A Disaster of Biblical Proportions

Saint-Saëns’s Samson et Dalila

Metropolitan Opera 

Opening Night Gala

September 24, 2018

Biblical romance in the air: A match made in heaven.
Photo credit: Met Opera

The Met’s season opener Samson et Dalila was appealing on paper: the excitement of discovering a rarely performed work, a well-known biblical story, a scheming seductress as female lead, some hard-core Orientalism and a solid cast.Unfortunately, it turned out to be one of the most disappointing productions and performances I’ve seen at a Met opening gala (or ever, for that matter).

The Philistines scheme.
Photo credit: Met Opera

The biblical plot is straight-forward yet ripe with dramatic possibilities: the Israelites are oppressed by the Philistines, Samson – the Israelite hero chosen by god – leads his people in successful revolt, Dalila – his Philistine ex-lover – is determined to win him back and trick him into revealing to her the secret source of his strength. He resists but ultimately caves (hint: it’s his luscious locks of long flowing hair), she gives him a haircut and her people blind and imprison him. Finally, when the Philistines are orgiastically worshipping their god Dagon, Samson asks his own god Jehovah to grant him superhuman strength one last time. God grants Samson’s wish and our fallen hero brings down the Philistines’ temple, killing a bunch of them (and himself, too). Curtain. 

The new production was the brainchild of director Darko Trensjak, set designer Alexander Dodge and costume designer Linda Cho, all making their Met debut. In an interview published in the show’s Playbill, Trensjak indicates that “[the] production is based on scant information of the ancient world re-interpreted through the lens of contemporary technology, art and design.” The result is a bizarre combination of modern looking sets and kitschy traditional costumes that was not only an eyesore but also did not necessarily make much sense. 

Scenes as in Act I, pictured here, were punctuated by pink.
Photo credit: Met Opera

With the exception of the third act, the sets are pretty bare bones falling flat at best (white plastic looking town in Act I) and resembling an airport lounge at worst (Dalila’s crib in Act II). All of the sets were either white plastic or laser cut metal, and lighting was a jarring mix of color-changing halogen lights and flame torches. It seems that most of design effort went into Act III, with its gigantic statue of the god Dagon surrounded by a three-level auditorium hosting rows of Philistines dressed in their finest orgiastic red robes. 

Set from Act III: the temple of Dagon.
 Photo credit: Met Opera

Admittedly the statue was impressive and elicited enthusiastic applause from the public (incidentally, I loathe when people cheer at a set or, worse, at four legged beasts on stage). However, the Philistine statue was not enough to save a production that was definitely tanked by some of the cheapest looking, not to mention ugliest, costumes I’ve seen on the Met stage. It is as if they spent all the budget on those Act III sets and then borrowed acrylic costumes from a regional theater’s third-rate production. The contrast with the minimalist sets was simply grotesque. When it came to actual direction, Trensjak did not put much effort into it, singers were mostly doing the “park and bark” thing, especially in Act I, which is frankly a bit old in this day and age. 

Garanca attempted to humanize her femme fatale.
Photo credit: Met Opera

Still, if performers are extraordinary, one might be inclined to forget or forgive a poor production. This was sadly not the case here. Maybe all of the stars had opening night jitters, but that is not acceptable with singers of this caliber. Mezzo Elina Garanca, usually an exciting and spectacular performer, sounded and looked ill at ease in the role, not really conveying the expected passionate complexity of Dalila. She has an enticing chesty sound, but her voice doesn’t seem to be low enough for this role, though her instrument and stage presence did get a chance to shine during the lengthy scene of seduction in Act II.

