Onegin and the Weight of Time Past

Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin

Royal Opera House, London

January 2, 2015

The fleeting, haughty Onegin on the prowl.
Photo credit: Tristram Kenton/The Guardian

The fourth and final stop in our holiday season opera tourism circuit was London, to catch the great Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Eugene Onegin singing in his native Russian at the Royal Opera House. And while our favorite Siberian villain baritone was the decisive factor for this trip (even more so after seeing him in the very emotional Trovatore at the Met), we were positively surprised by the inventiveness of the direction as well as by the rest of the cast.

Tatyana in her reading room.
Photo credit: ROH

A co-production of the Royal Opera House, the Fondazione Teatro Regio di Torino and Opera Australia, this Onegin realized the directorial vision of ROH’s own Kasper Holten. It was one of the most clever and thought-provoking stagings I’ve seen. Holten’s Onegin emphasizes many of the core themes of the opera including reflections on the passage of time, the pervasive nature of nostalgia, and the inevitable consequences of one’s wrong choices. It was simple yet effective, intellectual yet very moving at the same time.

The fateful encounters of our youth.
Photo credit: ROH

The straightforward and very versatile sets consisted primarily of a grand partition with four floor-to-ceiling doors that could open up onto abstract projections of the countryside in fall, winter and spring as the scene required or else serve as an element in Prince Gremin’s palace in the final scenes. Recessed features in the great wall also housed bookcases. After all, books play an important role in Tatyana’s young life as a passionate reader, and will inform many of her actions.

While things start simple in this production, elements from one scene to the next begin to accumulate. Tatyana’s books begin strewn across the floor. The servants pick them up. She goes and scatters them all over the place again. And there they remain. As does the rest of the detritus from all intervening scenes, including bails of hay from the harvest, fallen tree branches, cabinet doors ripped from their hinges, even Lensky’s corpse – yes poor Michael Fabiano had to lie there motionless after his defeat in the duel for the last 45 minutes of the opera or so. Unfortunate soul!

Detritus of previous scenes clutter the foreground at the ball.
Photo credit: ROH

These unusual yet transparent directorial decisions all added up to a very clear take on the material: with the passing of time the decisions we make have consequences that we must forever live with. The passage of time was also emphasized by the decision to have many of the early scenes acted out by younger versions of the Tatyana and Onegin characters played by dancers while the singers looked wistfully upon the disingenuousness of their prior selves and seem to sing their roles in a tone of regretful nostalgia – a reflexive commentary on the paths they went down, which squares up with the main lines of the story.

Dancers reenact the past as their alter egos look on.
Photo credi: ROH

The use of costumes to identify characters over time was also particularly charged. The red dress that Tatyana continues to sport under her princess coat right up to the end suggests that maybe underneath her newfound glitz she has not changed so much. Key events of the opera leave a trail on stage, as well as below the surface of subtle costuming decisions, as a memento of the long lasting impact of certain moments in the characters’ lives. The past is inescapable and our decisions and transgressions, the messes we make and the books we read stick with us. They clutter the brave new world we are eventually forced to inhabit. They make us who we are. They either hinder or inform us – humbling reflections as we embrace a new year, look back at the one just past and put forth our resolutions for the one ahead.

Onegin is about to make the mistake of his life.
Photo credit: ROH

Tchaikovsky’s score under the baton of maestro Semyon Bychkov was more romantic and heart wrenching than ever. As to the cast, it was truly excellent throughout without a single weak link. Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the title role was as expected seductive, smooth and haughty, with his velvety baritone more fluid than usual in his native Russian. However, Dmitri’s rendition of Onegin was not as gut-stirring as I was hoping for. True that the last time I saw him live it was for his comeback at the Met when he was showered by love and support from the public and his colleagues alike, so there was a whole different emotional vibe surrounding him and possibly in his own performance, too.

Lensky woos his lady love.
Photo credit: ROH

The singer who truly had me head over heels was tenor Michael Fabiano in his ROH debut with the role of the poet Lensky. While I’ve heard good things about this American tenor (who was also the recipient of the Richard Tucker award in 2014), I was not prepared for such soaring, intense, ardent passion. Fabiano was the quintessential young idealistic poet in love and had so much vocal charisma that I was truly upset to see him die so early in the opera, I wanted to hear way more from him (and having him lie dead on stage until the end did not help!).  

