The belated premiere of Lewis Spratlan's opera Life Is a Dream, unveiled at Santa Fe Opera on Saturday night 32 years after it was completed, sent opera-goers on a stroll down memory lane to the 1970s, when academic composers were still expected to worship at the altar of atonality.

Many listeners grew exasperated by the demanding musical rigidity that often entailed; but a score as beautiful as Spratlan's reminds us that even if one might not care to dine on atonality for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, an occasional taste can be toothsome. From a musical standpoint, Life Is a Dream is an imposing accomplishment, the more so in light of the bland pablum that has so often been tendered in stage works of more recent vintage.

The piece descends from the loins of Schoenberg's Erwartung, via Moses und Aron, with touches of Berg (Lulu, surely), Roberto Gerhard and Luigi Dallapiccola. If such names inspire you to pop an ibuprofen, this opera is not for you. On the other hand, listeners who imagine themselves even mildly interested ought to attend — and they probably ought to go twice, since this dense score doesn't reveal all its secrets in a single go-round. Even at first hearing, one smiles at the score's woozy references to such interlopers as Johann Strauss II's Tales from the Vienna Woods and Radetzky March. The performance is outstanding, and none of the musicians deserves more cheers than Leonard Slatkin, making his company debut as conductor; he conveys Spratlan's score with precision, clarity and well-plotted momentum, and he has obviously gained the orchestra's wholehearted support in this challenging enterprise.

What about this piece as an opera? The work hews closely to Calderón's play La vida es sueño (Life Is a Dream), written in 1635 and justly extolled as a surpassing classic of Spanish literature. It is perhaps telling that, in the course of 375 years, nobody (so far as I know) has ever set it as an opera. Calderón wrote many opera librettos in his day, but he did not envision that La vida es sueño was an appropriate candidate. That it is a powerful philosophical rumination is beyond debate, but it does not seem as effective as a work of dramaturgy. Its poetry is sublime in Spanish; the vernacular English translation that makes up James Maraniss' libretto is less glorious. I would suggest that hispanophones set the seat-back translations to Spanish titles, which convey much of the text in Calderón's original words.

Maraniss retains the narrative qualities of the play in his libretto. It is talkative, ranged around extended philosophical monologues, and (as in Calderón) it condenses the moments of greatest action (the casting of a servant off a balcony, an attempted rape) into precisely that-moments.

The play's unsettling structure remains intact. In Act One, we find Segismundo exiled to a remote tower because his father, King Basilio, was frightened by portents relating to his birth; but due to problems of regal succession, Basilio (a relative of Shakespeare's Leontes or Lear) now decides to allow Segismundo a "trial run" in court, to see if he can act responsibly. He hedges his bets by drugging Segismundo so, if things turn out badly, Segismundo's keeper can tell him later that his memories of court are merely a dream he had. In Act Two, Segismundo fails his test, behaving like a Calibanish brute, and he is banished back to his tower. Then in Act Three, the play veers toward political revolt; the populace wants its legitimate Prince no matter how badly he has behaved, the loose ends of various subplots are sewn up (not always with narrative elegance), and Segismundo will reign, for better or worse.

By that time, listeners may feel worn out by both plot and music. I wish the libretto had not respected Calderón as much as it did.

Production standards are high. Director Kevin Newbury disposes the characters clearly and creates painterly stage assemblies; surely Georges de La Tour's canvas Le tricheur à l'as de carreau (aka "The Cheat," which, like La vida es sueño, dates from 1635) provided some inspiration for the stylized postures, as well as for Jessica Jahn's costumes (especially notable for an extravagant variety of head-gear). David Korins' effective sets center on Segismundo's tower, which suggests a cylindrical bathysphere with an illuminated weather station perched atop. Appendages that resemble railroad-crossing gates rise and fall from the sides of the stage — 13 of them, perhaps alluding to the unluckiness of Basilio's mathematical portents.

All of the singers deserve more positive comment than I can provide here. Simply mastering such craggy, wide-ranging vocal lines is immensely difficult, but all of these artists invested their performances with rich characterization: soprano Ellie Dehn as an endearing, earnest Rosaura (her monologue at the end of Act Two was deeply moving); tenor Keith Jameson as the bright, boyish and ultimately tragic jester Clarín; baritone James Maddalena as kindly, concerned Clotaldo; baritone Craig Verm as haughty, clear-voiced Astolfo and mezzo-soprano Carin Gilfry as an Estrella of duplicitous charm (both being pretenders to the throne); the veteran bass John Cheek as a world-weary Basilio, gaining our sympathy as the work unrolled.

Tenor Roger Honeywell, as Segismundo, is a special case. His interpretation made a very strong (and often very loud) effect, not dramatically impaired by the occasional throatiness and even stridency of his vocal production. He was good for the opera, and I must trust that he and his coaches feel secure that he is traveling a technical path that will guarantee both short-term impact and longevity as a performer. Mr. Spratlan must feel grateful that his work has finally received not merely an airing, but one of this quality.



IF YOU GO

Life Is a Dream continues with performances on Wednesday and on Aug. 6, 12 and 19. For ticket information, call the Santa Fe Opera at 986-5900 or 800-280-4654.