`Sarrasine' Is Energetic, Gender-Bending Opera-Vaudeville Mix

"Sarrasine," by Neil Bartlett and Nicolas Bloomfield. Gloria Productions, at On The Boards at Washington Performance Hall, 8 p.m. today through Sunday; $15. Information: 325-7901. --------------------------------------------------------------- What's a gender for, if not to bend?

Gloria Productions, an avant-garde music-theater troupe from London, bends it with a vengeance in "Sarrasine," which opens On The Boards' 1991-92 season.

The main character, a 250-year old castrato named La Zambinella, is played by three people - two male, one female, all of them in various forms of drag.

The story, based on a tale by Balzac, concerns an opera fan, Jean Ernest Sarrasine, who falls in love with La Zambinella, thinking he is a she. Dire consequences ensue.

But story isn't really what "Sarrasine" is about. Librettist Neil Bartlett and composer Nicolas Bloomfield have taken opera and vaudeville, concocting from them a fractured fuguelike meditation on sexual roles, sexual bargaining and the hazards of performing.

Staged with great gusto by a talented cast, "Sarrasine" offers moments of sheer delight as well as moments of unnecessary frustration. A good half of it is in a French or Italian which is erratically translated.

The show's pacing is also erratic, and a sound imbalance between players and chamber orchestra in the penultimate scene drowns out the climactic soliloquy.

Thankfully, the four performers bring such energy to their roles that they largely overcome these difficulties.

Last night's audience certainly thought so - they gave the company a standing ovation.

La Zambinella's memories of his past are sparked off by a brooding, purpose-filled Madame de Rochefide (Sheila Ballantine) who heard his last public performance in 1954 and now, in 1990, is trying to bribe him into singing for her privately. What she gets is an ancient wreck of a man (played with gob-spewing hilarity by Bette Bourne, of Bloolips fame) who can barely wheeze a note and is still obsessed with Sarrasine's pursuit of him 232 years ago.

Two alter-ego La Zambinellas soon join him - and they can sing. A scantily clad Francois Testory has a falsetto that might give Smokey Robinson pause. Beverly Klein is a Piaf-style chanteuse who can tackle an aria as required.

The vocals aren't of operatic quality, but they're fine in this context. (The same is true of musicians Bloomfield, Paul Sartin, Amanda Chancellor and Andrew Cruikshank.)

Madame de Rochefide is peeved at first but soon grows curious about the Sarrasine affair. The singers take turns revealing its outcome bit by bit. Scenes are staged and restaged, as if in rehearsal. Lines are solemnly delivered, then promptly parodied a dozen different ways. The identities of singer and listener grow fluid and blend.

Technique takes precedence over content, which is surprisingly thin. The show's best moments are its most straightforward: a hilarious music-hall tune, "Don't Give Nothing Away," rasped out by Bourne; Ballantine's nervous account of attending her first ball; Testory's pouty vamping; Klein's Piaf tribute.

Bloomfield's score is an eclectic treat, and the costumes and lighting are sumptuous.

But the script's sudden, bald protest against homophobia feels like too simple and obvious a point to serve as this heady brew's final destination.

One last gripe: A detailed program, without which the audience is lost, is being sold separately for $3 at the box office. Not nice.