Samson feels Dalila's divine attraction.
Photo credit: Met Opera

Tenor Roberto Alagna as Samson also fell flat and struggled through most of the opera. When he makes his entrance immediately after the moving first chorus, Samson is meant to inspire his people with an exhilarating call to action, his voice approximating that of God. Alagna’s Samson was lacking in both energy and power and the tempos coming out of the pit seemed to lag as a result. So much for a fiery opening. Over the course of the opera, his voice seemed to progressively grow a little hoarse. In his aria of defeat with his shoulder against the millstone of captivity in the beginning of Act III, his flagging voice added a poignant expressivity. However, come the finale he flagrantly missed the final high note that was supposedly Samson’s last punctuating cry as he brings down the Philistine temple. Granted, the production did not help heighten the moment either, all we had as hint that the temple was falling down was some smoke and a bunch of bright lights beaming out full force from the back of the stage, talk about an anticlimactic ending. 

Laurent Naouri as the High Priest struggles to turn the tragedy around.
Photo credit: Met Opera

Other performers were not as bad, but with the opera really grounded in the dramatic tension between Samson and Dalila, which did not really come through, the rest did not end up mattering much. 

Company XIV worshipping the god Dagon.
Photo credit: Met Opera

The only truly exciting performers on stage were the dancers of the troupe Company XIV led by choreographer Austin McCormick who performed the bacchanal scene in Act III. I’ve known this dance group from their collaborations with the underground parties produced by Dances of Vice and was excited to see their sexy, irreverent and energetic style on the Met stage. They did not disappoint: with their mostly naked bodies painted with the same scales of the giant Dagon statue, these dancers stole the show, embodying the lascivious and feverish spirit of the score through sensual, muscular choreographies. Incidentally, this was the only time when conductor Sir Mark Elder let the Met orchestra truly roar, in an evening where it otherwise seemed to drag in impossibly slow tempos. 

Samson is reluctant to accept defeat.
Photo credit: Met Opera

On a frivolous note, this year’s gala confirmed the recent trend whereby the public’s most spectacular outfits, headpieces and accessories adorned not the women in attendance, but a select few of the gentlemen. One couple in particular, a young man sporting a spiraling feathered headpiece and sparkling shoes, and his date in a pale blue tux with matching feathered fan, were truly fabulous. Now, ladies, where did the all bejeweled tiaras and glamourous gowns go?!? 

Let’s just hope that the rest of the season goes uphill from here, on both sides of the stage! 

– Lei & Lui

Samson prays that the season will improve, and we with him.
Photo credit: Met Opera

Wisdom in Love Comes Too Late

Franco Alfano’s Cyrano de Bergerac

Metropolitan Opera

May 10, 2017

Love lurks so near, unbeknownst to the beloved
Photo credit: Met Opera

Roxane is one of those drop dead gorgeous girls who sends every man’s heart a-swooning. The problem is that most of those men are shallow, self-centered pricks. Except for one. Cyrano de Bergerac has it all. He’s dashing and courageous, witty and gallant. He’s as good with words as he is with a sword. The one thing he lacks is the looks to match his finer qualities. In fact, he’s grotesque. But we all know the story of the man with the well-endowed snout. Franco Alfano’s 1936 opera makes good use of the character and his plight to tell a story of sentimental education.

Running on alternate nights on the very same stage is Wagner’s story of a young woman’s quixotic crush on the tragic hero from her favorite bedtime story, The Flying Dutchman. In that case the heroine’s folly led to her suicide. In this case the woman comes late to discovering that there is more to life and happiness in love than just a pretty face.

A leader among men, Cyrano has everything except good looks
Photo credit: Met Opera 

Soprano Jennifer Rowley stepped in for the Roxane role when Patricia Racette cancelled due to illness. It was one of those strokes of luck (so common in the opera business), where a young cover is given the chance of a lifetime to step in as leading lady at the Met. Lucky her, and lucky us, since Ms. Rowley was a revelation, displaying a harmonious, full, fluid sound that ensconced the listener in its supple musicality. She also has the power to ride the wave of Alfano’s surging orchestrations when necessary. In her big apology aria in Act III, when she begs pardon of her beloved Christian – and husband-of-a-few-days – for loving him only for his good looks. Her voice soared up over swelling crests of the music in a heartfelt plea for his forgiveness.

