Oct. 26 (Bloomberg) -- Under a brilliant Texas sun, Dallas’s wealthiest arts patrons -- among them oilman Bruce Calder, mergers and acquisitions super-lawyer Hal Brierley and art collector and philanthropist John Dayton -- thronged the city’s fantastic new opera palazzo on Friday night for the premiere of its inaugural production, Verdi’s “Otello.”

Many women wore red, inspired by the dramatic crimson-clad theater, designed by Foster + Partners architect Spencer de Grey and named the Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House for the couple who wrote a check for $42 million, the largest single donation.

A Champagne reception preceded the show, with dinner three hours later. Once seated, guests craned their necks for a glimpse of Laura Bush, the night’s honorary chairwoman, who waved pleasantly from the grand tier.

Opera lovers here have suffered since 1957, when the Dallas Opera opened across town at the Fair Park Music Hall in a theatrical barn unfit for opera. Even so, the company built an international name, hosting Maria Callas, Montserrat Caballe, Placido Domingo and, more recently, Renee Fleming. In recent years, the company has seen misfits and mediocrities cycle through as general managers, so this was a significant bid for stability and status.

New Arts Center

The Winspear rises up within the AT&T Performing Arts Center, across from I.M. Pei’s Meyerson Symphony Center and Rem Koolhaas’s Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre, each a gorgeous bit of civic sculpture in its own right. (The new home to the Dallas Theater Center, the Wyly opened for business on Saturday night with “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”) All but $65 million of the $392 million bill for the two new buildings and the two smaller venues still under construction was privately raised.

The inside of the Winspear is nearly as dramatic as the exterior -- set off by a chandelier that looks like a giant fireworks plume. Not everything is perfect. Homely and sometimes unreadable supertitles, projected just below the proscenium arch, are less discreet and user-friendly (but cheaper) than the seatback system developed for the Metropolitan Opera.

Seating is tight. There’s no center aisle in the orchestra and the rows are so close together that even modestly built patrons found themselves stomping the occasional well-shod foot en route to a seat. The highest balconies are raked at a dizzying angle.

Ugly Sets

In exchange, though, you get to be much closer to the action, which in “Otello” begins with the storm-tossed Moor setting anchor at his seaside castle on Cyprus. He’s just triumphed over the Turks and been promoted from general to governor. You may remember that his tragic fall from warrior hero to buffoon and heartbroken suicide takes place in the 15th century.

Well, forget all that. In this misguided production, staged by Tim Albery and designed by Anthony Baker, the only evidence of a storm is the roiling sea on a scrim that flies up before the singing begins. It’s hard to know what the agitated crowds are wailing about.

Baker’s tri-level concrete bunker of a set offers no imposing castle, no inviting gardens or plaza and a marital bedroom with all the charm of a naval barracks. Thomas C. Hase’s mysterious lighting frequently left singers in shadow. Confined to such a hell, Desdemona would welcome death. It’s hideous.

Where Am I?

What era are we in? There are metal file cabinets in Otello’s office, but swords and shivs are the weapons of choice. Stout Clifton Forbis, in subdued robes, looks formidable enough in the title role, but the rest of the costumes fade into the prevailing grays. His is a big, if somewhat colorless voice and his acting is equally devoid of nuance. Still, “Esultate!” was delivered with a goodly heft.

French soprano Alexandra Deshorties sang plangently as Desdemona; she also showed she was well-versed in the histrionics of another era, with much thrusting of turned-up palms and heaving of bosom in the performance.

If you closed your eyes, the last act really packed emotional punch. Deshorties produced a lovely line with Desdemona’s heart-breaking Willow Song; Forbis sang a moving death scene, even if he seemed uncertain how to kill Desdemona (Albery has him choke, rather than smother, the poor girl) or how to die himself, finally thrusting a concealed dagger unconvincingly into his gut.

Great Maestro

The weakest link was the Iago. Lado Ataneli lacked any shiver-inducing malice, especially in the “Credo,” when the scheming ensign admits that he’s the nastiest piece of work on God’s earth. Who would take advice from such a toad?

Better work came from Sean Panikkar, as the distraught Cassio and Elizabeth Turnbull as Emilia, Iago’s reluctant accomplice.

Ultimately, the real hero was the guy in the pit, music director Graeme Jenkins, who has spent 15 seasons fighting the acoustics at the company’s former home. On Friday night he conducted as though he’d died and gone to heaven. The orchestra, despite a few rough phrases, sounded beautifully balanced and the chorus scenes were boldly shaped.

Whether the audience was nonplussed by the physical production or just plain hungry, the applause at the final curtain seemed weirdly stingy. Nitpicks aside, Dallas had plenty to cheer with its new hall and these musicians.

Additional performances of “Otello” will be presented through Nov. 5 at the Winspear Opera House. Information: +1-214- 443-1000; http://www.dallasopera.org.

The Wyly

By contrast, the Wyly is a shock to the system: a giant silvery box whose exterior is clad with aluminum tubing that softens the edges.

The Dutch architect Koolhaas, working with former partner Joshua Prince-Ramus, wanted to rethink the relationship between shows and the people viewing them, creating a flexible space able to accommodate any director’s whim. So the Wyly is a technological wonder, able to change form (want a black box with a thrust stage? No problem. Conventional proscenium? Sure.) at the push of a button.

Such multiple configurations are not new, and wrapping a shiny exoskeleton around a bad theater still leaves you with a bad theater; just ask anyone who has watched a show in Koolhaas’s Second Stage Theater in Times Square.

Rambunctious Kids

I saw the first preview of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” staged by DTC artistic director Kevin Moriarty in the black box- thrust stage configuration. It was too early to judge the company, so suffice it to say that the performance concept -- rambunctious kids with ants in their pants and rap in their soles -- makes small beer of Shakespeare’s unsettling romance.

There seems to be no quiet way for the actors to make exits and entrances; footsteps on metal stairs throughout the building pierce the walls, as do noises from the lobby. The seats are torture-chamber hard.

All that stacked technology, I guess, required the entrance to the theater to be below the plaza level, down a concrete hill that seems to invite tripping.

The irony is that the Theater Center already had a terrible home designed by a big shot: DTC’s original space, on posh Turtle Creek Boulevard, is the work of Frank Lloyd Wright. One of the city’s most beautiful sculptures, it was the long the bane of directors.

They say people will endure a great deal to see great theater. Moriarty, whose vision and commitment I admire, has his work cut out for him.

(Jeremy Gerard is an editor and critic for Bloomberg News. Opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this column: Jeremy Gerard in New York at jgerard2@bloomberg.net.

Last Updated: October 26, 2009 00:01 EDT