Opera Review: Formula One

Karita Mattila burns up The Makropulos Case.

Absolutely fabulous: Karita Mattila in The Makropulos Case.
Photo by Ken Howard © 2012 The Metropolitan Opera.

by Paul Pelkonen
Even as the Metropolitan Opera season winds down, there is still room on the schedule between all those performances of the Ring for interesting revivals. Such a one is Elijah Moshinsky's ill-starred 1996 production of Leoš Janáček's The Makropulos Case.

Ms. Mattila brings a unique sensuality and world-weariness to Emilia Marty, the central character of this drama. A deeply philosophical drama wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a legal procedural, this is one of Janáček's most memorable and moving operas. As the 337-year old opera star burnt out from having near-immortality, the Finnish singer was a captivating presence, exercising a mysterious fascination over every character in the opera.

The thorniest moment of Tuesday night's performance (the second of this run) had nothing to do with singing. In Act II, Ms. Mattila was mounting the wooden Sphinx statue that dominates this act (which takes place after-hours on the stage of an opera house.) In high heels and a long poison-green gown, the singer stumbled on the steps. She regained her balance, and  sprawled herself across the Sphinx's lap, nonchalantly taking off her heels and tossing them aside. The rest of the act was (like her Dance of the Seven Veils in Salome) performed barefoot.

Twelve Days at the Opera

Or Trapped in the Metropolitan Opera House!

"There's got to be a way out of this place! But where?"
The author, trapped somewhere in the Metropolitan Opera House.

The (Metropolitan Opera House, located at W. 64th St. and Amsterdam Avenue) is big. Really big. It's so big you can't imagine it. Well, it's not quite as huge as Douglas Adams' description of the infinities of the universe, but the building is actually a 57-story skyscraper, lying on its side in the middle of Lincoln Center.

There are vast corridors, workshops, underground passageways, rehearsal spaces, storage facilities and dressing rooms, not to mention three restaurants and a really big auditorium within its walls. Here's a quick look at what's coming up in 2012 in the Spring season, set to the tune of a holiday classic. Feel free to sing along. One, two three....

On the first day at the opera, Wagner gave to me,

a great big clunking machine.

(One of the planks whacked me on the head!)

On the second day at the opera, Donizetti gave to me

Two bottles of vino, and a great big clunking machine.

(Somebody locked me in a dressing room.)

On the third day at the opera, Massenet gave to me

Three French tricks, two bottles of vino, and a great big clunking machine.

(I disguised myself as a supernumerary.) 

On the fourth day at the opera, a bunch of composers gave to me

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino, 

And a great big clunking machine.
(I spent the night in List Hall.) 

On the fifth day at the opera, Verdi gave to me,
Fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine. 

(I'm camping in the prompter's box.)

On the sixth day at the opera, Mozart gave to me,

Six heavily armed peasants,
Fiiiiive great big clocks! Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine.

(I've been employed as an emergency usher.)

On the seventh day at the opera, Janáček gave to me,
Seven lawyers litigating, six heavily armed peasants, fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine. 

(I can't believe I've been stuck in this building for a week!)

On the eighth day at the opera,Verdi gave to me,
Eight pyramid schemes,
seven lawyers litigating, six heavily armed peasants, fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine.
(I'll just sleep behind the Revlon Bar.)

On the ninth day at the opera, Britten gave to me

Nine sailors scheming, eight pyramid scams, seven lawyers litigating,
six heavily armed peasants, fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine.
(House detectives are looking for me.)

On the tenth day at the opera, Puccini gave to me,
Ten divas leaping,
nine sailors scheming, eight pyramid scams, seven lawyers litigating,

six heavily armed peasants, fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine. 

(They're starting to run out of little sandwiches.)

On the eleventh day at the opera, Verdi gave to me
Eleven bandit hats,
ten divas leaping, nine sailors scheming, eight pyramid scams, seven lawyers litigating,

six heavily armed peasants, fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine.
(Finally, a chance to raise and lower the chandeliers!)

