Continuing from where we left previously off, below are my opinions and reviews of various Metropolitan Opera productions. All are available online via the Met Opera on Demand app, or in this case through the Roku streaming device (and others).
Eugene Onegin (2013) - Russian soprano Anna Netrebko as the dreamy Tatiana is the big draw here, in this new production designed by Deborah Warner. If you ask me, it's more Ingmar Bergman than Tchaikovsky, with obvious inspiration drawn from the Swedish director's Smiles of Summer Night (1955), as well as Sondheim's musical comedy A Little Night Music.
The title character, Onegin, is portrayed by Swedish baritone Peter Mattei, the romantic poet Lensky by Russian tenor Alexey Dolgov, mezzo-soprano Elena Maximova is Tatiana's sister Olga, bass Stefan Kocán is the aging Prince Gremin, and conductor Robin Ticciati leads the Met Opera Orchestra.
Caveat emptor: Suspension of disbelief is definitely called for. That a matronly prima donna of Netrebko's caliber (she had put on considerable weight since giving birth) can convince audiences that she's a lovesick teenager bursting at the seams is a major triumph in itself. We say it's chutzpah, but whatever you want to call it, Anna nailed the part! Her apple blossom cheeks, full-moon facial expressions, and (ahem) buxom form did not stand in the way of her portrayal of a girl in the passionate throes of unrequited first love. Her schoolgirl crush on the brooding older gentleman Onegin is the stuff of drawing room drama. Still, the excitement of discovery, the sleepless nights, the realization that here is the man of her dreams - all of these emotions are captured by the diva with total sincerity and honesty.
Before long, one is forced to believe that a major artist is standing at the pinnacle of her career. When Onegin confronts Tatiana with her letter, a tome in which she bares her soul (perhaps too hastily) to this undeserving soul, we feel her disappointment at being rejected. For Onegin's part, and to his credit, he does not take advantage of the situation, despite her innocence and vulnerability. A man in his position, and worldly experience, could easily have had his way with her - and with society's consent, we'll have you know (see Tolstoy's Anna Karenina for the details). Instead, Onegin takes apart her arguments before her tearful eyes.
Netrebko's interpretation worked within the confines of the story. Periodically brushing away the tears and/or wiping her eyes, Tatiana wept openly during Onegin's passionless oratory and justification for not accepting her declaration of love. Shattered and hurt to the bone, Netrebko captured every facet of this book-loving youth. It was a masterful performance, her letter writing scene being the highpoint of the drama. When she finally collapsed to the floor, the audience greeted her with a massive roar of approval.
Mr. Mattei's personification of Onegin - tall, distinguished and emotionally distant - was but a cipher in comparison. It's plainly not his fault that despite being the titular protagonist, the composer made Tatiana and Onegin's friend Lensky the recipients of extended scenes. The poet's sprightly air to Olga in Act I and his dour soliloquy in Act II are a lyric tenor's dream. Unfortunately, Onegin is denied any such display. His explanation to Tatiana is altogether brief and to the point, no more. He does have an Act III arioso, but it's based on the same melody that Tatiana sang in her declaration at the start of the Letter Scene. And that's about the extent of it.
That final demoralizing confrontation where the now-married Tatiana rejects Onegin's hopeless affirmations of affection - one she seals with a prolonged kiss - represents the final dagger to his heart. Contrast this with his earlier brotherly buss on her forehead and you will come to understand Tatiana's motives for doing what she did, which is giving this so-called suitor the brushoff and a bitter taste of his own medicine.
Tenor Dolgov (a marvelous singing actor) performed the part to perfection. There's something to be said for native Russian artists in this and other key roles. They bring a sense of authenticity to everything they do. Dolgov's smallish stature and lean physique contrasted markedly with that of the much taller Mattei, which added to the impression that these two former friends were miles apart in their views. Their awkward handshake and embrace before the fatal duel (leading to Lensky's death) were evident of the yawning gap that existed between them: Onegin, willing to concede his error; and Lensky, unwilling to forgive his friend's shameless flirting with the poet's fiancé Olga. Their stations in life demand satisfaction, even if it ends in death.
Un Ballo in Maschera (1993) - Here's a blast from the Met's stolid past: A traditional staging of one of Verdi's most unique and beloved works. However, the general stiffness of this production, stemming from that "stand up and sing" aesthetic previously discussed, pretty much placed the spotlight on our old pal, tenor Luciano Pavarotti. To be honest, he luxuriated in the role, indeed the part was one of his finest creations. This is Pavarotti in his prime, with all his faults and pluses.
As the bumptious King Gustavo (or Riccardo, whichever you choose), Luciano regaled the audience with his flamboyant interpretation. He gave it his considerable best; and despite his sheer bulk and size, the tenor was able to convince viewers that he completely identified with his protagonist. His name can be placed alongside such past proponents as Caruso, Pertile, Bonci, Gigli, Tagliavini, Bergonzi, and others.
