Bouquets & Radishes

When the curtain came down last week on a new production of Carmen at the Marseille Opera House, the thunderous ovation was so moving that Don Jose laid his head on Carmen's shoulder and wept noisily. He had good reason. In the previous performance, part of the audience had greeted the tenor with something less than cheers; he had, in fact, been pelted with bunches of carrots, turnips and radishes. Even oldtime Marseille residents could not recall a more enthusiastic operatic riot.

Directed by Marseille-born Composer-Playwright Louis Ducreux, the ambitious production had two curtains, four sets, and no fewer than 265 costumes designed by famed Painter Bernard Buffet. In the title role was the Metropolitan Opera's Regina Resnik, who has sung Carmen all over the world. Don Jose was U.S.-born Richard Martell, a tenor who once sang with the San Francisco Opera and has built a fine European reputation.

Every sign seemed to point toward success, but Director Ducreux had apparently forgotten that Marseille audiences are a strange breed. Fiercely proud of their opera house, they resent outside interference; they doubt any operatic judgment but their own. A Marseille fisherman or barber may buy a third-balcony seat, show up for his favorite aria and leave immediately, either exalted or enraged. Director Ducreux might have anticipated trouble because of his new, untraditional production, his largely imported cast, or the presence of a socialite audience flown in for the occasion by chartered plane from Paris.

Trouble was not long in coming. The lights were extinguished and then put on to reveal an eye-catching curtain by Buffet in somber tones--predominantly black, white, blue and ocher. The sets and costumes soon made it apparent that Buffet had succeeded in stripping the usual Frenchified elegance from the opera and restoring some of the wildness of Spain in the 1820s. The 400 or so local fans perched at the top of the house (in "Paradise") began muttering as soon as Tenor Martell sang his first line, started shouting when he nervously hit a clinker or two.

The vegetables began flying in Act II when Don Jose finished singing the Flower Song. Mezzo-Soprano Resnik, unable to make her voice heard, regally glared at the howlers in Paradise and cried: "Silence!'' The swells in the orchestra shouted "Bravo, Carmen!" while the locals in Paradise shouted "Behead her!" After four minutes Mezzo-Soprano Resnik managed to quiet the gallery and proceed. Although the rest of the performance was a triumph for both Resnik and Martell, the hecklers obstinately showered the stage with leeks after the final curtain.

Critics stoutly defended the new Carmen, praising Martell's performance and calling Resnik "the best Carmen ever seen." Last week it was apparent from the SRO signs outside the house that Director Ducreux had a hit on his hands. As for the riot, noted Ducreux tolerantly, "It was a cabal against me, a vegetable rich cabal. The hecklers were only looking for a raison d'etre. They have-modified Descartes' statement to make it "I boo, therefore I exist.' "

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