Two art critics see 'Rigoletto' at Santa Fe Opera

Rigoletto, the title character of Giuseppe Verdi’s opera, is a court jester with hyperkyphosis, aka a hunchback. I don’t know if I’m technically a hunchback, but I do slouch a lot, and I’ve started to suspect that I may have scoliosis, which runs in my family.

I went to see “Rigoletto” at the Santa Fe Opera with my friend Jordan Eddy, a fellow art critic and editorial director of Southwest Contemporary magazine. On the ride over, we discussed my theory that critics are the jesters of the art world.

Actually, I stole that idea from the 20th century psychoanalytic theorist Jacques Lacan. In his “Seminar on the Ethics of Psychoanalysis,” he said cultural critics are court jesters who have to play the fool in order to tell the truth. I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist.

“Wait, you identify with Rigoletto?” Jordan said, shocked.

Jordan is probably more of a courtier than a jester. His reviews sound smarter than mine and contain fewer jokes.

In the first act of the opera, Rigoletto makes the mistake of mocking a nobleman, Count Monterone, who puts a curse on the clown. Rigoletto believes this to be a real metaphysical curse — which it may or may not be — but in any case, it has instant, real-world consequences. Rigoletto is thrown onto the street, and the big metal gates slam shut behind him. He’s been canceled.

And what’s worse than that for a jester, whose very livelihood requires an audience?

Well, things do get worse — much worse — for Rigoletto.

Gerardo Bullón was originally slated to play the title role but had to withdraw for personal reasons. Fortunately, Michael Chioldi was there to take his place. The former SFO apprentice singer played Rigoletto last year in the Irish National Opera’s production, and his voice has all the drama and warmth and richness needed for the role.

In my notes, I wrote that his sobbing vibrato still carried the muscle memory of belly laughs. That’s the tough thing about Rigoletto. You can’t just inhabit his emotional darkness. You have to show how his present darkness has eclipsed a former jollity. And Chioldi’s voice is up to the task of such multilayered storytelling.

Color-wise, SFO’s “Rigoletto” is a Molotov cocktail of mauves. From the oversize damask-print wallpaper in the Duke’s palace to the courtiers’ outfits that match it, I feel like I’ve been teleported back to Paris in the late 1850s, when the newly invented color mauve was suddenly everywhere. The satirical journal Punch at the time called it “mauve measles.”

Director Julien Chavaz, scenic designer Jamie Vartan and costume designer Jean-Jacques Delmotte clearly had fun creating a Tim Burton-esque world of pinkish-purplish gray that manages to feel both exuberant and tragic, like an antique, run-down circus — perfect for our cursed clown, Rigoletto.

Vartan also worked with lighting designer Rick Fisher on huge LED set pieces that reminded me of the monumental light-up sign in Elvis Presley’s 1968 “comeback” special.

Chavez’s “Rigoletto” is generally less glitzy than Michael Mayer’s 2013 “Rat Pack” “Rigoletto” for the Metropolitan Opera, which he set in 1960s Las Vegas, Nevada. There are a few “Vegas” touches, though, besides the Elvis-style lights. At one point, he even gives us dancers in big red ostrich-feather fans.

Speaking of costumes, Delmotte’s most inspired decision was to transform the Duke’s henchmen into shadowy “Spy vs. Spy” characters with black capes and sharp-nosed Venetian plague-doctor masks. When they steal away Rigoletto’s daughter, Gilda, at the end of Act I, they arrive with a giant, cartoonish ladder. The audience around me didn’t know whether to gasp or laugh at their creepy horror-comedy antics. Chavaz and movement director Nicole Morel both deserve a lot of praise for creating such fine tonal ambiguity that keeps you on edge.

During intermission, Jordan and I spied a man in a monk’s robe.

“He looks like he’s from the Christ in the Desert monastery,” Jordan said.

This led to a discussion about the Jain monks and nuns I studied with in India years ago. Jains dedicate their lives to nonviolence, to the point that they avoid saying things like, “Would you please turn on the light?” because they believe imposing one’s will on another person is a form of violence.

“Who imposes their will on people the most?” Jordan said. “The critic. Or the comedian.”

“Critics are comedians, aren’t we?” I said. “Slavoj Zizek (the cultural critic) talks about how he plays the role of being a lumbering court jester. I think we have to be entertaining. Otherwise, we’re just critical, and that can be too much.”

“Did you write down the line at the end — it was something like, ‘The unsolicited mocker will finally get his due?’” Jordan said. “Do you feel like an unsolicited mocker when you’re critiquing?”

“Yeah, well, definitely in some cases I am solicited,” I said, “with press releases and cajoling.”

“But sometimes we’re just crashing,” Jordan said.

Verdi himself was an “unsolicited mocker,” at least in the eyes of the Italian censors, who were not amused by the scathing social satire in “Rigoletto.” Verdi hated them and called them “the police,” but he somehow managed to appease them just enough while maintaining his artistic integrity.

When they asked him why the lead had to be a hunchback, he just said, “A hunchback who can sing — why not?”

As Jordan and I walked back to our seats, our conversation shifted to the mingling of comedy and tragedy in “Rigoletto.”

“Maybe you have to take the edge off and create that sort of push and pull (between tragedy and comedy) in this particular opera, because otherwise it would be quite dark,” Jordan said.

“So far, it’s been lighter than I expected,” I said.

“Except when those figures first emerged,” Jordan said.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “They were terrifying.”

For the rest of the opera, Jordan and I passed my phone back and forth. I can’t remember whose notes were whose, but here are some highlights.

“Rigoletto on a knife-throwing target, very dark humor, like the Joker.”

“Men are dressed like the wallpaper, one with their environment, a haze.”

“The tavern set is lovely. Like a L’Occitane shop at the mall?”

“Gilda returns in a Peter Pan costume. Death of innocence?”

“Lightning storm with red flashing lights. I feel it in my body.”

“Big logo of Rigoletto with Jester hat in Broadway lights. Haunted by his own persona, a fractured image of himself, like Lacan’s mirror stage. And Rigoletto looks like Zizek.”

After the opera,

I went home, fell asleep and dreamed about clowns.

Two art critics see 'Rigoletto' at Santa Fe Opera