Santa Fe Opera’s Carmen explores feminist point of view

The opera’s setting was an abandoned 1950s-era amusement park — fractured to suggest Carmen’s mental state, from which intentionally garish scenic units, such as a house of horrors, emerged for individual scenes. Costumes also had a last half of the 20th-century sensibility, especially for the women, who wore clothes from the era.

Clément was particularly interested in portraying Carmen and Micaëla as three-dimensional people rather than stereotypes, with the costuming choices reflecting that point of view. Carmen wore deliberately nonprovocative clothes — jeans, an ordinary top and a green leather jacket — throughout much of the opera; Micaëla, who comes from a rural background, was clad in overalls and high-top sneakers.

In keeping with the production concept, the two most compelling performances came from mezzo-soprano Isabel Leonard as Carmen and soprano Sylvia D’Eramo (a former Santa Fe apprentice) as Micaëla.

Leonard is a deeply thoughtful performer, as well as a dynamic one; in this staging, she is asked to “be” much more than to “act,” and she is completely engaged in every moment. She’s a superior singing actor, and her vocalism was at an equally high level. It’s impossible to imagine a better match between director and performer.

D’Eramo had a tomboy vibe instead of the standard prim schoolgirl portrayal, and her interest in Don José had a clear sexual component.

One of many effective staging details: in delivering the kiss from José’s mother, she kissed him on the lips, which caused him to quickly back away.

When delivering a return kiss for his mother, he kissed Micaëla’s forehead, which clearly devastated her. Also notable: She offered a more full-blooded vocal performance than is typical with the character.

As José, Matthew White was a late replacement for Bryan Hymel who withdrew from the production for personal reasons shortly before rehearsals began. White doesn’t have the ideal vocal heft for José (his lyric tenor would be best in roles such as La Bohème’s Rodolfo), but he sang well after a somewhat shaky start.

It’s hard to know whether it was a directorial choice, but his portrayal was less fully rounded than Leonard’s, confined mostly to a sullen demeanor. Crucially, however, White succeeded in capturing José’s hair-trigger temper. It was first referenced in an early dialogue scene as the reason he had to leave home and join the army, and then in the action.

He hit or tried to hit both Carmen and Micaëla several times before the finale, in which he stabbed Carmen repeatedly.

Seven-year-old Isla Burdette (daughter of frequent Santa Fe Opera performer Kevin Burdette) was impressive as an impassive double for the title character, functioning as both Carmen’s young self and a future Carmen who has already learned how to dance for men. Her presence gave Carmen the chance to demonstrate a kinder, gentler side, with Leonard comforting her as she fell asleep, attempting to save her from a similar destiny another, and in the Act III Card Trio, realizing that the little girl’s fate will be the same as her own.

Burdette’s appearances might have been even more effective if they had been fewer in number, but they succeeded in suggesting the cycle of sexuality and violence at the heart of the production.

The matchup between production and musical interpretation didn’t always seem in sync. There’s less overt stage energy than in most Carmens, between the title character’s real-person portrayal and the omission of both the large number of supernumeraries for the big scenes in Acts I and IV and the ragtag children’s chorus in the first act.

Harry Bicket’s conducting often seemed to be taking the same approach, with corresponding drops in tension and propulsion at times.

It worked best when he and the orchestra provided the energy to complement matters, with the beginning of Act IV being a superb example.

While there was no parade of matadors, picadors, chulos, etc., etc. entering the bullring, the chorus was pushed far downstage, clustered behind a wooden bullring wall.

The orchestra’s electric playing here, combined with the chorus’s full-throated singing and convincing description of the unseen procession, was terrific.

In his company debut, bass-baritone Michael Sumuel was a smooth, suave Escamillo. His Toreador Song was quite pleasing although it never truly took off.

In the supporting roles, baritone apprentices Luke Sutliff and Darren Lekeith Drone were fine as Dancaïre and Moralès.

Bass David Crawford was vocally and physically hammy as Zuniga, while apprentice tenor Anthony León had a lively presence as Remendado but was often nearly inaudible. As Frasquita and Mercédès, Magdalena Kuzma and Maire Therese Carmack didn’t have as much to do as in most stagings, but they dispatched what they had energetically.

Clément’s and Hansen’s interpretation can never entirely escape the original’s baked-in attitudes toward women, which would require a much more radical deconstruction of the piece. However, it’s very much worth seeing — for their expectation-challenging work, for the performances of Leonard and D’Eramo, and for Susanne Sheston’s excellent preparation of the apprentice chorus.

Kudos to the opera for bringing this provocative new production to Santa Fe.

The company is finally starting to engage more women as directors and conductors, with two this year and two in 2023. Not great, by any means, but at least an improvement on the past.