Of Mice and Men and Puppies at the Lyric

Matthew Pearce as Lennie and John Moore as George in Of Mice and Men, photo by Don Ipock for Lyric Opera of Kansas City.

The Lyric’s season concludes with “Of Mice and Men,” adapted by Carlisle Floyd from John Steinbeck’s classic tale of migrant farm workers in rural California. Though set almost a hundred years ago, during the Great Depression, its themes feel all too relevant — class struggle, violence, the longing for home.

But hold on, have I mentioned there are puppies? Yes, there are! Not one puppy, but two! And they are good, good doggies, very cute and well-behaved, not to mention adorable and very good dogs. Maybe this is letting the tail wag the dog, but surely it’s no slight to this handsome new production to note that the puppies upstage their fellow cast members with every appearance. I mean, just look at that face!

*Of Mice and Men*, photo by Don Ipock for Lyric Opera of Kansas City.

As for the rest of the cast, Matthew Pearce is a standout in the tricky role of the soft-minded, hard-bodied Lenny, who exults easily, hopes desperately, and holds too tight to things that are soft. Pearce’s portrayal is impressively detailed, while his tenor is as soft and sweet as the puppies and bunnies he loves to pet.

John Moore ably bears the moral weight of George, who understands reality but protects his friend from its harshness to the end. The happiest moments of the story are the times he spins visions of “two acres of land and two acres of sky,” on which the two can “live off the fat of the land.”

Wayne Tigges quietly breaks hearts as Candy, who is as old and sick as the dog everyone wants gone, but lets himself dream one last time. Schyler Vargas is a valiant Slim, a Shane-type hero in any other story, with his acts of pragmatic leadership and compassion. Matthew DiBattista is perfectly loathsome as the boss whose temper is shorter than his stature; yet at the end manages to make us feel for the emptiness within him.

Sara Gartland brings vivid energy to the sole female role, so anonymous as to be named only “Curley’s Wife,” though more often referred to as “the tramp.” Her country accent betrays her humble origins, but she is hopeful that Hollywood starmakers will teach her how to walk and how to talk. No surprise that the only woman has to do most of the work of moving the plot along. Though the role is written to be annoying, Gartland makes us root for her, infusing rich human yearning into her insistently piercing soprano lines.

Schyler Vargas as Slim and Sara Gartland as Curley’s Wife in “Of Mice and Men.” Photo by Don Ipock for Lyric Opera of Kansas City.

Director Kristine McIntyre's blocking sharpens the potent story, with assist from Kate Ashton's lighting and an outsized role played by Luke Cantarella's set and projection design (more on those in a paragraph).

Like Curley's Wife, “Of Mice and Men” seems to want to be in the movies. Its orchestral music is lushly Technicolor and descriptive, with filmic sound effects. In places it is even what, in the film business, might be called overscored, pushing rather than evoking emotion. Then again, this is opera, where by definition nothing is too much. More interestingly, there are times the score favors the orchestra over the singers, in both melody and fullness. The singers are treated as nearly auxiliary rather than vice versa, the singers’ lines more dialogue than aria. These are observations and not criticisms; treating human voices as tones in a vast palette opens new possibilities in the opera form. It is also worth noting that the Lyric Opera of Kansas City was one of the first companies to mount “Of Mice and Men,” shortly after its 1970 premiere in Seattle.

This all-new production (a joint project of Lyric Opera of Kansas City, Houston Grand Opera, Florida State University, and Des Moines Metro Opera) adds to the genre-broadening with Cantarella’s atmospheric video projections, which become sweepingly cinematic in key moments. The video plays on a rustic background that serves double duty as both landscape and edifice, playing a key part in a clever outside-inside scene change as George and Lenny enter Curley’s ranch.

An hour later, the reversal of this scene change does stunning visual work to signal the inevitable tragic conclusion. It is nearly as heartbreaking as the wagging tail on Candy’s dog as he obediently follows his executioner out the door, a good boy to the end.

Have I mentioned there are dogs?