"Here I am to save the day," says Rowley pinch hitting as Roxane
Photo credit: Ken Howard

Rowley’s sudden star turn in Act III was just a prelude to the emotional outpouring of the final act. She was incredibly moving in her realization that it was not Christian whom she loved, but rather Cyrano. And a becoming exterior had little to do with it. In fact, she had been distracted by the shimmering surface of the world of appearances. A beautiful soul adorned with a rapturous way with words is all she ever wanted all along.

Rowley is also a fine actress with a lively and charismatic stage presence. According to a recent interview she has her eyes set on beefier Verdi and Donizetti roles (our personal favorites), so I will be looking forward to hearing more from her in the future.

Alagna waxes poetic as Cyrano
Photo credit: Met Opera

In the title role, tenor Roberto Alagna was effortlessly endowed with the gift of eloquence. The beauty of his “verses” in each of his scenes of poetic improvisation was matched by his delivery as a singer. Alagna is a regular at the Met. We have seen him in at least a half dozen productions over the years, if not more. Even if, for reasons that I can’t quite put my finger on, he is not my favorite voice in circulation at the moment, he is, nevertheless, a solid, hunky-voiced tenor, and all of that bravado and bravura was put to good use here.

Cyrano and his better half
Photo credit: Ken Howard

He had the moving, manly, melting quality that this role calls for, especially in the climax of Act II when he is serenading the beautiful Roxane from the shadows beneath her balcony. Musically, Alfano set this moment with the strumming of a harp alternating with arpeggios that served to heighten his eloquent romantic reaching out for the woman he loves and his words clambered and climbed to cross the distance. It also features a swelling in the strings as he really poured on his inventive poetic charm. It is a beautiful moment and only partially trite. The prolonged amount of time invested in this passage of the opera hits close to home for all the themes of the opera. Passages like this one are all about the timeless need to put into words your feelings in a way that is sufficiently heartfelt and sincere to get your feelings across, because we don’t feel in words or through language but rather through the more brute, baser emotions.

The grotesque gentleman will pursue his object to the death
Photo credit: Met Opera

However, the Cyrano character really climaxes dramatically and musically in opera’s grand finale. In the closing movements of the fourth and final act, Cyrano humbly asks Roxane to show him Christian’s last letter, which he can recite from heart because he was the one who penned the sentiments found therein. And he is able to bring them to life with all the flesh-full sincerity he had endowed them with in the first place. In my opinion, the whole opera exists for just this heart-wrenching, tear-inducing moment. It was incredibly moving. It had us on the edge of our seats. His words escaped his mouth with heaving sighs and great beauty. Alagna has never sounded so good. While Cyrano pours forth his passionate longing for an unrequited love for the last time, the last rays of the twilit scene danced against the backdrop until the hero of the story breathes his last.

Act I sets featured layers of spectacular detail
Photo credit: Met Opera

Francesca Zambello’s 2005 production was spectacular in its opening scene, set as a sectional view of a theater (stage, opera boxes and all), with life happening on every level, acting as a truly wonderful and rich tableaux. It seemed like the entire set design budget went into this first scene though. The sets for the remaining acts of the opera were far more bare bones, coming across as cheap instead of stylized. Definitely not the sort of production one expects at the Met, but that first act sure was spectacular.

– Lei & Lui

Passion Italian-Style in WWII Paris

Puccini’s Manon Lescaut

Metropolitan Opera

November 25, 2016

Manon reminisces about simpler times
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

The Met’s new production of Puccini’s first big breakthrough opera from 1893 is back for its second year in a row with a new cast. When we saw this production on the opening night of its run last winter, Roberto Alagna had stepped in to save the day due to an “unexpected” cancellation by the chronic canceller Jonas Kaufmann, opposite the gorgeous Latvian soprano Kristine Opolais. Back then it was our first Manon Lescaut and we liked it fine, though we did not feel it was something worth writing home about. This year, maybe because of the new (superior) cast or due to some Wagnerian exposure, we actually liked this Puccini highly melodramatic opera much better.