On the twelfth day at the opera, Mussorgsky gave to me,

Twelve doomed Streltsy,
Eleven bandit hats, Ten divas leaping, Nine sailors scheming,
Eight pyramid scams, Seven lawyers litigating,
Six heavily armed peasants, Fiiiiive great big clocks!

Four confused lovers, three French tricks, two bottles of vino,

And a great big clunking machine!!!!
(I think I finally found the exit!)

Happy holidays to all of you!

Opera Review: Gateway to Greatness

Young talent adds life to the Met's mega-Bohéme.

Rush hour in Paris: Act II of La bohéme features over 200 people onstage.
Photo by Ken Howard © The Metropolitan Opera.

For three decades, the Metropolitan Opera's La bohéme has thrilled tourists and opera newbies with Franco Zeffirelli's over-the-top version of fin de siècle Paris. And it's provided excitement to hard-core opera lovers as well, with Anna Netrebko and Angela Gheorghiu among the divas dying onstage in the key role of Mimì.

Monday night's performance had all of the spectacle and flash that audiences expect from this staging, which packs 200 people onstage to depict the French Quarter at Christmas in Act II. It also had lesser known singers as Rodolfo and Mimì. But that can be fun too, as the opportunity comes to discover a new singer in one of these evergreen roles. 

Mimì was Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava, who made her house debut as Antonia in last year's revival of Les contes d'Hoffmann. She sang the part with full, warm tone, stumbling on a very fast "Sventatta, sventatta" but sounding better in "Mi chiamino Mimì". The two singers voices blended and rose, mixing the aural cocktail that has kept this opera at the top of the repertory for over a century. Her final duet with Rodolfo (tenor Dmitri Pittas) was very moving. 

Mr. Pittas is a New York native who is making a name for himself at the Met. Armed with a bright instrument with a little metal in it, struggled with his intonation in the first scene. He found his footing when he hit the familiar tenor arias that anchor the music of this opera. His performance improved as Rodolfo began to decline, hitting hard emotional truths as the false snow fell in the third act. 

Of course, you can't have Bohéme without Bohemians, and Mr. Pittas was supported by a fine trio. Baritone Alexey Markov was an exceptional Marcello, spitting jealous venom at Musetta but providing able support to his friends in time of need. Susanna Philips was a high-lying Musetta, injecting energy into the crowded second act with her entrance, and real sympathy in the finale.

Bass-baritone Patrick Carfizzi was an energetic, spring-heeld Schaunard, bouncing around the stage. Matthew Rose was an exceptional Colline, making the most of "Vecchio zimarra," the philosopher's touching farewell to his beloved old overcoat. This is another role that leads to great things in the future of a young singer--today's Colline can become tomorrow's Mephistopheles.

The production did boast one sturdy veteran. Paul Plishka took his usual twin roles of Benoit and Alcindoro, and made a fine comic foil to the younger singers. Louis Langrée conducted an unmannered performance of the score, which featured some very fine playing from the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra woodwinds.

Opera Review: One for the Diva

The Met's goes for baroque, reviving Rodelinda.

Marital bliss: Rodelinda (Renée Fleming, left) is embraced by Bertarido (Andreas Scholl.)
Photo by Ken Howard © 2011 The Metropolitan Opera.

The Met's revival of Rodelinda is the company's latest effort on behalf of soprano Renée Fleming. In presenting this comparatively obscure Handel opera, the presumed goal is to preserve the superstar's interpretation of the title role, into the ongoing Met Live in HD series. But in catering to the diva, the company has revived a dull entertainment.

Rodelinda is Handel's 19th opera. The title character is based on a real person, a 6th century Lombard queen. At the opera's opening (this is one of those plots where you need to know what happened before the curtain rises, like Die Walküre or Il Trovatore, Rodelinda's husband has been usurped and presumed killed. Of course, he's not really dead, but we'll get to that in a moment.

