Friday night at the Wortham during intermission, I purchased a CD at the Houston Grand Opera gift shop. That’s when the sales clerk blurted out, “The second part is so much better than the first part!”

Her tone was urgent. It seemed like an odd thing to mention, as well, considering I hadn’t even asked what she thought of Benjamin Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia.

“Oh, really,” I replied, “what exactly was wrong with the first part?” My question was sincere, but she looked as if she’d said something out of place. Why didn’t I dislike it?

Maybe it was my purchase, a 1958 live recording of Maria Callas in La traviata at Covent Garden, which provoked her concern. Did she assume someone who wanted that couldn’t possibly enjoy the Britten? With an apologetic look, she said, “it’s just that… the second part has so much… passion.”

Well, perhaps it does. It has a significant rape scene, hence the title, but that’s not really passion by my definition. And just as I was considering the complex psychology of the gift-shop clerk and her possible rape-fantasy, I re-entered the half-empty theater. It started to make sense. She already knew that many audience members had departed.

I think I understand why this happened, and I find it lamentable. I’m the first to agree that opera should be entertaining, but it also seems reasonable that at least one opera in the season should cover strange territory, should make you contemplate things you never contemplated before.

The Rape of Lucretia is food for thought, elegant, and one of Britten’s most magnificent works. It has a narrative, but not a complicated one. The libretto focuses mostly on the interior worlds of the characters. If you have a chance to go, I would say, don’t miss it. If anything, it will be a long time before you have another chance to see such a classy production with singing of such caliber.

The story focuses on some Roman soldiers who learn that while the cats are away, their wives will play (“Romans, being wanton, worship chastity,” they sing). All but one, of course, Collantinus’ faithful and blameless wife Lucretia. In the second act she falls victim to Tarquinius. And even though Collantinus doesn’t hold her responsible, dramatically she commits suicide, an incident which gives rise to a Roman rebellion against the Etruscans.

The opera is sort of self-reflexive, meaning that a Male and Female “Chorus” comment upon the action. Here they are solo roles for tenor and soprano. The performances by Anthony Dean Griffey and Leah Crocetto were stunning, providing a grounding framework for the rest of the action to unfold. Britten is always skillful at suspense, and in the opening scene these two characters call themselves “observers” who “stand between this present audience and the scene.”

Griffey, if you remember his rich portrayal of the title character in Peter Grimes last season at HGO, is a gifted actor and powerful singer. His voice seems made for Britten’s complex vocal phrases, with their odd intervals and wide leaps. Crocetto, making her HGO debut, has a clear strong voice and an appealing stage persona. Here she seems to represent all women, often moving into the action of the story itself. There is something pervasively compassionate about her that helps soften the hardness of the events taking place.

Orchestral texture

Likely, audience members were put off by the orchestral texture as well. There are only twelve instruments, each one given careful attention by talented conductor Rory Macdonald. I was taken, for example, by the harp music that shines before and during Lucretia’s entrance, which recalls the methodology of romantic and classical ballet, where a ballerina’s entrance is almost always marked by a harp solo.

When the story references bullfrogs, the double-bassist has a series of events that recall frogs croaking in a swamp. The piano carries much of the recitative passages, sometimes shifting suddenly between major and minor tonalities. Every player is a soloist in this orchestra, and last night they were truly on the mark.

It’s part of the joy of Britten to surrender to the sweeping lines (for example, the repetitive “good night” chords at the end of the first act) or the harsh fragmentation and changes of mood. Difficult, perhaps, for ears that were recently spoiled on Verdi’s La Traviata, but worth the effort. A phrase of ascending chords following Lucretia’s suicide is some of the weirdest music I’ve heard on the HGO stage. It makes Scriabin and Messaien seem tame. Never underestimate that ability of Britten to be unusual, I say.

What would the opera be without a stunning Lucretia? On opening night, Michelle DeYoung won a vigorous standing ovation for her complex portrayal of this heroic character. Director Arin Arbus’ program notes remind us that even though Lucretia attempts to prevent the rape, she nonetheless takes responsibility for it and “deems herself a whore.” It’s a tricky role to get handle on, to say the least, and DeYoung was consistently compelling.

Her mezzo-soprano voice is clear, strong, often soaring. DeYoung has a penchant for some of the more obscure operatic roles: Shaman in Tan Dun’s The First Emperor, Judith in Bluebeard’s Castle, Jocaste in Oedipus Rex. She is a thinking-persons’ mezzo, and her wide range of experience informs her elegant interpretation of such a complicated character as Lucretia.

The second act of The Rape of Lucretia does have its thrilling moments, and by the end I completely understood the impressions of the clerk in the gift shop. She was right, it is more passionate, perhaps due to South African baritone Jacques Imbrailo and American bass-baritone Ryan McKinny, who are heroic, insistent singers, one might even say “mad sexy” as well.

Joshua Hopkins brings the necessary conquering sensibility to the role of Junius, and it’s a wonderful treat to have Canadian mezzo Judith Forst back on the HGO stage as Bianca, after her wonderful interpretation of The Countess in the company’s thrilling The Queen of Spades and Mrs. Grose in Britten’s terrifying The Turn of the Screw.