It was an unusual program for a Utah Symphony chamber concert, a Mozart serenade followed by a Mozart opera. Even more unusual, the serenade contained more music.
Of course "The Impressario" is not strictly speaking an opera. Written in 1786 for a party at the Schoenbrunn, it is what the program proclaimed it to be, "a comedy with music," on this showing about 30 minutes of the former and 20 of the latter, interpolated into the action.Included in that disproportionate figure are two soprano arias, a trio - together with the overture, the high point of the piece - and a near-rondo finale in which the four remaining characters humorously sing the praises of art. Yet it is the music that keeps this slender farce alive, something apparent Saturday despite an aggressively updated English translation.
For my taste the overture could have used more brio, the finale likewise seeming a bit heavy in spots. Otherwise conductor Joseph Silverstein presided over a fitfully amusing performance in which the luster of Mozart generally shone through.
With a modest stage set behind the orchestra, consisting mainly of a sofa, a desk and a potted palm, the comedy itself played in more obvious style. As the two sopranos competing for the lead in "Mr. Scruples' " opera, Kimberly McCullough and Lisa Saffer flew at each other with gusto, although it might have been nice had the latter not been the only character onstage clearly reading her part from a prompt-book. Still, each in her way did more to suggest a specific character - namely the coquettish rapture of the first vs. the high-flown theatricality of the second - than did actor Tony Larimer in the title role, who for all his stage presence seldom got beyond the lines themselves.
Conversely Mark Evans slid ingratiatingly into the role of the amiable lothario attempting to placate both his lady loves, his lyric tenor sitting lightly between the two in the ensembles. (In light of which the reference to Donald Trump was perhaps not inappropriate.) Ditto baritone David Power's easygoing impersonation of the aide who would rather be an artist than an administrator.
For me the nod would have gone to "Miss Silverpeal" (McCullough), who seemed less taxed than her rival by the bravura acrobatics of the writing. But the latter's occasional shrieks were not out of place in the context.
Earlier we were treated to party music of a different sort, the Serenade No. 4 in D major, from Mozart's early years in Salzburg. In eight movements, its 45 minutes offer almost a mix-and-match array of suppertime delights, ranging from the symphonic outer movements to a mini-violin concerto and nocturnal concertante-style Andante.
Here the controlled exuberance of Silverstein's direction was matched by the grace and virtuosity of his violin solos. Likewise oboist Robert Stephenson's subtly pointed playing in the quietly animated Andante.