At the Monday night opener, Ms. Fleming's biggest assets were her good-natured manner and a majestic presence. This quality was evident even in the opening scene, which found the singer chained to a bed in a bizarre echo of Rosenkavalier. (Octavian was not present.) In the later acts, Ms. Fleming's voice developed a slight, but audible flutter in the coloratura passages. A hard edge emerged when her instrument was put under pressure and brought above the stave. Most problematic, an Act III aria, with high notes that repeatedly sharp.


Far more impressive: mezzo Stephanie Blythe as Eduige, the courtier whose jealousy helps drive the opera's complex plot. Ms. Blythe is an old-school diva with a sturdy instrument and stage presence. She dominated the scenes she was in, especially the lengthy aria that opens Act II. With roles like this and Fricka in the new Ring Cycle, the robust mezzo is now a house favorite.

Handel creates some unusual ensembles for Rodelinda, with a cast that includes two countertenors. Andreas Scholl was strong as Rodelinda's husband Bertarido, although his voice slipped into its normal register at one point, he recovered. But why does Bertarido have to sing his final aria running from room to room as the sets slide across the stage? Countertenor Iestyn Davies made his Met debut in the smaller role of Unulfo. Mr. Davies sang with great agility and the promise of bigger roles to come.

Tenor Joseph Kaiser was a convincing bad guy as Grimoaldo. Out to to seize the throne of Lombardy and marry Rodelinda, Mr. Kaiser was passionate, dastardly and ultimately forgiven (by Ms. Blythe)He was undermined by a clumsy, almost laughable sword-fight with Mr. Scholl in Act III. Baritone Shenyang was a convincing heavy, with a smooth delivery and a pleasing, dark instrument. In the half-empty pit, Harry Bickett conducted the small orchestra with flair, playing the continuo parts himself from the harpsichord.

Stephen Wadsworth's production is an anomaly in Peter Gelb's Met, an example of the hyper-realistic style that characterized the previous administration. These huge sets might be recycled (perhaps incorporated Simon Boccanegra.) Scenery slides in and out, like subway trains arriving in a station. Unnecessary effects are common, like a gardener who spends all his time planting impatiens onstage, and a gratuitous use of the house mega-elevator for the prison scene.

Opera Review: Hunk City

The new Don Giovanni at the Met.

"Nobody move or the baritone gets it!"
Peter Mattei as Don Giovanni (with knife) threatens Luca Pisaroni's Leporello.
Photo by Marty Sohl © 2011 The Metropolitan Opera.

The Metropolitan Opera's new Don Giovanni has been beset by injuries. First, music director James Levine was replaced by new principal conductor Fabio Luisi. Then the star, rising "bari-hunk" Mariusz Kwiecien injured his back at the dress rehearsal, three days before the premiere.

Luckily, the Met had the also-hunky Peter Mattei on the roster this year, singing Figaro in Il Barbiere di Siviglia.. But with almost no time to prepare, rehearse, or work with Mr. Grandage, Mr. Mattei's vocally handsome performance felt like he had stepped in from another production. That said, he sang a lovely, genuinely seductive "Deh! vieni alla finestra." in the second act, and cut a striking figure in the fiery climax.

With the Don a cipher, the role of leading man falls to Leporello, sung by Luca Pisaroni. Mr. Pisaroni raises the energy level whenever he is onstage. The servant is as lecherous as his master, played with a curiously moral core that is straight out of Beaumarchais. Mr. Pisaroni brought a raw vitality to the proceedings, and has the makings of a great Don himself.

Michael Grandage's direction has the singers manage the negative space between their characters. The air seems to crackle between the pairs: Ottavio and Anna, Masetto and Zerlina. The opera's best couple? The disguised Leporello (posing as the Don) and Donna Elvira, played as a slightly manic stalker by the talented Barbara Frittoli. 

Don Ottavio is the weakest character in this opera. (Mr. Grandage compensated by arming him heavily.) Ramón Vargas' best weapon though, was his voice, a smooth, supple tenor that sang Ottavio's two difficult arias without seeming to pause for breath. The "optional" Act II aria  "Il mio tesero" was outstanding, with all of the ornamentation brought out and shining. 

