FROM AROUND THE WORLD: SAN FRANCISCO.(Review)

Jake Heggie and Terrence McNally's Dead Man Walking (seen October 13) represents a significant success for San Francisco Opera, which, over the past six years, has spent considerable time, care and resources on high-profile world premieres. There was Conrad Susa and Philip Littell's The Dangerous Liaisons in 1994, then Andre Previn and Littell's A Streetcar Named Desire in 1998. While both had memorable individual moments, Dead Man Walking is the only one of the trio in which achievement matches intention.

The creators of the opera have stated repeatedly that their work is based on the book by Sister Helen Prejean and not on the 1995 Tim Robbins film, but it seems unlikely that the opera project would have taken shape without the movie, and certainly among Dead Man Walking's strengths are its cinematic flow and unflagging pace. Despite its headlong tempo, the story of Sister Helen and her traumatic stint as spiritual adviser to convicted rapist-murderer Joseph de Rocher never feels rushed or incomplete. From the start, the opera has an assured, confident feel, as if both Heggie and McNally knew exactly what they wanted to do and did it. The clean, spare production of Michael Yeargan (with superb lighting by Jennifer Tipton) permits us to focus on the wrenching emotions that assault the characters, and Joe Mantello's staging is blessedly direct and unfussy.

Heggie has composed a rich, unified score that never becomes overly schematic. I came to know Heggie's music after listening to Faces of Love, a CD of his songs released in 1999 to high praise. Though some of his melodies had an appealing lyrical reticence, not unlike the best of Lee Hoiby, too many of them struck me as arch and coy. In Dead Man Walking, however, his music has a gleaming sincerity and never overplays its hand -- no small accomplishment, considering the volatile subject matter. Occasionally, it doesn't play its hand strongly enough; Heggie falters somewhat in Sister Helen's big Act I monologue, "This Journey," in which the music doesn't take hold of us the way we want it to, and the final hours of de Rocher similarly fall somewhat short of the mark. But the orchestrations throughout are impressively crafted -- Heggie's use of winds and percussion is especially effective -- and his ensemble writing is downright masterly. The finale of Act I, in which Sister Helen is overcome by the angry and anguished voices of the many principals involved in the case -- de Rocher, his mother, the parents of his victims, a prison chaplain and a warden -- is a stunning piece of work.

A few quibbles about McNally's libretto: he never seems quite able to take us by surprise; the characters don't say anything we wouldn't expect them to. There are occasional slip-ups: someone with de Rocher's background would probably say, "I don't read so good," not "well." I winced when Sister Helen's friend, Sister Rose, said of de Rocher, "He's a cold-blooded murderer, Helen. Two innocent children are dead. Two of God's children," and Sister Helen replied, "But we're all of us God's children, Rose"; it sounded like something out of Loretta Young's Come to the Stable. And I don't think a Death Row inmate, confronted with the sight of Sister Helen, would yell anything so innocuous as "Hey, pretty lady -- got a kiss for me?" But McNally is to be credited for his theatrical savvy throughout, and for his ability to keep things moving.

As de Rocher, John Packard gave a superb performance. In his early scenes, he hit the right note of ambiguity with respect to his guilt, ...