Manon unleashes her diva
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

With the new cast, the dynamic tension between the characters shifted ever so slightly. Carlos Alvarez brought out his rich and lyric tenore spinto. His voice is vibrant and fits squarely in the Puccini canon. He played a cocky, headstrong des Grieux, with his male assertiveness coming across in his brutal attack on certain notes in key dramatic moments. His No, pazzo son in the climax of Act III turned out to be one of the most moving moments of the evening. I found that the threat of separation between the two lovers tugged on my heartstrings. Alvarez’s performance was gripping and the fact that I was virtually moved to tears completely blind-sided me. I usually find Puccini too sentimental, too saccharine, too sappy for my tastes, and yet he still manages to sneak up on me especially during scenes like this one that feature big bursts of muscular emotions set to music.  

When it comes to Anna Netrebko, it seems like she was born to sing this role. There is something about the way she embodies Manon that seems at first blush to be entirely out of character but that ultimately brings to the fore elements that you don’t usually see from other singers. While Netrebko and her voice seem a touch too mature for the Act I incarnation of this innocent country maiden who is on her way to a convent, she played her Manon as a fresh faced ingénue who was completely unaware of the innate diva-esque powers of seduction that she naturally possesses. It was a revelation in many ways, not least of all because she owned the role vocally, even while only feigning innocent naïveté. So by injecting her larger than life diva quality even in these nascent moments of Manon’s early blossoming, Netrebko endowed the character with something very special, not to mention fitting for what this young woman may in part also be deep down.

Manon possesses her inner diva
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

In the first act, she discovers what she is capable of. In the second, she finds herself in a quandary of sorts. Having been forced by her opportunistic brother to leave the man whom she really loves, she uses her natural gifts to carve out a very posh niche for herself in the rarified Parisian world of the rich and famous in which she seems to serve as little more than a glorified whore. Clad in her plush full-length furs and surrounded by a slew of Art Deco luxuries, Netrebko dreamily croons In quelle trine morbide about missing the simpler life she enjoyed with des Grieux, her more passionate lover, the man whom she abandoned without even saying goodbye. She pines for those times when she had fewer toys but soaked up a whole lot more love, long kisses and amorous embraces.

In this case, Manon is actively a trickster. She knows exactly what she is doing when she manipulates des Grieux back into her embrace in Act II. She is a dangerous seductress using the only weapon in her arsenal as femme fatale, and that is her antico fascino che accieca. Poor des Grieux immediately falls for it, to his own knowing chagrin. Netrebko plays the moment beautifully. A slippery snake who knows the power she holds over men. Des Grieux then really sees through her deceit and artifice when she reverts back to her opportunistic materialist self after they are alerted that her arrest is imminent. Rather than high tail it out of there, she goes back to her boudoir for the jewels and the gold, and Alvarez breaks into one of his most heart wrenching numbers in the first half of the opera, Ah, Manon, mi tradisce il tuo folle pensier, which he belts out with a manly desperation. She continues to play him and he is distraught. It is in moments like this one that makes me think that Puccini really nailed it. This whole movement in the music and the narrative very concisely captures the spirit of Prévost’s novel, in which Manon is a cold blooded heartbreaker and des Grieux let's his crush get the better of him at every turn, yet he just can't help himself, and so he always goes back for more. Crazy he is indeed.

The Column of Trajan and the painting visible in the boudoir backdrop
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Set against the backdrop of a Nazi occupied France, Richard Eyre’s distinctive take on the opera opens in Amiens, France, only this time the year is 1941. The village of the original has been transformed into a provincial French township and the fashion has been adapted to match. On the whole the updated setting enlivens the story, despite initially feeling like another futile experiment in the modern history of operatic Regietheater. Upon further reflection, however, some of these directorial decisions do in fact add several insightful layers to the story as it stands. Not only does it come off completely sexed up – the costumes and sets look great – but it also introduces deeper motivations for such plot points as to why Manon is headed to a convent in Act I and as to why the arrival of the gendarmes in Act II is extra heartbreaking, not to mention the deportation twist in Act III.

