Weird science

"Your flesh is a library."

"A dissertation."

If ever a more bizarre exchange was delivered by a mezzo soprano and a bass baritone, it certainly wasnt at Pariss Thtre du Chatelet, built in 1862 on the site of an ancient fortress by the Seine River. But the premiere of one of the theatres more experimental productions, an operatic adaptation of David Cronenbergs 1987 gore-fest The Fly, was greeted Wednesday evening with hoots, whistles and riotous applause even before the curtain rose on Act 1.

Cronenberg himself is directing the opera, abetted by his longtime collaborator Howard Shore. The duo, along with musical director Plcido Domingo, obviously had some fans in Paris that night. And, by and large, The Fly (La Mouche, to locals) didnt disappoint although it moves to Los Angeles after a brief two-week run, so staying power isnt an issue.

The production doesnt do horror like its 1980s namesake, in which "mad genius" Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) experiments with teleportation and ends up fusing his DNA with that of a housefly. Meanwhile, his lover, Veronica Quaife (Geena Davis), carries on the Scream Queen tradition and gets knocked up with the creatures spawn. In many ways, the stage version is closer to the original 1958 movie, based on the story La Mouche Noire by French authorGeorge Langelaan. For one thing, it is set in the mid-20th century, perhaps a more theatrical, singing/dancing era than the big-haired, loose-pleated 80s.

The action begins at a science convention, a scene of cinched waists, sculpted bangs and suited nerds into which magazine reporter Veronica Quaife (Romanian Ruxandra Donose) "Cinderella among the pumpkins" enters.

"Care for a smoke?" the reclusive scientist Seth Brundle (Calgary-raisedbass baritone Daniel Okulitch) asks her.

"No, I quit ages ago," she responds, before ultimately giving in, then following him back to his industrial loft to see an experiment he says "will change the world as we know it." I should mention here that the script, adapted by Tony-winning, Pulitzer-nominated writer David Henry Hwang, is by turns hammy and banal.

Brundle manages to pique Quaifes interest by successfully teleporting the silk stocking she has saucily rolled off her leg but he didnt pique mine. Pale, milk-fed, manicured blonds both, Okulitch and Donose cant quite compete with the tall, dark duo that fired up the big screen in 1986 with their loose necklines and plump lips. But these two can sing, and Donose owns her character, which is more than can be said about the sex-without-substanceGeena Davis.

Howard Shore spent three years of his life getting the production to stage. Its even longer when you consider that he and Cronenberg were discussing the storys operatic possibilities back when it was still earning accolades on screen. The transition might seem a stretch to some, but the overriding themes longing, forbidden flesh, metamorphosis, redemption are practically Wagnerian, and Shore recognized this.

"It was Howards desire always to write an opera, so the impetus was primarily from him," Cronenberg told me in an interview before the performance. "I was flattered that he invited me to come along on this adventure. We did the original Fly together, but that doesnt mean Im necessarily the best person to direct his opera." That may be, but after the premiere, as Cronenberg praised his cast and crew for pulling it together, they marvelled to me about his coolness and composure. "And hes so nice," they all added. Stage manager, press agents even Okulitch, the Fly himself: "So nice."

Its hard to believe that just two hours earlier, Cronenberg had been watching contentedly as the performers fried a furry white baboon onstage the victim of a botched teleportation. (It was only a muppet, but I still couldnt bear to look.) That, to me, is the most frightening moment in Cronenbergs movie: when we witness Seth Brundles first stab at teleporting flesh and blood turn into graphic failure. This is before his carnal affair with Quaife spurs him to greater, if more damnable success.

Onstage, it is no less ugly. Yet Cronenberg spares us the messy climax, allowing the powerful voices and Domingos remarkable crescendos convey the terror. As the director said in a press conference after the dress rehearsal: "It is in some ways a translation of the movie to the stage, but its its own creature."

For the most part, the audience members at the Thtre du Chatelet were transported themselves. "I was surprised," Cronenberg told me after his multiple curtain calls. "People seemed to be having a good time. I was afraid theyd all be asleep. I was surprised, because Id heard the French can be stingy with their applause."

Well, they werent quite as generous with their applause after the lights dimmed on Act 1. They didnt seem to know what to make of the stark-naked, newly teleported Okulitch standing before them like Leonardos Vitruvian Man, having belted out less-than-Wagnerian gems like: "sub-atomic recombitant silicon 37.001 per cent." It was madness and genius in turn.

Regardless, Cronenberg looked satisfied as Paris feted him, having pulled off his latest experiment far more gracefully, I might add, than the doomed Seth Brundle pulled off his.

Ellen Himelfarb is a Canadian writer living in London, England.