Wilson sheds new light on ‘Butterfly’

The principal stage property in Robert Wilson’s Los Angeles Opera production of “Madame Butterfly” is light -- exquisite light nearly tangible in its color and intensity. It influences every aspect of how we hear and understand Puccini’s opera. The principal means of theatrical expression is movement that is stylized and strange. Dressed in fabulous futurist clothes, Puccini’s characters are not human beings as we normally know them.

But these once-peculiar Wilson inventions, now pervasive in international stagecraft, are no longer radical. The audience hardly seemed shocked Thursday night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Indeed, “Butterfly,” the first Wilson opera staging to reach the West Coast, is being marketed as a classic, and L.A. Opera is banking on Wilson’s celebrity to sell tickets. The company will present the production a record 14 times over the next month; the major roles are double- or, in the case of Butterfly, triple-cast. The singers are not big, or even medium-sized, names.

When Wilson created this production 11 years ago for the Opera Bastille in Paris, it was a departure for him. The particular uses of light and movement were techniques he had been developing for 20 years with original material. With his increasing prominence, he gradually adapted these techniques to classic works of theater and opera. But in traditional opera, he had limited himself to the classical restraint of Gluck, the caprice of Mozart’s “Magic Flute” and the otherworldly grandeur of Wagner (leaving out the sex).

But Wilson’s cool abstraction promised to be a perversion of Puccini’s torrid sentimentality. On what common ground might the seemingly emotionally aloof Texan meet the operatic verismo of an Italian populist? Try Japan, a land foreign and mysterious to both. Getting lost in translation is never a concern in the work of Puccini and Wilson. Both embrace otherness and simply express it in their own terms.

For his “Butterfly,” Wilson dispensed with the curious stage imagery, the flamboyant drawings and miraculously illuminated props that are also his hallmarks, in an effort to depict Japan with Noh theater sparseness. Practically all there is to Stephanie Engeln’s version of Wilson’s original is a wooden platform, a winding path and a bridge in the distance. The backdrop is a large illuminated screen bathed in color.

The characters, dressed in Frida Parmeggiani’s striking costumes, are mainly defined by their walks and their vividly ornamental, non-rhetorical gestures. They react to one another other slowly and with little physical passion, and hardly ever touch.

The effect of Heinrich Brunke’s lighting design and movement (credited to Japanese choreographer Suzushi Hanayagi in the Paris production) is to focus attention on Puccini’s music in new ways. Vibrant colors and the scrupulously refined shades of lighting match but don’t correspond to Puccini’s orchestration. It is through the orchestra that Puccini creates his worlds. It is through light that Wilson creates his.

With Kent Nagano conducting a captivating performance of great delicacy, beauty and lyricism, extended orchestral passages proved a special highlight Thursday. But the extreme minimalism of the production also made one aware of small technical difficulties in the lighting. Wilson so sensitizes the viewer that even the slightest imperfection registers. For all the expensive and grueling extra hours of rehearsal, and despite the considerable magic achieved, the production needs even more hours.

The first impression of someone new to Wilson might be that this is another planet, where the leading government agency is related to Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks. But the walks are also profoundly revealing. The Japanese float, as if propelled by rows of tiny feet. The Americans stride. Arms move at odd angles, gestures are sudden and musical but not in sync with Puccini’s music.

Gradually this form of abstraction creates its own poignancy. Rather than broadly signaling his American exuberance, Pinkerton physically holds it in, and our attention turns to his voice, his words. Butterfly, with her stately elegant gestures, is a fragile beauty overwhelmed by a passion too strong for her.

Thursday’s cast appeared to work hard to master the complex choreography. But appearing to work hard, even impressively so, means they also appeared self-conscious. The men did the best, although they had less to do.

John Matz was a confident Pinkerton physically and vocally. Greg Fedderly was an utterly convincing Goro; though the role of the marriage broker is small, he demonstrated just what a Wilson singer should look and sound like. Alan Opie was a sympathetic Sharpless but sounded worn.

As Butterfly, Veronica Villarroel seemed to tense every muscle in her body to focus her gestures. She doesn’t ideally look the part, and her voice is steely. Yet by dint of sheer effort, she proved touching by the end. Susanna Poretsky’s Suzuki, though, never got past her initially awkward entrance.

Still, there is much to remember. I’ll remain haunted by James Prival, a 10-year-old, as Trouble, Butterfly’s young son. His fluid movements against radiant light turned sentimental melody into subtle, inexpressible sentiment, into simultaneous sadness and joy.

And that is the unique greatness of Robert Wilson’s Puccini. By separating sight and sound, this masterful director allows us complex emotions, to feel more than one thing at the same time.

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‘Madame Butterfly’

Where: Los Angeles Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.

When: Sunday, 2 p.m.; Wednesday, Feb. 24, 26, 27, 29, March 4, 5, 11, 12, 7:30 p.m.; Feb. 21, March 7, 14, 2 p.m.

Price: $25-$170

Contact: (213) 365-3500