CDs:

• Lorraine Hunter Lieberson, Peter Serkin, Michaela Fukacova, the Odense Symphony Orchestra: Lieberson: Rilke Songs, The Six Realms, Horn Concerto


• Lorraine Hunt Lieberson with James Levine and the Boston Symphony Orchestra: Lieberson: Neruda Songs

I'm getting a little tired of reading the obituary pages these days. Columnists Art Buchwald and Molly Ivins, composer Gian Carlo Menotti and singer Frankie Laine (Now there's an interesting pair of nonagenarians!) -- all gone within a few weeks or days of each other, and we're poorer for it.

And on Sunday I was saddened to learn we'd also lost actor Ian Richardson, perhaps best known as the Machiavellian British politician Francis Urquhart (Note those initials!) in the House of Cards series.

As it happens, my introduction to Ian Richardson came decades ago, though I didn't grasp it at the time. When I was in parochial school or thereabouts, Peter Hall's film of A Midsummer Night's Dream captured my imagination (All those fairies and runaway lovers will do that to a kid). It wasn't until the 1990s that I found a copy of it on video and learned to my astonishment that my first exposure to Shakespeare had come courtesy of the combined efforts of Ian Richardson, Judi Dench, Ian Holm, and a heartbreakingly young Helen Mirren.

Still, it's a weird production. For starters, Richardson and Dench, playing, respectively, fairy monarchs Oberon and Titania, appear to be clad in nothing but unevenly applied green body paint, a few judiciously arranged leaves, and the collective prayers of the wardrobe department. Gulp.

But even then Richardson had that voice, and he wasn't afraid to use it. There's nothing quite like hearing him hiss, "Wake when some vile thing is near" into the ear of his bewitched and sleeping queen, Dench, who is about to experience the hook-up from hell.

Then there's Richardson's television reign as Francis Urquhart, the Tory politician whose ambitions are unencumbered by such niceties as, oh, a moral code. Dare we hope that no one in Washington is taking notes on Urquhart's rise to power, especially his approach to the press? "You might well think that; I couldn't possibly comment."

So as Ian Richardson leaves us, his reputation and performances live on, as does that voice.

And thank God for voices that live on and for the means to share them with the world, particularly in the case of mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, whose name reappeared in the news when she was awarded a posthumous Grammy Award for her latest recording, Rilke Songs, performances of her husband's settings of Rainer Maria Rilke's "Sonnets to Orpheus."

And then there is her recent recording of Lieberson's Neruda Songs, a performance of passion and tenderness, of unguarded emotion. Here there's no mistaking the theme of the poems, the desperation and bliss of lovers.

That Lorraine Hunt Lieberson should conclude her too brief career with such highly personal projects is perhaps fitting, because her career fits no conventional trajectory. A violist whose career gradually turned to vocal performances (a fate sealed when, believe it or not, her viola was stolen), Hunt Lieberson appeared in unconventional stagings of Handel and Mozart works, and made her Metropolitan Opera debut in, of all things, Harbison's The Great Gatsby.

But surely it is her baroque recordings, particularly Handel's oratorios and Bach's cantatas, that brought her the highest acclaim from critics and classical music listeners, and won her a broader audience. Check out the array of projects; it's a formidable list.

But regardless of the repertoire, there was emotional power within Hunt Lieberson's voice, and both the Neruda and the Rilke projects hint at the intensity and fragility of life and relationships. This is not candy box-pretty music; Peter Lieberson does not compose in that vein. But it showcases his wife's musical intelligence and vocal beauty. At times it is an unsettling experience, demanding, yet also beguiling and intensely moving.

And we will hear her voice again and again, down through the years.

DVD: The Best Years of Our Lives

Of late I've been given to complaining that Hollywood is going through a dry spell regarding love stories, with a few notable exceptions. The situation appears to be especially dire with some so-called romantic comedies, for which we are asked to surrender our nine bucks to experience gross-out humor where there should be snappy dialogue and on-screen chemistry. Rosalind Russell, call your office.

So in honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to return to an era closer to rationing and fireside chats, to say nothing of circumventing the Production Code. It's time, film fans, to rediscover movie classics in black and white, particularly two very different selections which coincidentally feature Dana Andrews.

The first is Academy Award-winner The Best Years of Our Lives, which MGM made available on DVD some time ago. It's a fairly straightforward transfer; I was aware of a few film imperfections at the opening but was generally impressed by the image quality. The original trailer is included, as is a brief booklet on the production.

The movie itself is a love story on several levels, but you may not think of it that way. Three veterans (Fredric March, Dana Andrews, and Harold Russell) bond on a homeward flight following the Second World War. As they return to their hometown and resume their personal and professional lives, the toll of the prolonged separations and trauma of wartime become clear. Al Stephenson (March) joyously but uneasily reunites with his wife and children. Fred Derry (Andrews) seeks out his wartime bride, a woman he barely knows. And Homer Parrish (Russell, a real-life disabled veteran) faces agonizing questions about changes in his relationships with his family and fiancee.

The cast makes it worth watching. When Fredric March is on screen, you won't be able to take your eyes off him. His Al Stephenson is earthy, vulnerable, embarrassing, and somehow endearing. Myrna Loy, here playing housewife Milly Stephenson, shows why she was one of Hollywood's great leading ladies. And a very laid-back Hoagy Carmichael turns in a fine performance, both musically and dramatically, as Russell's uncle.

I had remembered the poignancy and power of the story but completely forgotten how quotable the script was, and how funny, and how adult. Politically speaking, too, it has continuing relevance. Watch for the exchange between Russell and Carmichael early in the film, and March's awkward encounters with his grown son (Michael Hall).

On a completely different note, the American Film Institute's Silver Theatre in Silver Spring is running a series of films honoring Barbara Stanwyck's centennial (Yeah, I had to sit down too when I read that). Among the featured movies is what I believe is an overlooked comic gem, Ball of Fire, which will be screened on February 11th, 12th, and 13th.

If you miss it in Silver Spring, just look for it on the Turner Classic Movie schedule, where it's set to air on the 21st of this month.

Ball of Fire pairs Stanwyck with Gary Cooper, here playing that stiffest of stiffs, grammarian Bertram Potts, who has teamed with a houseful of professors -- played by some of Hollywood's most recognizable character actors -- to produce an encyclopedia.

And Stanwyck? She's a nightclub entertainer -- okay, she's a stripper -- and gangster's moll who is recruited to teach Cooper a thing or two about slang, and ends up teaching him a thing or three about chemistry. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. If you are too young and/or jaded to be impressed by that, you owe it to yourself to see this movie.

I can promise you that Ball of Fire contains a number of unforgettable images. Among them: Oscar Homolka learning to dance, and S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakall and Henry Travers taking the law into their hands in a way Clint Eastwood never envisioned but would have no doubt approved. And Richard Haydn handily steals several scenes as a prissy professor who tries to teach Cooper about women.

And did I mention that Stanwyck's nightclub sequence features Gene Krupa?

So surrender to a little nostalgia and romance. You might find it edgier and sexier than you remember. And who knows? Maybe we will yet bring back rationing.