Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro) by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart War Memorial Opera House, 19 October 1997 San Francisco Opera Eating lunch at Max's before our Sunday matinee show, a small frisson of excitement shivers through the room: somebody has spotted Bryn Terfel, the day's Figaro, walking by on the sidewalk outside, apparently unaware that a roomful of opera patrons were watching him from the tables. An hour before curtain, he was casually dressed in a brown jacket, khaki pants and Topsiders, headed for the ATM machine just past the restaurant. He got the cash and turned back toward the opera house, stopping to give something to the homeless woman who regularly occupies that corner. I was excited to see Terfel, whom I had never heard sing and was a key attraction of that day's performance. His appearance certainly belies his superstar status, and I was pleased to see his unaffected demeanor out on a workday chore. He added to his "regular guy" image when he stopped to give the woman money. He was no disappointment on stage, delivering a satisfying performance of remarkable texture and lyricism. His singing is so smooth and musical that it could obscure how hard he is working and what a superior performance he delivers. Sylvia McNair was a fine Susanna alongside him, pretty and flirtatious as well as possessed of a fine, clean voice. I also liked Solveig Kringelborn's Countess, her voice warmer than McNair's if less precise, full and pleasing. I found Angelika Kirchschlanger's heralded Cherubino underwhelming: a pretty voice but small, at least in this big house. Bo Slovhus was erratic as the Count, sometimes singing powerfully, sometimes lost in the welter of sound; he was always a commanding presence on stage. Act II seemed to drag in places, and I wondered whether the story was just so complicated and unbelievable that modern audiences might reject it. Yet people were still laughing at the gags first performed more than 200 years ago; perhaps audiences don't change so very much after all. (I wonder if it sounded the same at intermission in Vienna as it did downstairs in the War Memorial, with 50 women in high heels quick-marching across the wooden floor for the ladies' room?) Donald Runnicles produced his usual confident performance at the podium, a quick and entertaining pace right from those very familiar opening measures.