The Italian names of some of the characters - Renato, Amelia, Samuele, Tommaso, etc. - were utilized, however the looks and costumes all pointed to pre-Revolutionary Boston mixed with Louis XIV (or was it George III?) outfits and decor: the powdered wigs and the natty waste coats, alongside your standard three-cornered hats. The opera might have been mistaken for a roadshow production of the musical 1776, but I do digress.
As for the other cast members, soprano Aprile Millo's portrait of Amelia was a caricature of a prima donna, all surface and superimposed, as if her somewhat mannered approach and cliched posturing were valid substitutions for actual, real-life emotions. Her singing was faultless, as was her vocal resemblance to Italian diva Renata Tebaldi. But beyond that, there was little depth to this assignment. Baritone Leo Nucci's lightweight tone and relentless barking as Renato, the cuckolded husband, was crisply enunciated and marvelously inflected, even if his vocalism was less than high-powered.
Some quite novel casting choices were apparent, in that I detected the presence of four major African American singers on the Met Opera stage: coloratura Harolyn Blackwell as a chirpy and lively Oscar the page, bass Terry Cook's mellow sounding Sam, contralto Florence Quivar's earthy prophetess Ulrica (albeit a bit stiff in her overall deportment), and baritone Gordon Hawkins' smoothly sung messenger.
That old reliable, tenor Charles Anthony, was a model Judge, his diction and projection were well-nigh perfect and unbeatable (Signor Nucci could have taken a lesson from this old pro). And, of course, the very young conductor James Levine's unquestioned musicianship got him through this score's trickier aspects, although coordination between the pit and stage was off in spots (most notably, during the many ensemble passages).
All in all, this Masked Ball was enjoyable vocally, but scenically and histrionically a desultory affair. The sets were ugly and unrepresentative neither of time nor of place; they were very much in the style of the dreary staging for Giancarlo del Monaco's Simon Boccanegra (see below).
Simon Boccanegra (1995) - Talk about static! This production of Verdi's dark and tragic middle period work (revised extensively, years after its initial premiere, by poet-composer Arrigo Boito) is dead on arrival. Most of the characterizations are as immobile as marble statues, their movements stilted and choreographed with the calculation of pieces on a massive chess board (think: Harry Potter). Now, what's the word I'm looking for... How about "dull, dull, dull"?
In the title role, the decent sounding Russian baritone Vladimir Chernov has a gorgeous voice. His delivery is full throated, the high notes secure, a true Verdian in its richness and timbre. The effect, however, is mitigated by his short stature and frozen facial expressions. On records, this is hardly an issue, but on the stage these detriments can be amplified in the extreme. A shame, really, for Chernov, in his relatively brief Met Opera career, pointed the way for many wonderful lowered-voiced artists of Russian and/or Slavic descent, among them the late and much lamented Dmitri Hvorostovsky and the young Alexey Markov.
New Zealand soprano Kiri Te Kanawa was an odd choice for Amelia (or Maria, if you will - the plot is most confusing and I won't get into the particulars, thank you!). She's as cold as a two-day-old mackerel. Her Act I duet with Chernov hardly raised the pulse level. Let's say that "tepid" is about the best description one can give concerning her participation. British basso Robert Lloyd's weighty Fiesco suffices without being either menacing or exciting. And bass-baritone Bruno Pola is an underpowered Paolo, a key role and a missed opportunity for sparks to fly. What we got were regional flares, and nothing more.
The much heralded Council Chamber scene, the one that Verdi and Boito had slaved over and inserted into the earlier version of Simon, went by the numbers. When adequately performed and executed, the effect this addition can have on audiences is nearly foolproof. Alas, not here. In fact, one of Master Verdi's most inspired sequences, one that looks forward to Otello in many spots, went for naught - it made too little impact. About the only saving grace of this performance was tenor Plácido Domingo's virile Gabriel Adorno. He, above all the others, brought genuine vocal fire and muscularity to his role. The rest went by the wayside.
Tristan und Isolde (2008) - This performance was first transmitted as a live Saturday afternoon broadcast on March 22, 2008. Due to tenor Ben Heppner's indisposition, noted Wagnerian Robert Dean Smith was flown in from Germany as a last minute substitute for the grueling role of Tristan. He did not disappoint. And what an impressive debut! At the time, Dean was a relatively unknown artist who had an established career in Europe, but in 2008 (at age 52) he made for a sensational contrast with soprano Deborah Voigt's singularly successful assumption of Isolde.
I'm sure there are fans out there who remember the classic teaming of Kirsten Flagstad with Lauritz Melchior, two large and outgoing singers from the Met's Golden Age. Some might recall the lava-like outpourings of Birgit Nilsson with Jess Thomas, or Nilsson with frequent stage and recording partner Wolfgang Windgassen at the Bayreuth Festival in the mid-1960s. More modern ears may boast of having heard the Austrian Helga Dernesch with the fabled Jon Vickers at Salzburg. But this Wagner lover will have to give the Voigt and Smith partnership their due in Dieter Dorn's strikingly abstract production - a hell of a lot more impressive (and far more interesting), in terms of the scenic potential of the story, than the Met's somberly lit newest version.
