Audio By Carbonatix
The plot might be hokey and the performances uneven, but on the strength of an eclectic score, fine orchestral playing and some poignant episodes, the Denver Opera Company’s production of Patience and Sarah is more than a high-minded conversation piece about sex and sexuality.
The 1998 work, which is receiving its regional premiere at Montview Boulevard Presbyterian Church’s Miller Center, addresses the issue of lesbian love head-on, beginning with an awkward introduction to the two eponymous principals, who live within a stone’s throw of each other in rural, Colonial-era Connecticut. Soon after Patience’s sister-in-law grumbles that she’s heard some unflattering rumors about her tomboyish neighbor, we’re introduced to young Sarah Dowling, who knocks at the door to see if she can chop some wood for Patience and her family. Following a too-brief exchange, Patience and Sarah decide to retire to the attic to check out a few of Patience’s paintings. Once that unintentionally laughable moment passes, however, Paula M. Kimper and Wende Persons’s tuneful creation largely avoids cliche and focuses instead on the raging feelings that each woman must individually confront without benefit of familial tolerance or, for the most part, mutual support.
Indeed, once their families learn of their relationship, the two undergo something of a forced separation. What’s more, Sarah suffers a brutal beating at the hands of her righteous yet bellicose father, and Patience must endure stern lectures from her brother and his wife, who urge her to pray a good deal and heed St. Paul’s admonitions about homosexuality. Heartbroken, disillusioned and tainted by “scandal,” Sarah resolves to leave home and go it alone on the road. Posing as a boy, she meets up with an ex-parson who peddles books from a pushcart and who seems, on the whole, friendly. Make that too friendly: When the two bed down near separate rocks under the open sky, the sensitive bookworm decides he wants to curl up a little closer to his boy-helper, who quickly informs him that she’s a girl. This uncomfortable moment (which, like the come-see-my-etchings scene, seems overly contrived), as well as a dreamlike visitation from her beloved Patience, sends Sarah packing for the discomforts of home.
While it’s sometimes difficult to comprehend the sung dialogue (the company’s shoestring budget understandably prohibits the use of projected surtitles), the story’s underlying meanings become clearer as the show progresses. And while clumsy staging hampers a couple of key moments — during Patience and Sarah’s climactic parlor reunion in Act Three, both women’s faces are obscured when Sarah faces upstage for what seems like an eternity and blocks the audience’s view of a scarlet-clad Patience, who’s been unseen for an entire act — director Matt Lucas keeps the action moving at a comfortable pace. Although the two-and-a-half-hour piece would benefit from more nuanced acting — a tender, controlled touch on another’s arm or a pair of praying hands gently raised heavenward would communicate more than the generalized emoting that mars several scenes — the exuberant performers manage to articulate each character’s more obtuse motives.
Leading the company on opening night was Deborah Hannah, whose affecting portrait of Sarah resonated best during Act Two, when she joined Joe Darschewski’s charming bookseller in a wistful, evocative duet. (The roles of Patience and Sarah are played on alternate nights by two different pairs of singers.) The accomplished mezzo-soprano stands head and shoulders above her colleagues in every respect, imbuing her portrait with an artistry and emotional honesty that’s lacking elsewhere in the music drama. As Patience, Debera Jensen brings an ardor to her performance that works well enough during her quieter moments but assaults the senses whenever she attempts to hit one of her many high notes — which is, unfortunately, early and often. While the supporting portrayals prove spotty throughout, Sean Shin and Kimberly Lynette Woolfolk are, along with Jensen, effective during a moving — and somewhat chilling — trio set to the words of the Lord’s Prayer. And conductor David Brussel and the hearty pit orchestra interpret the pleasing, occasionally playful score with admirable aplomb.
As the opera swells to its hopeful conclusion, the leading characters join hands and rapturously sing, “Two hands, one dream/That’s all we need.” It’s an uplifting ending to a daring endeavor that, if not performed to perfection, is full of faith, courage and, most of all, heart.