Two young sopranos make their Met debuts in this run. Marina Rebeka sang "Non mi dir" with control and strong, if slightly shrill tone. At least she made Donna Anna more than a one-note character. Mojca Erdmann was a Zerlina from the coquette school, with a voice too small for the cavernous house. As Masetto Mr. Bloom, (a budding bari-hunk), made the most of playing a wife-beating shmo. Stefan Kocán's serviceable Commendatore would be better without the amplified echo on his voice in the graveyard scene. 

This is an urban Don Giovanni. The streets of Seville are presented on Christopher Oram's rotating set, consisting of high, curved tiers of multi-colored, louvred doors, each with its own balcony. (It looks like a seedy motel.) Occasionally, the "motel" opens to reveal a large courtyard, used for the wedding reception, the cemetery, and the Don's villa. The best visual: during the Catalogue Song, when all the doors open to reveal the Don's conquests in a manner reminiscent of Bartók's Bluebeard's Castle.  

Conducting from the harpsichord (and playing the continuo himself) Fabio Luisi made a case for his recent promotion, alternating between light comedy and the orchestral firestorm in the opera's climactic scene. The hellfire whooshed out of the stage, threatening to incinerate Mr. Pisaroni as Mr. Mattei was dragged down through a hole in the floor. But Mr. Luisi proved that the real heat was in Mozart's music, not in rock concert special effects.

Opera Review: Roads to Madness

Željko Lucic and Maria Guleghina as the Macbeths.
Photo by Ken Howard © 2007 The Metropolitan Opera.

The Met's new Macbeth.
With his version of Shakespeare's Macbeth, Verdi managed to break new musical ground in the middle of his difficult "galley years." The result: an opera with two murderously difficult leading roles. On Monday night, the premiere of Adrian Noble's new production featured baritone Željko Lucic and soprano Maria Guleghina as the Macbeths, in one of the most exciting performances of a young opera season.

Mr. Lucic is an imposing figure, with a big swagger in his manner and his voice. As his guilt slowly peels away the shell of his sanity, the performance rises in intensity until it becomes excruciating to watch.  Mr. Lucic's performance encompassed noble, deep notes, white-faced terror and all-out rage and despair, everything that is demanded by Verdi. He moved from high-powered grandstanding to the intimacy of deep dementia.

Maria Guleghina gave a strong performance as Lady Macbeth. She began the Letter Scene in spoken word, floated crazy, dissonant notes in the middle of the Act II brindisi and ranged her formidable instrument all over the stave in her final mad scene, giving an acting performance inspired by sufferers of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Barefoot, she walked on a long row of chairs, avoiding stepping on the cracks on the floor of the set. The whole time, she compulsively rubbed her hands.





John Relyea was a fine, resonant Banquo, with rolling deep notes and a warm, fatherly presence. His performance makes one wish that Macbeth's best friend could live a little longer--or at least have some music to sing as a blood-covered ghost! His final aria was magnificently sung, and he gave his murderers a heck of a fight before getting killed.  Finally, the large, burly singer made an imposing, terrifying (albeit silent) ghost in the banquet scene.

Macduff was the tenor Dimitri Pittas. This is a tiny part--one of Verdi's smallest tenor roles. But his Act IV aria was beautifully sung with longing for the character's murdered family. The final stage-fight between him and Macbeth was compelling to watch, bringing the rebellion to an exciting close.

This new production by Adrian Noble emphasizes drama and efficiency over visual splendor. The entire action takes place on a cracked, black obsidian disk, (very New Bayreuth!) with columns at the front and the trees of Birnham Wood toward the back. The trees-to-columns effect leads one to expect these sets (by Mark Thompson, who also designed the company's surreal black-on-black Pique Dame) to be recycled for the Met's next staging of Parsifal. Noble does a good job of coming up with powerful ways to stage the dramatic action of the play, and his inspired singing actors help make the production work.

James Levine conducted with brisk efficiency, letting the formidable Met brass tear into the score, while maintaining the delicate balance between the winds and strings. The Met chorus, whether portraying the Macbeths' party guests, the maniacal witches, or the oppressed people of Scotland, were both superb and tight.