Manon flirts with her sugar daddy
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Talking with a scholar of French literature and culture during one of the intermissions, I was taken by a particular insight that sheds some light on how we might go about decoding some of the liberties Richard Eyre took with this concept, especially considering the bold decision to set the opera in a France under German occupation in the year 1941, rather than the late 18th century (the novel is set in the first half of the 18th century, Puccini moves it to the second half of that century). The suggestion is that Manon is Jewish and like many rural Jewish girls of the time she is being shipped off to a convent in order to escape persecution – a relatively common occurrence. Then in Act II when the soldiers burst in to abscond with her, it is because Geronte has not merely denounced her for lechery, but rather that he has reported her Jewishness to the authorities. And so in barge the Nazis. A particularly cruel form of revenge for having found her in the midst of a tryst with her former lover and his prior rival. It’s a very powerful reading, and it very likely is what the director and his team were going for.

Not every aspect of the production fits into this reading and for it to work at all you have to use your imagination, particularly in Act IV. But the broad outlines of this notion seem to be there, and the direction makes every attempt to make it all mesh. The Act III role of the prostitutes and prisoners who are being shipped off as slave laborers to the new world would then seem to provide a parallel to the rounding up of individuals to be sent off to concentration camps. In fact, they are all systematically stripped down one-by-one during the humiliating roll call portion of the act and dressed in sad gray smocks with numbers stenciled on them, so Holocaust references would not be a stretch.

The Nazi deportation forces cart her off to the camps
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

By the time we get to the final act, however, Eyre’s staging of Act IV only functions on the level of metaphor. The lovers find themselves in a wasteland, both the work of their all-consuming passion and of the war that has been raging on in the meantime. This is one of the main points in which the words being sung in the Italian are incongruous to the action on stage, and I usually find this practice harder to condone. The long slow death of the beloved nevertheless plays out against the backdrop of a war-ravaged cityscape and, when sung by the likes of Alvarez and Netrebko, it is a harrowing experience for all involved. An appropriately Wagnerian finale, a Liebestod in the Italian fashion, as Puccini intended it.  

The slithery snake sneaks up on her prey
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Rob Howell’s signature rotund set design (with striking similarities to his work in the Met’s current productions of Carmen and Le nozze di Figaro) cleverly includes in Manon’s courtesan quarters in Act II a mock up of the Column of Trajan in Rome that features an array of Kama Sutra poses and a screen with an enormous image of Cupid pinching Venus’ nipple from the iconic painting by Agnolo Branzino, The Allegory of Venus and Cupid. The part of the painting that is on full display includes the right side of the composition in which the monstrous figure of Temptation holds forth in one hand the promise of love and pleasure in the form of a honeycomb; in the other she holds the menacing prick of her scorpion tail. These elements provide a kinky backdrop against which Manon's big courtesan scene unfolds. It displays clues to the pain that will inevitably follow in the wake of love's great transitory pleasure, especially as these two lovers sing of lips that wound and heal – dolcissimo soffrir, indeed!

The set for this act must also include a great big bed and this makes Puccini powerfully unique. The libretto and the writing are among the most Dionysian outside of Wagner, but Puccini is Italian and so the quality is distinctly more warm-blooded. Just to read the text for the big love scene when des Grieux and Manon are reunited is to go on a trip to Venusberg that is not otherworldly, but profoundly of the here and now. It’s deep, if you let it work its magic on you. It can be a bit misleading for its verismo undertones, but to understand Manon Lescaut, it seems to me that you have to know not only Cavalleria rusticana, but also Tannhäuser and maybe even Tristan und Isolde, which makes it a perfect pairing for this season at the Met.