I am happy to report that the main takeaway of our little holiday opera tourism is that the tenor famine is officially over. Russell Thomas (as Pollione in Norma), Francesco Meli (as Carlo in Giovanna D’Arco) and now Michael Fabiano convinced me that there are still tenors out there capable of sounding powerfully manly yet goosebump-inducing and swooningly moving. Thank goodness as lately I was starting to lose hope.

Tatyana relives the letter she once wrote.
Photo credit: ROH

Australian soprano Nicole Car was a fresh and lyric Tatyana with an effortless beautiful sound. Acting-wise I found her more convincing when she portrayed the younger Tatyana in love compared to the older wiser version that came across as more stiff and confused than disdainful and mature. Bass-baritone Ferruccio Furlanetto as Prince Gremin was magnificent, with a deep seductive instrument and a very moving rendition of the older soldier who rediscovered the joys of love with the young Tatyana. It was one of those magic operatic moments when time stopped and everybody held their breath.

Prince Gremin with his fountain of youth.
Photo credit: ROH

Even the Royal Opera House itself seems to be going through a similar upheaval at the moment, grappling with the detritus of its past in this space. Their home at Covent Garden is breathtakingly gorgeous but also seemingly very messy. The common areas were all very stressful to navigate, definitely poorly organized and clearly not capacious enough to comfortably accommodate the crowds. As far as we can tell, the company recently started extensive renovation works, though it is unclear whether the discomfort we experienced was due to the works or rather the works are aimed at fixing the issue. In any event I definitely look forward to visiting the ROH again to check out how the ambitious renovation will solve the problem in the future.

– Lei & Lui

Younger Onegin enacts years of intervening debauchery while older Onegin watches.
Photo credit: ROH

The men prepare for their duel.
Photo credit: ROH

Princess Tatyana spurns her desired lover.
Photo credit: ROH

When Tatyana knew young love.
Photo credit: ROH

From Darkness to Light and Back

Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta & Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle

Metropolitan Opera

January 29, 2015

Opening night (after snow delay)

After surviving a false alarm of a snowstorm and dodging a handful of anti-Putin protesters picketing the Lincoln Square, we made it to the Met for the opening of a double bill of two dreamy one act operas in two unique new productions at the Met.

Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta

Iolanta: Eyes are only for crying
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The story of a blind woman who has never been informed of her condition. This is Tchaikovsky’s Iolanta. She has been kept in isolation by her dominating father and has lived her whole life up to now thinking that we have eyes only for crying. When an unsuspecting stranger stumbles upon her home in the forest and he spills the beans about the beauty of sight, she is overcome by shock. It is a woman’s journey from darkness into light, with extremely poetic passages, such as the need to know what to desire before being ready to receive it, as well as love’s transformative force and a lot of nice stuff about the wonders of nature made even more wonderful by the force of light. We are repeatedly reminded that light was God’s first creation, and so religious symbolism is also very present, though I wonder if it is significant that the doctor who performs the miracle of restoring Iolanta’s sight is a Muslim gentleman. The opera is a cosmopolitan affair, set in France, sung in Russian, and featuring a Moroccan doctor who invokes Allah, go figure.

Seeing the light with her heart
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The cast was pretty solid across the board. Polish tenor Piotr Beczala as the evening’s prince charming Vaudémont was strong and expressive, though his higher register is not the most soaring. Yet I generally prefer Beczala’s Russian performances (think last year’s Onegin) to his Italian roles (think Alfredo or the Duke), where his articulation does not always feel so natural. Russian baritone Aleksei Markov, as his friend Duke Robert, who is betrothed to Iolanta but in love with the sultry Mathilde, was the best male singer on stage. We discovered him as Germont in La Traviata last week and were really impressed by his instrument. Here his role was much more relaxed and carefree and his acting fit right in with his joyful, ardent singing as someone who is young and in love. And of course Anna Netrebko starred as Iolanta. She embodied the heroine with a remarkable innocence with her chesty voice that really flows with an effortless fluidity in Russian. It was impressive to see her succeed in this frail, tender, pure role after her uber-evil, unbridled force of nature performance as LadyMacbeth earlier this season. While the Russian soprano was vocally superb, particularly in her soaring duet with Vaudémont on the beauties of nature and light, I could not help but thinking that her voice is a touch too womanly for such a child-like character. Bass Alexei Tanovitski as the intransigent King Rene and baritone Elchin Azizov as the Moroccan doctor Ibn-Hakia were both solid grounding forces of the opera, though not particularly impressive.

