly, there was never a dull nor a disappointing moment.
The true star of the evening, though? Ned Canty, who's directed a production so bursting with comedy, colour and detail that you'd need to see it three or four times to appreciate the genius of it all. The lion! The whiskey gag! The blink-and-you'll miss it Nixon reference! None of which means anything to you if you haven't seen it! In Canty's hands, this show is as non-stop hilarious as you always wish Figaro was, and it's at least as good looking as anything in Glorious Technicolor. Fabulous costumes, simple yet brilliant sets, and visual gags most directors would kill to come up with. And all of it totally in service of the score. At the end of the evening, my companion was heard to utter "Ned Canty should direct every opera ever." I'd struggle to disagree.
Now maybe the opera isn't the finest ever, or even Menotti's finest, but I have to say, thanks to Ned Canty, George Manahan and such a supercool cast, I'm convinced that it deserves a higher place in the repertoire. Principal and supporting roles are mostly rewarding — particularly Kitty, her father, and the Maharani; there's lots of fun for the chorus, and the potential for comic gold is huge. The potential for falling flat is thus probably also considerable — the thing did flop, after all, and comedy is hard — but hey, just hire Ned Canty, or clone him, and you're sorted.
My only regret is that we waited so long to go, and now have no chance to see it again.
(Photos: Ken Howard/Santa Fe Opera)
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