James Levine simply adored this score, and the former Met maestro gave it his undivided attention in that customary leisurely stride of his. For one, the opera is given note complete, a major undertaking in itself. For another, a good supporting cast was a most welcome plus. It included mezzo Michelle DeYoung as the somewhat sisterly handmaiden Brangäne, baritone Eike Wilm Schulte as Tristan's faithful retainer Kurwenal, a still potent Matti Salminen as a massive-voiced King Marke whom Tristan betrays, Stephen Gaertner as the unctuous knight Melot, Matthew Plenk as the Sailor, and Mark Schowalter as the Shepherd.
Finnish bass Mr. Salminen was near the end of a long career. Still physically imposing and vocally formidable, Matti made for a sorrowful monarch. Although his basic timbre is marked by a certain "yawning" quality, his characterization was moving and spot on. His roles at the Met, and elsewhere, have encompassed such outstanding portraits as the villainous Hagen in Götterdämmerung, a towering Boris in Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov, and a regal King Philip II in Verdi's Don Carlo.
Ms. Voigt's Isolde was heard to much better advantage than her strained Brünnhilde in Wagner's Die Walküre, the voice full and opulent on top, with plenty of body and roundness (this was near the start of her slimming down period), something she ultimately lacked during that disastrous 2011 run of the Ring cycle. Tristan's delirium in Act III and the lovely Liebestod ("Love Death") are some of the highpoints of the work (if you're interested), but the entire opera is well represented as a tragic tale of misguided love and mutual misunderstanding between couples. I was especially impressed with the bold and stark color design and scheme. Indeed, this was a production to die for.
It's a shame it was so quickly abandoned for the current "empty vessel" addition, played out in near total darkness. What gives with these new productions, anyway? I'm thinking that the barebones nature of many of them have a lot to do with budget cuts and the like. Well, with the Covid-19 pandemic still running rampant in this country and elsewhere, who knows when things can get back to a semblance of normalcy.
La Rondine (2009) - Now here's an odd little bird. It's a mature Puccini work, and then it isn't. It has catchy waltz tunes and beautifully crafted melodies that seem disembodied from the main plot. We've called this opera a Traviata wannabe, and there's much truth in that assessment. To be honest, there's very little drama to grab one's attention, an atypical Puccini piece. Lacking a truly compelling story line, in all fairness La Rondine (or "The Swallow") possesses charm if little else. Being from the period post- La Fanciulla del West and before Il Trittico, there's an unmistakable Puccianian "air" about it.
The main problem, in our opinion, is the opera's frivolity. The main characters - Magda, the titular swallow; Ruggero, her earnest young lover; Prunier, the misanthropic poet; and Lisette, Magda's highly opinionated housemaid - are caricatures of better, more substantive individuals found in such works as Der Rosenkavalier, Die Fledermaus, and, yes, La Traviata, not to mention that most characteristic of all Puccini's oeuvres, the poetic La Bohème, which it most closely resembles.
La Rondine is the least appreciated (and, ergo, least produced) of all Puccini's mature works. This swallow can go back to Capistrano with but little fanfare or loss. Still, the Met's lavish Nicolas Joël production, starring the former "love couple" Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna, exuded abundant allure and a good deal of panache, with Gheorghiu operating at low voltage. Conductor Marco Armiliato held the varying elements together; his own passion for this buoyant if puzzlingly empty score revealed an inner beauty and tunefulness not normally achieved in other productions.
I fondly remember a PBS television production with a very young Teresa Stratas and rising tenor Anastasios Vrenios that, if truth be told, caressed both the eyes and ears, but was as pointless as it was unfulfilling. Blame the composer, whose heart was never in this poor excuse for a comedy-drama. The abrupt changeover to "tragedy" at the end feels unearned. It's so sudden as to be off-putting. Not that the two stars suffered because of it: they were ideal at this point, acting and emoting to their fans' delight. Perhaps they were TOO ideal - stage life would soon imitate reality life, as the love couple subsequently parted ways, never to be united again.
The Met's supporting cast did wonders with this tuneful piece, especially with the secondary couple, convincingly sung and acted by debuting tenor Marius Brenciu as Prunier (a substantial part) and the lovely Lisette Oropesa as her namesake Lisette (pert and frisky). Veteran bass-baritone Samuel Ramey, who has seen better vocal days, supplied the few lines allotted to Magda's sugar daddy Rambaldo; he's the Baron Douphol character if you recall your Traviata. Magda's tarty friends, Yvette, Bianca and Suzy, were taken by Monica Yunus, Alyson Cambridge, and Elizabeth DeShong.
This, then, is the fate of La Rondine: to be forever lost and on the wing. Signor Alagna cried real tears, and so do we at the outcome. The similarities to other, better works proved too much to surmount the general sense of too little, too late. Puccini's swallow flies off in all directions at once, but never really lands. A wasted opportunity, we're sad to note.
End of Part Two
(To be continued....)
Copyright © 2020 by Josmar F. Lopes