The skiers arrive
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

In Tchaikovsky’s hands (and under Valery Gergiev’s baton), sung Russian is phenomenally beautiful, melodic and smooth. And considering its late romantic date (it debuted in 1892), the composer still gave us a number of moving melodic numbers, including several dramatic arias and a couple of memorable duets with tunes that really stick in your head. So much of it is really very dreamy and poetic, to the point of being a bit soporific as it plods along at a somnolent clip, despite the action packed second part of the short opera. In many ways, it reminded me of the dreaminess and symbolism of Debussy’s impressionistic masterpiece, Pelleas et Mellisande.

Trelinski's idea of paradise
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The Mariusz Trelinski’s production was a bit disjointed, in the sense that it seemed to be set in a desolate wasteland of a space in the mountains or in the woods with uprooted trees strewn about around Iolanta’s little boxy wall-less house. So the general vibe was a stark kind of sadness, yet characters entered the scene remarking what a paradise the place is. I didn’t get it. It just didn’t work. Also, what was Prince Charming doing in that get up? Beczala shows up in leg warmers and a Uniqlo ultra-lightweight futuristic ski jacket and he just didn’t seem to fit in the otherwise 1930s mountain cabin setting. Not only that but he comes toting merrily a pair of skis, even though there isn’t a lick of snow anywhere to be found. He seems to have stepped not only out of the future (a future with high-tech affordable Japanese apparel) but also out of a different season. His winter to her spring. Finally, when Iolanta is cured and happily marries, the director’s idea of a visually exuberant and joyful ending is having uprooted trees get grounded and a massive chorus of waiters pop out. Maybe I don’t get Eastern European modern sensibilities, but that really did not work as a grand finale.

 

Iolanta's apotheosis
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

I understand that there is some kind of profound spiritual symbolism underlying Iolanta’s trajectory from darkness and spiritual insight into the light, no matter how disappointingly stark reality is once you can actually lay your eyes on it, but I just don’t see the full extent of these concepts very compellingly played out in this particular staging of it. Maybe it’s true what Anna Netrebko says about the opera in the liner notes to her recent recording of Iolanta for Deutsche Grammophon, namely, that it is not actually necessary to stage it. The beauty comes through in just a concert performance. The music says it all. Seeing with the heart, or, in the audience’s case, with the ears, is more transformative than seeing with the eyes, especially when what we have to look at is some half-baked trendy staging. A good production should heighten the sense of the libretto and the score, it should guide the audience to a deeper understanding of the subtleties and the storyline, highlight the ideas, elevate the emotions. When a production muddles the sense it can be most distracting.

Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle

Judith steps into darkness
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

Bluebeard’s Castle could also be considered a story about a woman overcome with the desire to see, the desire to know everything about her lover whom she follows obsessively into his scary castle, abandoning all light and hope behind her, almost in a Dantesque Inferno-entering manner. Through the dark woods she traipses. Judith’s journey from light and freedom into darkness and captivity is perfectly opposite Iolanta’s, neatly justifying the Met’s choice to present these two works together.

Bluebeard's enthralling power
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

German soprano Nadja Michael was stunning as Judith. She had dynamic stage presence, was very agile (not surprisingly since she was once a competitive swimmer), and managed to bring this character to life largely through her tormented and slightly possessed acting chops. Nadja Michael didn’t always have music to sing through which to express her character. Because the score is so relatively spare, she had to rely on her physical presence on the stage to tell the story. Russian bass Mikhail Petrenko as Bluebeard himself was strong too. While we first discovered him as Galitsky in Prince Igor last season, here he looked and sounded like a completely different (and much better) singer: darker, thicker, manlier and definitely scarier.  Bartók’s score does not necessarily give either of Judith or Bluebeard a lot to work with in terms of emotional vocal palette, however, they created the unsettling atmosphere of the piece in a way that I found riveting.