The wasteland provides the backdrop for the final movement
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Manon Lescaut’s Act II contains one of the deepest most Dionysian expressions of operatic abandonment in the Italian canon that I have seen. And it is only thanks to Wagner (of all people) that I have come to this understanding. This opera can take you places if you let it and it does contain raw bits of the Puccini works to come. The beginning gives you a glimpse of what is to come in the first act of La boheme. Act III gives you a glimpse of the winning formula that brought us the E lucevan le stelle movement in Tosca. And there are other prolepses of what is to come in Puccini’s later work. But his attempt to descend into the Dionysian in the second half of Act II and what happens in Act IV all amount to something very deep. This is not Verdi, and it’s not Wagner, nor is it the later Puccini. Richard Eyre’s production does not entirely disappoint.

– Lui & Lei

You're Irresistible, Baby!

The Met’s Las Vegas Rigoletto

November 30, 2013

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

We're in Las Vegas, circa 1960. “The Duke” is a Sinatra-like singer and the powerful owner of a casino where vice, money and decadent entertainment abound. He’s also a serial womanizer who can never get enough of the ladies. In fact, his entourage of suave men in shiny tuxedos often procures fresh prey for him. The hunchback Rigoletto is a comic who works for the Duke and is always poking fun at everyone, often pushing jokes too far. Enter a wealthy Arab sheik that Rigoletto needles obscenely as a cover to the Duke's recent conquest of his daughter. The humiliated sheik explodes in a rage and curses both the Duke and his comic. In a city where luck and superstition rule, a “maledizione” is serious stuff.

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Rigoletto gets off his comic shift and goes home to his only family, his beloved daughter Gilda – a beautiful pious young thing he keeps locked up at home at all times (except to go to Sunday mass). He is too afraid the vicious men of the town may corrupt his good little girl. Bad luck has it that somehow the Duke managed to lay eyes on sweet, chaste Gilda and decides he wants her. This time his trick will be to play the part of a lovey-dovey penniless student, which works pretty well. Gilda falls romantically head over heels for the “student” who also seems totally taken though that, too, could just be another womanizing strategy.

The Duke’s entourage decides to play a prank on Rigoletto and, thinking that Gilda is his lover, they abduct her and bring her to the Duke for his entertainment. The Duke deflowers Gilda at lightening speed and immediately thereafter loses interest. When Rigoletto discovers what happened to his innocent daughter he is rage-crazed and swears to avenge her honor. His bloody vengeance involves a hired (but honest) assassin and his slutty sister and it may or not go as planned...

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Does this sound like an 1851 opera? Or more like a modern mob movie? The Met showed us that time and place hardly matter as this story could be set in 16th century Mantua or 1960s Las Vegas and work equally well. Either way, it’s rife with dramatic tension, fiercely passionate Verdi music and some of the most beautiful singing.

It was a thrill to see the Met’s 2012 Las Vegas Rigoletto again. The singers in last year’s inaugural cast for the debut of this new production were so spectacular that it hardly mattered where they set it. Revisiting it again this year with a new cast and Pablo Heras-Casado conducting, we stand by the conviction that this modernized production works. The sets are dynamic and elaborate and the story is only made more vivid than if they had kept it in sixteenth-century Mantua with men in tights and puffy sleeves.

This time we decided to follow the Met English subtitles throughout the opera. And not out of necessity (being Italian speakers and knowing Rigoletto by heart) but rather because we heard that subtitles, too, were innovated by this production. The Met pushed its modernizing efforts to the point of revising the traditional English translation of the Italian libretto to jazz it up with 1960s Vegas slang. Updating the subtitles to match the era in which the opera is set is sure blasphemy to purists and really a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it can engage the non-Italian speaking audience in livelier ways than a verbatim translation of 19th-century poetic language, which is admirable. On the other hand, however, it may be distracting and fall into the trap of going too far and radically changing the sense of the original, which is, indeed, a mortal sin even by our standards.

