Nearly a century ago, in 1911, a young Englishwoman in Malaya killed a neighbor, claiming he'd attempted rape. In truth they were probably lovers, and the crime one of passion. The woman, Ethel Proudlock, was convicted, sentenced to death and finally pardoned.

That real-life story fueled W. Somerset Maugham's 1924 short story and 1927 play, each called The Letter. The title refers to his creative invention of a missive sent by the fictional murderess Leslie Crosbie to her lover, Geoff Hammond, before his death. Everything hinges on that document, which Hammond's Chinese mistress has in her possession — including whether Leslie will hang or not.

The play inspired several movie versions, including the atmospheric 1940 Bette Davis vehicle directed by William Wyler. The latest incarnation of Maugham's work, also titled The Letter, received its world premiere Saturday at the Santa Fe Opera to an occasionally nervous audience that ultimately hailed it with hearty bravos.

Nerves were understandable. First off, the opera was a new and unknown quantity. Then, the piece opened with sudden gunshots as the infuriated Leslie emptied a revolver into her spurning swain. As melodrama collided with unintentional farce in the ensuing scene, serious lines were greeted with laughs. They soon faded as Leslie's supposed perfect life split open to reveal a suppurating welter of obsession, love, hate and deceit. Even considering how grim opera can be, The Letter is an unusually unsavory but very human story.

An SFO commission, The Letter is the first opera by Pulitzer Prize-winning composer Paul Moravec and librettist Terry Teachout, a critic and author. They intended to create a mix of verismo opera and film noir, and the results meet the specifications. Like verismo, The Letter concentrates on potentially real-life events seen through an artistic lens; and like film noir, the experience is claustrophobic and compressed, with one act in eight scenes playing 100 minutes.

Moravec's music is exceptionally well-crafted and beautifully orchestrated, though far too thick for the singers' ease, especially in the brass. It is tonal though meandering, with deft additions from the chromatic spice rack and occasional collisions with polytonality. The orchestral interludes are highly theatrical, evocative spells cast by a sonic wizard.

Teachout's libretto pares the story down to a sharp point, and the words come naturally and truthfully from the characters' mouths. At its best, the fusion of music and text charms, as in the flashback where Leslie relives her final angry moments with Geoff; the courtroom scene where his memory-ghost rails at her and they remember the perfumed wonder of their first meeting; and the hilarious, King-and-Country drink-fest in the Singapore planters' club bar. Most of the final scene, at home after Leslie's acquittal, is first-rate as well.

Moravec has written for vocal forces before, thought not in an operatic context. He collaborated closely with soprano Patricia Racette, tailoring Leslie to her wide vocal range, gift of incisive utterance, and dramatic force. He writes in his own idiom without fear, and The Letter's vocal lines are singable if challenging. But while they make an impression in performance, they are quickly forgotten: They are singular without being special, and very seldom lyrical.

Racette gave a defining, dazzling performance. She hurled out atomic high notes as expressions of hate, despair and love and moved gracefully and intelligently. Her softer moments, especially when interacting with Roger Honeywell's beguiling Geoff, were as sad as the memory of first heartbreak. His tenor has a platinum core covered with shot-silk ardor, and their voices mingled like the lovers' bodies had.

Anthony Michaels-Moore did fine work as Robert Crosbie, Leslie's clueless but loving husband. He sang better and better as the night went on, confidently ringing the changes on his virile baritone. Robert's deflation at the discovery of Leslie's lies was horrible, inevitable and pitiable. Baritone James Maddalena's Howard Joyce, the family lawyer, was honest, capable and yet willing to lie to save Robert's heart; he sang with a thoroughly professional mix of concentration and introspection.

As the Chinese Woman, Hammond's mistress, Mika Shigematsu made her short lament for his death convey the feeling of a dark-gold orchid blossoming among reeking deceit. Her mezzo-soprano's rich, burry sound spoke of furious passion under resigned control. Rodell Rosel's lucid tenor and good character projection made his appearances as Joyce's clerk, Ong Chi Seng, quite memorable.

Keith Jameson's John Withers was an earnest official out of his emotional and bureaucratic depths, and apprentice singers Jason Slayden and Kevin Ray were spot-on as a pair of King-and-Country clubmen. The small male chorus sang magnificently in varying roles.

Under Patrick Summers' self-effacing yet inspired conducting, the orchestra played gloriously and with heart, and Summers kept it from overwhelming the stage most of the time. Jonathan Kent's deeply insightful direction fully defined each character through movement, gesture and intention. Hildegard Bechtler's clever, spare set evoked the oppressive heat and humidity of Malaya along with deluxe upper-class comfort, and was subtly lit by Duane Schuler.

In his first foray into opera, celebrity designer Tom Ford's costumes were a revelation. His outfits were insightful interpretations of the period, beautifully constructed as clothing and also to suit each singer's look and physique. In the best sense of the word, they are unobtrusive: The characters wear them, not the other way around.

Moravec and Teachout have certainly made The Letter taut and driving and cinematic, which was their goal. But in the process, I think they have mistaken brevity for intrinsic value and left one of opera's most vital components unrealized: Truly expressive arias for all the main characters, in which introspection welds dramatic truth with music that reaches the heart, not just the mind.

There is enough music in Moravec, enough text in Teachout, and enough moral conflict in Maugham to yield a superb two-act opera on The Letter, with the murder as the Act One curtain — instead of what we have now, which is a sung teleplay saddled with a very badly-contrived "surprise" ending. There's no doubt that The Letter is a welcome telegram with good news, but it could have been a brilliant, bursting package sent special delivery.

Contact Craig Smith at 986-3038, csmith@sfnewmexican.com.

IF YOU GO

The Letter repeats at 9 p.m. Wednesday, and on Aug. 3, 7, 15 and 18. Tickets and information: 986-5900.