The journey through the castle begins
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

Welcome to my torture chamber
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The production was very unusual. Mariusz Trelinski and his design team went for a horror film look that incorporates projections and electronic interludes that felt a little uneven but made for a very unique evening at the Met. A welcome change of pace. Though here too what was staged was often at odds with what is being stated or sung or declaimed in scary voices on and off stage, I found this take much more captivating than this same director’s approach in Iolanta. Bartók’s score lends itself to the creepy and campy and horror of Trelinski’s imaginative, often surreal staging. It had a very cinematographic feel, opening with a car approaching in the distance and stopping at the edge of a forest at the very back of the stage. A tall blonde woman, wearing a glamorous aquamarine silk backless evening gown, steps out of the car and follows a moody, dark-haired mystery man, wearing a tux with an undone necktie. They get through a dark, garage-like entrance, with glass walls dripping with rain (the walls are crying), and from there the downward spiral journey begins. We follow Judith in her quest through Bluebeard’s castle, from an art deco elevator suspended on the side of the stage, to a butcher-like torture chamber, a dreamy bathtub (supposedly representing the treasury, go figure), a Hitchcockian dining room with blood stained flowers, soaring views of a woodsy kingdom, a claustrophobic room tiled like a crossword puzzle (a lake of tears?!?) and the final other-worldly scene in which Judith encounters her own burial in the third person and the spirits of Bluebeard’s ex-wives.

 

An homage to Hitchcock's Rebecca
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The Lake of Tears
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The seventh chamber
Photo credit: Marty Sohl / Met

The singers, especially Nadja Michael, really sold this surreal and scary take. She had me on the edge of my seat the whole time. She really got bodily into the role of the possessed wife who as it turns out seems already to have died around the time that she ended up at Bluebeard’s castle, where it was already her destiny to end up a prisoner with the rest of his corpse brides and ex wives. And so her morbid curiosity to dig deeper into her new husband’s pathological secrets after penetrating his blood stained torture chamber and corridors with walls that cry suddenly makes some kind of sense once we get to the end. Though the ultimate allegorical force of the whole thing is never really fleshed out or spelled out. Trelinski gives us an out of body experience in an almost Lynchian key, rather than a meditation on the horrors of Europe in the midst of the Great War, which is the key in which I have heard it read in the past. The continent had been through so much that no one any longer wanted to see. In Bartók’s piece, a woman’s morbid curiosity pushes past the point of widespread denial, in what was definitely the scariest and most unusual opera we’ve seen so far.

 - Lui & Lei

Falling again for Eugene

Eugene Onegin at the Met

November 24, 2013

With the opening gala, this is my second Eugene Onegin of the season, essentially because I’m a devout Villazón fan and could just not miss his comeback performance at the Met.

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

The first (and last) time I saw Rolando live was in a Lucia di Lammermoor at the Met in 2009, when he bewitched me with his powerful warmth and visceral musical sweetness, all while making me cry copiously. Back then I got out of the Met transformed, having for the very first time experienced live how an Italian-style tenor, like no other singer, can have a “streak of animal sensuality which cuts through all operatic politesse and leaves the listener gasping.”* Shortly thereafter, during a later performance of that same run of Lucia di Lammermoor, Rolando’s voice failed to respond and cracked instead of producing a high note. In front of a full house at the Met, he stopped singing for several seconds, cleared his throat and then repeated the note.  Villazón’s vocal chords cysts saga unfolded, he underwent surgery and stopped singing for a while,  then resuming performances only in Europe. Though I became an avid listener of all of his recordings, I was longing to see him perform again, so much that I toyed with the idea of flying from NYC to Vienna or Barcelona for a week-end just to hear him in Don Giovanni or Elisir.

It was such joy (though tainted by trepidation) to see Villazón perform again on that very stage where his vocal chords first so publicly failed him. He was the expressive singer and charming actor I remembered and managed to heat up Russian singing with his always rich and warm tone. His power may not be exactly where it used to, but I blame the size of the Met for that (and my family circle seat). While his Lensky died tragically in Act II, Rolando movingly looked like the happiest singer in the world at the curtain call, high-fiving Peter Mattei, hugging everybody, double fist-pumping in the air and jumping up and down, rightly excited for having finally dominated the Met again. I cannot but join in such excitement, relieved that one of my very few favorite living tenors can still do it!

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

While there’s scarcity of great tenors, lately I’ve come to realize that there are plenty of awesome baritones around ready to knock my socks off. This time it was Peter Mattei. While I think I saw him before, probably in a good Barbiere a few years ago, this time I was blown away by how he absolutely owned Onegin, with charismatic manly stage presence, effortless spotless signing, dynamic acting and deep musical Russian phrasing. Mattei was truly magnificent as he fleshed out Onegin, bringing the character to a whole new level of depth. His transformation from cold, snotty and cynical to ardent, passionate and love-crazed was one of the most convincing and heart-wrenching performances I've seen at the Met.