The Met did not fall into such trap and offered a refreshingly updated and often clever translation by Michael Panayos and Paul Cremo, without ever departing from the original core meaning but rather just massaging the text with glittery period touches that most times worked pretty well. Here’s an example:

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Original Libretto:

DUCA

Ma dee luminoso

In corte tal astro qual sole brillare.

Per voi qui ciascuno dovrà palpitare.

Per voi già possente la fiamma d'amore

Inebria, conquide, distrugge il mio core.

CONTESSA

Calmatevi …

Traditional Translation:

DUKE

So bright a star should be shedding

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

its brilliance on my court.

You would make every heart beat faster here.

The fires of passion already flare

headily, conquering, consuming my heart.
COUNTESS

Calm yourself!

“Rat Pack” Translation:

DUKE

Your movie-star looks

really light up the place

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Every heart in this club

should be beating for you

You’re irresistible, baby

you make me burn with love

you send me to the moon!

COUNTESS

Take it easy, fella!

The “astro,” or star, metaphor carries over into a reference to movie starlets, and the Duke’s court is appropriately reconfigured as a club, while the Petrarchan language of the consuming fires of love translate directly into hepcat talk. It’s colorful and clever and almost even more successfully poetic with respect to the otherwise rather bland conventional English translation also presented here. After all, the Duke’s character is the kind of superficial lady’s man who would have come up with zingers like: “Come on, baby, let’s give it a whirl!”

When it comes to narrative strategies, Michael Mayer’s production not only remains true to the core of the original opera but also adds several touches that flesh out better the characters. The Duke’s is one of the characterizations that benefited most from the Vegas take. In classic productions, when in Act II he is sad because he thinks Gilda has been kidnapped and he starts going all mushy about she being “the one,” it is always a bit hard to believe since the Duke is supposed to be a chauvinist womanizer. This production has him do lines of cocaine and drink hard liquor while he sings these arias, thus suggesting, in line with the core of the character, that the Duke was just babbling under the effects of hard drugs and stiff alcohol, and, no matter how convinced he sounds in his singing, his convictions are as steadfast as a feather in the wind. Later, in Act III this Sinatra-like Duke sings the famous misogynistic aria “La donna e’ mobile / qual piuma al vento” while twirling around the pole of a strip club, making it clear (in case there was any doubt) that he’s the fickle one, not women.

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Another stroke of genius is the Rat Pack transformation of the Duke’s entourage that perfectly reflects the goliardic spirit of the courtiers, and very entertainingly so. Their chorus scenes are extremely vivid and effective, with a group of men in shiny multi-color tuxedos and a lot of hair gel gallivanting around in grand early-1960s cinematic style, all while singing Verdi. The three main Rat Pack characters, Borsa (Alexander Lewis), Marullo (Jeff Mattsey) and Count Ceprano (David Crawford) were definitely more fleshed out here than in other productions. Inspired by the likes of Sammy Davis, Jr., Dean Martin and Sam Giancana, they evidently had a lot of fun with their roles and they were a pleasure to watch with their shenanigans, especially during some of the musical interludes.

This production at times even improves the narrative when compared to a more traditional setting. In fact, in Act II classic productions always struggle with a weak plot point when Rigoletto cannot hear the courtiers kidnapping his screaming daughter while he holds a ladder because he has a mask over his eyes (that allegedly also covers his ears?!?). Mayer cleverly solves the problem by sending Rigoletto “upstairs” in an elevator so that he’s not physically there when the actual kidnapping occurs and his failure to notice is thus made credible.

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Željko Lučić was just so spectacular last year that it was going to be a tall order for Dmitri Horostovsky to match his predecessor’s performance in the eponymous role. With his action movie star good looks, Dmitri is not your typical Rigoletto. And boy did they do a number on him in make-up! His transformation from “barihunk” into old hunchback with paunch and a few strands of white hair combed across an almost bald scalp was terrific, particularly since the proud shaking of his flowing silver mane is one of Dmitri's signature moves in virtually every other role he performs. Also, one would think that both his haughty acting and fierce singing style generally better suit a sexy villain rather than the hunch-backed, pathos-invoking paterfamilias at the center of Verdi’s Rigoletto.

