A brooding 'Boccanegra'

Verdi's overlooked masterpiece "Simon Boccanegra," staged Oct. 4, 2011, at the Hungarian State Opera in Budapest.

It was a traditional production. Two cloaked figures, each 30 feet high, framed the first act's set. Four mermaids with aquamarine hair lounged in a Genoa seascape to open Act 2. Two-legged lizards, remimiscent of "District 9" prawns, roamed the stage, messengers of the subconscious.

This opera is all about the music -- deep, dark, difficult and endlessly listenable, typified by Fiesco's great "Il lacerate spirito" aria. Tonight's cast appeared to be all-Hungarian save for Fiesco, played by Giacomo Prestia. In an opera house too frequently visited by has-beens and would-bes, it was great to see Prestia in person.

Please remind me never to skimp on opera tickets again. Sitting 30 feet from the stage with a clear view of the pit, everything looks and sounds 300 percent better.

Four nights ago for "Don Pasquale," I was in this box. Looks like Carmela Soprano is there tonight.


Some Oriental weirdness.


Greek gods on the ceiling, by Karoly Lotz.


The psychology of the character Paolo Albiani is interesting. He tries and fails to kidnap Amelia Grimaldi, played by Gyongyi Lukacs, below, and is not immediately caught. When Boccanegra demands everyone in his presence curse the would-be abductor, Paolo reluctantly chimes in, cursing himself.


Most people I know would be able to live with this. Hey, I was caught up in the moment, there was peer pressure, let's move on. But for a guy whose job is to effortlessly offer up limp platitudes, it really seems to eat at him between Acts 2 and 3, to the point where he poisons Boccanegra, as if that will lift the curse.

It is a mystifying opera, stately and majestic, served up with lofty bravado. Glad I went.