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

Marina Poplavskaya was a vocally solid Tatyana, however pretty pale next to my recent memories of Netrebko singing this same role. I will say, though, that Poplavskaya has less of a diva stage presence than Netrebko that, oddly, led to more effective acting with respect to the shy dreamy characterizations of Tatyana in the first two acts.

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

Photo Credit: Ken Howard / The Metropolitan Opera

Bass Stefan Kocán as Prince Gremin was as always excellent and commanding, my only critique being to the Met’s make-up and wig department: he is supposed to be an old retired soldier but he looked like the youngest, sleekest and hottest of all men on stage. Grey hair and some wrinkles were much needed to make his character credible.

The production may have been the same, but the different cast really transformed Eugene Onegin into a whole new experience. Also, without the gala distractions (tiaras-spotting, gay protesters and the like), I was able to better focus and appreciate even more the deep romanticism of this opera. The outbursts of passion really came through as the backbone of the piece: Lensky’s declaration of love to Olga, Tatyana’s letter, Lensky’s jealous fight with Onegin and his nostalgic aria before dieing, Gremin’s bit on the joys of married love and Onegin’s final desperate love confession to Tatyana. Tchaikovsky’s adaptation of Pushkin’s novel in verse really does pack in a lot of quintessential operatic drama, and I am grateful to the Met for having lured me twice to enjoy it.

I may have gone to this second Eugene Onegin to check on Rolando (very glad to see he’s in good form), but came out having fallen head over heels for Peter. I should start scheduling some operatic travel to catch more Mattei. It looks like the only other opportunity this season to see this dreamy baritone will be in Berlin for Tannhäuser in April – who knows, he may even help overcome my Wagner fears.

– Lei

Photo credit: Maria Protopopov / Blog Villazonista

Photo credit: Maria Protopopov / Blog Villazonista

* A Night at the Opera: An Irreverent Guide to The Plots, The Singers, The Composers, The Recordings, Modern Library, 1998, p. 852

A Nose on the Run!

Shostakovich’s The Nose at the Met – October 8, 2013

All photo/image credits: Met

Lui: Originally written between 1835 and 1836, Nikolai Gogol's short story The Nose is an absurdist whodunit fantasia, part bureaucratic thriller, part social satire, set in the same St. Petersburg as Pushkin's 1833 Eugene Onegin. Scouring the streets of the imperial Russian capital in search of his missing nose, Gogol's noseless protagonist Kovalyov could very well have crossed paths with Pushkin's cast of aristocratic characters, if it weren't for their difference in class. For, Kovalyov is hyper-aware of the hierarchies of Petersburg society.

William Kentridge's signature 2010 Met production of Shostakovich's 1930 operatic adaptation moves the action of the story to the St. Petersburg of the Soviet futurists in the early twentieth century. His staging features a profusion of paroliberismo, animation and live action video projected onto mobile set pieces, scrims, screens and curtains. The stage at the Met is a whirling frenzy of activity for virtually all of the swift hour and forty-five minutes of the modernist composer's fleet-footed score.

Lei: The terrific music was definitely the main character for me. The Met orchestra sounded more alive and electrified than ever under Gergiev’s lead, rendering Shostakovich’s score a pure and super-kinetic delight. I was so taken with the orchestra that I would have been content just with the music and Kentridge’s dada-futurist animations. These projections worked very well with the musical tempo and served both as part of the set and as narrative tool. The sequences where the human-size nose goes out and about, engaging in all sort of activities (from running and ballet dancing to typing and horseback riding) were just hilarious and conveyed perfectly the absurdity of the plot.

Lui: I tend to feel the same way. I could watch Kentridge's imagination riff on this material for a long time. It is so incredibly pleasurable. Still, the man at the center of the show is collegiate assessor Kovalyov (but you can call him "Major"), who is dramatically aware that the mysterious and absurd loss of his nose will doom his much desired escalation of the social ladder. In his adventures with and without his olfactory organ, Kovalyov measures himself up to everyone he encounters. He constantly scrutinizes the buttons on their uniforms, their noses, even their whiskers. When it turns out that his nose is on the loose and has somehow sprouted legs of its own and become as big as a man with a higher title than his, Kovalyov is suddenly unsure of how to address his superior. Perplexed before his nose – now State Councilor! – the Major comically struggles to convince it to resize and go back to where it belongs, on Kovalyov's face.