Photo credit: Ruby Washington / The New York Times

Dmitri’s acting was intensely accurate and generally successful in getting into character, showing a range that we rarely see from him. In the first scene he was hamming it up with the lounge dancers and twisting his hips like Elvis as he taunted the sheik, rendering the comic side of Rigoletto very energetic when compared to traditional settings. Horostovsky was a fairly convincing tender father in his duets with Gilda, however his best stage presence (not surprisingly) was in the raging bits, so much that in “Cortigiani, vil razza dannata,” he was a bit too busy forcefully acting and running from one courtier to the other, affecting a bit the intensity of his singing. While Dmitri’s angry-edged baritone sounded on the snarling end at times, he consistently delivered deep dark tones with hints of a smooth sweetness that made for a vocally charismatic Rigoletto. The evening we saw him, his voice felt unusually restrained in the first act, but when he loosened up he was sensational. His duets with Gilda were as lovely and heart wrenching as ever, “Fanciulla piangi” making the fanciulla of us cry copiously and Dmitri’s vocal performance in the third act ranged from vengeful to deeply dramatic to desperately defeated, just the way we like a Rigoletto.

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

But it was the young soprano, Sonya Yoncheva, who stole the show while stepping in to replace Aleksandra Kurzak (pregnant with tenor Roberto Alagna’s child). Yoncheva sang consistently stronger than anybody else on stage, outshining even all of the seasoned Met veterans in this cast, including both Horostovsky and Polenzani. The piercing purity of her voice streamed effortlessly from her petite frame. With her frail yet powerful lyricism and her charming presence, Yoncheva dominated her scenes gracefully and tragically. Fresh faced and youthful, she really looked the part and embodied all the vulnerability of the poor tragic naïve Gilda. Yoncheva did not win Placido Domingo’s Operalia competition in 2010 for nothing – definitely a singer to keep an eye on.

Matthew Polenzani is growing on us, while we were not convinced by his Nemorino in 2012, we enjoyed him in Maria Stuarda and Così and really appreciated him as the Duke. He delivered clean, fresh sound, clear articulation, on point tempo and musicality, and great Sinatra-like acting. On the whole, he is highly likeable, but he still does not stir the deep turmoil that a world-class Italian-style tenor should be capable of. We find Polenzani to be often too high pitched; lacking a certain manly depth, with his voice still sounding almost too young, remaining too firmly on the surface.  

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

Slovak bass Stefan Kocán always exudes charisma with commanding stage presence and his Sparafucile was no exception. While we've seen and loved him before in the role, this time his acting got even better, portraying the honest villain (he may be a hired assassin but he's not a thief!) with the sleek confidence of a film noir actor. Vocally, Kocán has a deep, rich and smooth tone that somehow comes as a surprise from such a young singer and is always a pleasure to hear. We wish there were more extensive bass roles around so that we could get more Kocán –looking forward to seeing him as Konchak in Prince Igor in February!

A lot has been said about the spectacular sets of this production, for which no detail was small enough, from the diverse use of the “neon vocabulary” throughout the three acts, to the wink-wink references to the Met’s own decorative elements (gates, chandeliers, curtains), to the Nevada license plate of Sparafucile’s car ("SPARFUC"). We can only let the pictures speak for themselves and salute the Met’s set design team for the terrific effort.

Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met Opera

This production is to us the perfect example of a clever new take on a classic and thus a must see for virtually everybody: it may entertainingly lure opera-virgins into the art form, convert the traditionalist to modernizations of classic repertoire and refresh Rigoletto for those who know it by heart. Let’s hear it for Met Opera taking more calculated risks like this!

– Lei & Lui