Lou Harrison had the crackpot theories of the most forbidding High Modernist but the results, just intonation notwithstanding, could be soundtracks to an Oscar-winning feature film. Parts of his piano concerto are not very different from John Williams. The only reason he’s not as ubiquitous as Copland is probably his insistence on non-Western and home-made instruments.
This production was the kind of out of left field project that makes people love the L.A. Phil. Harrison's music is sweet and earnest. There are haunting violin solos. But the drama, after decades of revisions, doesn’t work.
The core of it is a gay Dido and Aeneas, that ends with Caesar leaving his beloved Nicomedes in obedience to his political duties. The concluding lament of Nicomedes is touching and lovely.
The first half consists of Caesar’s youth: his marriage, fatherhood, his father's death, his first taste of bare-fisted politics, his first duties in the army. Much of this becomes relevant in the subsequent scenes with Nicomedes. But none of it is presented in a way that makes it compelling in itself.
There are some arias (“Yesterday his eyes were bright” and “Now grasp your daughter”) that almost justify it. But some of it is awful, like the repeated unfunny jokes on the rejected fiancée Cossutia’s fatness. It’s intended as comic relief, but it came across as stupid misogyny. The dancer swirling around in drag with a box of chocolates didn't help.
This probably wasn’t the case in the original format, where all the parts were played by puppets. The unreality made it a cartoon. Puppet Cossutia’s dance of despair was probably a hoot.
But then later revisions added live performers. And boy did L.A. Phil provide live ones. Of course it was nice to see nice-looking guys like Adam Fisher (Caesar) and Hadleigh Adams (Nicomedes) cuddling on stage. Let's have more of this. But it’s revealing that the high point of this production—and the one moment of real hilarity—was the “Eroticon” orgy scene, in which the shadows of the dancers cavorted with the puppets. It was just the right mix of bawdy, silly and artful. It was the moment I could discern a gleam of Harrison and Robert Gordon’s “opera for X-rated puppets.”