Lei: This production chose to display the confrontation between Kovalyov and his Nose as an exchange between two men, with a wobbly shadow of a nose projected onto the wall behind the higher ranked character. Rather, this should have been a confrontation between a man and his absurd overgrown nose. To me, this directorial choice missed the point entirely, especially since the big papier-mâché nose was always so effective throughout the rest of the opera. This is after all one of the key moments in the story that brings Kovalyov's complex to the fore. In the context of his bureaucratic and social insecurities, if he's talking to his nose we want to see a big nose, not a little man who sounds gracious, all too soft spoken and elegant. Also, tenor Alexander Lewis was not a convincing Nose, since he sounded too delicately high-pitched to the point of almost coming across as melancholic. I found this rendering to be at complete odds with the Nose’s character – a snob and brisk State Councilor who does not want to have anything to do with the lower-ranked Kovalyov.

 

Lui: Once his nose slips through his clutches, our dutiful civil servant then humorously weighs his bureaucratic options for seeking assistance in his plight – whether to file an appeal with the Board of Discipline, where the Nose now works, to take an ad out in the local newspaper or turn to the police. We are immersed in the world of protocol and arcane hierarchies. It is a satire of the corrupt inefficiencies of the bureaucratic chain of command, and it's outrageously surreal.

Lei: The staging conveys very vividly the dwarfing of man by the bureaucratic and social machine. In all the interior scenes (such as the barber shop, Kovalyov's apartment and the newspaper office) the action takes place in shoebox-like sets that occupy only a very small portion of the stage. The rest of the space is filled with projections of magnified newspaper articles and fast clips bursting with of all sorts of social choral situations, from crowds marching to clerks typing and audiences watching phantom shows of their own, with a terrific set-within-the-set effect.

Lui: It's rare to find an opera that so fully represents the social sphere in all its dynamic, overlapping layers. Shostakovich's score is bristling with frenetic energy and Kentridge brought it all to life. He gives us the crowds in the square, in the cathedral, in the park, at the newspaper office and in the police headquarters. Even poor Kovalyov's modest apartment is seething with social life as it is where scenes unfold with everyone from his live-in lackey, to the police commissioner, to a doctor living in the building who bursts in to make a house call. There is no privacy for our poor civil servant.

Another scene that really worked for me was the duet between Kovalyov and the mother of his some time love interest. The Major blames her for the loss of his nose and accuses her of witchcraft. The mother disregards the absurdity of the nonsensical accusation and reiterates the offer of her daughter's hand in marriage, should he still be so inclined. They exchange correspondence and sing the contents of their respective letters, one superimposed directly onto the other. Rather than achieving communicative clarity, the effect is a confusing hodgepodge of two people talking at and over one another. It is a piece of virtuosic genius the solution the composer comes up with to represent the social economy of their epistolary-marital commerce. Rather than give us the direct courting of the love interest through a seductive aria or a lovey-dovey duet, Shostakovich gives us a pushy mediator and turns the pseudo-love story into yet another negotiation straight from the sphere of the social.

Lei: The opera has lot of Russian recitatif, which was often quite funny given the absurdity of the story and the wittiness of the libretto; also, the subtitles were projected onto the set, sometimes even as part of the animations, which made the business of following the Russian fun and easy. Even so, after a while all the talking got a bit tiresome and I just craved some melody.

When it came to real singing, baritone Paulo Szot did a good job as Major Kovalyov, sounding powerful enough and displaying the comic vein required of the role. I also liked the musicality of Sergey Skorokhodov as the Major’s servant Ivan, who provided a rare moment of palpable emotion when he cozied up with a balalaika singing a simple folk ditty, showing the musical eclecticism of the visionary breadth of this opera. Barbara Dever as Mme. Podtochina and Ying Fang as her daughter brought some (at least for me) much-needed female melody to the piece, it was a relief to hear some soprano trilling after the prevailing manly Russian declamations. I was not particularly impressed by the rest of the singers, who many times were just so dwarfed by the music that it was just hard to hear them.

Lui: As one of the most experimental stagings that I've seen at the Met, it made me nostalgic for the kinds of cutting-edge productions NYC Opera has brought is over the last couple of years. Seeing The Nose made more poignant the imminent loss of the institution that brought us, for example, that visionary Moses in Egypt last year that won't soon be forgotten. Along with Satyagraha, The Nose ranks up there with the most unique operatic spectacles that I have experienced at the Met.

Lei: I am not sure The Nose it’s my piece of operatic cake, however I enjoyed it as an entertaining absurd futurist piece. And I very much look forward to seeing more Kentridge-like productions around.