Opera plots, especially Verdi opera plots, receive a great deal of flack for their incredible situations. At the top of the list is the crazy gypsy who immolates her own child by mistake (“Il Trovatore”), followed by the near-comatose terminal patient who suddenly revives before her final breath to sing a dramatic aria (“La Traviata”), and the lovesick youth who chooses to sacrifice her life to save a lover whom she has just witnessed in yet another cynical tryst (“Rigoletto”).

But before brushing away these credulity-straining instances as the inevitable by-product of an effete, blue-blooded hobby, consider the populist counterparts on the commercial musical stage. How about the two vicious New York street gangs that sing and dance as if they had spent their whole lives training with Martha Graham (“West Side Story”)? Or the grand giugnol infatuation with a deformed masked creature who inhabits a grotto beneath the sewers of Paris (“Phantom of the Opera”)? Or the gaggle of snotty Austrian siblings who outwit Nazi treachery by chirping sappy songs (“The Sound of Music”)?

We are ready to suspend cold, rational analysis, however, if we can be taken on a rich emotional journey that provides some psychological or ethical insights along the way. San Diego Opera offered such a journey Saturday (March 28) with the opening of its production of Giuseppe Verdi’s “Rigoletto.” Under the astute direction of Lotfi Mansouri onstage and Eduoardo Mueller in the pit, this “Rigoletto” commanded our empathy and rewarded us with a faithful facsimile of its many musical treasures.

Georgian baritone Lado Ataneli tore into the title role without apology, emphasizing Rigoletto’s abusive pranks as the Duke’s court jester and balancing this cruel demeanor with a warm, paternal tenderness towards his daughter Gilda. San Diego Opera loyalists recall Ataneli’s success as a more sympathetic Verdi father character in his 2005 local debut as the company’s Simon Boccanegra. Ataneli's large, muscular baritone was rarely challenged by the high tessitura of Rigoletto, and, while he does not possess the vocal finesse of a Sherrill Milnes, his stylistic authority is beyond question.

In her San Diego debut, the young Slovakian soprano L’ubica Vargicová was a winning Gilda, a gleaming coloratura brightness on top and a warm lyrical quality in her mid-range. It is not surprising that one of her calling cards has been the Queen of the Night in Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” Her “Caro Nome” was in turn delicate, supple, and ravishing, although when she unleashes the power of her upper range, her pitch is at times more approximate than spot-on. In her duets with Ataneli she connected magnetically, and their rapport was palpable.

As the Duke of Mantua, Albanian tenor Giuseppe Gipali’s decadence was spelled out in lower case letters, his zeal for romantic conquest just two steps above perfunctory. His polished, Italianate tenor voice and ample attention to beautiful phrasing might have worked in a much smaller opera house than San Diego’s 3,000-seat Civic Theatre, but the modest scale of his voice matched his small-scaled concept of his role. In his duets with Vargicová, she frequently brought her dynamic level down to match his, and Mueller was equally sympathetic in the pit. But in the final scene quartet of principals, including mezzo-soprano Kristin Chavéz as Maddelena, he was just audible below his compatriots, a disappointing imbalance dramatically and emotionally to Verdi’s brilliant culmination of the opera.

Singers in the cast who stood out include baritone Malcom MacKenzie as the duplicitous courtier Marullo, who sang incisively and projected both voice and character well; Armenian bass Artujun Kotchinian, whose dark timbre insinuated malevolence from the first phrase as the assassin Sparafucile, and former San Diegan Martha Jane Howe as Gilda’s maid Giovanna, who sang with her usual creamy contralto. Howe has perfected these comprimario roles at Lyric Opera of Chicago, and it was a delight to hear her again. Bass-baritone Scott Silkon’s Count Monterone communicated the requisite gravity and moral outrage of his role, but Chavéz’s Maddelena had more visual allure than vocal.

The men of the opera chorus (Verdi gives the female choristers a night off in this opera) under the direction of Timothy Todd Simmons outdid themselves with virile, vibrant, and well-balanced singing, and their playful menace in the abduction scene served the drama well. Mueller, a seasoned Verdi maestro, serves as the company’s Principal Guest Conductor, and under his knowing direction, the orchestra played with precison and panache.

Mansouri, former General Director of San Francisco Opera, maintained lively stage action and graceful interaction of the characters, and his deftly choreographed crowd scenes suggested the louche life of the Mantuan Court. Perhaps his early career staging operas for the former Shah of Iran gave him uncommon insight into the daily intrigue and manipulations of court life.

Carl Toms’ two-tiered, period stage set from New York City Opera facilitated the dramatic action nicely—the grand staircase in the opening scene added an elegant touch to counteract the garish, over-sized statue of the Duke that foolishly dominated the front of the ducal ballroom. The gauzy, see-through walls of the inn’s upstairs bedroom in the final scene helped provoke both Gilda’s insult and injury as the Duke cavorted with Maddelena. Toms was also responsible for the brightly-hued regalia of the court. Keturah Stickann’s modest choreography in the ballroom scene gave an apt nod to the customs of Renaissance dance.

Verdi eagerly chose to make an opera of the story of "Rigoletto," based on a play by Victor Hugo, because he saw in its drama a profound "Shakespearean depth." This production shed more than a little light on the validity of the composer's original decision, no mean feat for an opera which is typically recalled for its catchy tunes and overwrought melodrama.

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