Dialogues des Carmelites: il ne reste que l'Agneau de Dieu

I went to the last performance (of only three!) of the run of Poulenc's Dialogues des Carmelites which closed out the Met's season. The production and orchestra were solid, but it was the vocal performances that gave the evening its intellectual and emotional intensity. John Dexter's classic production is strong and stark, though it's hard for me to put myself in the place of audiences who saw it as revolutionary. Before the opening bars of the score are heard, we see the nuns all prostrate in the cruciform position. The grille, the rood screen, the prison bars all descend, making effective minimalist surroundings for naturalistic presentation. I quite liked the airy form of the grille, the incorporation of the cross into its pattern, emphasizing the voluntary rather than the absolute nature of the nuns' enclosure. The stage is marked--defined--by an ever-present cross. Its shape is obscured only at a handful of moments: it is in shadow while Blanche is in her father's house, cut off by the library with its Fragonard-like painting. Again it is partially hidden during the prioress' death scene, though she is in its light. During the martyrdom, the crowds mill in the transept, blind to it. I really liked this use of space suggesting the form of grace, the force of it even (especially?) in the mundane.

Si j’étais Dieu, j'aurais pitié du coeur des hommes

I went into the season premiere of Debussy's Pelléas et Mélisande imperfectly prepared, but eager; I came out shattered.  The Cambridge handbook to the work was my cramming resource.  The recording I ordered from the NYPL a few weeks ago didn't arrive, so my musical preparation was unfortunately limited to excerpts (and picking out motifs from that invaluable handbook on the piano.)  Go here if you need a quick synopsis.  I can't speak to what the musical atmosphere of the opera usually is, what inflections or tempi are customarily given to the score.  Under Sir Simon Rattle, the Met orchestra created a dark tapestry of sound that reflected the piece's changing moods and atmospheres, from claustrophobic caverns (here, scaffolding; still stifling) to mysterious seascapes, while maintaining a sense of tension fueled by the desperate actions of people trying to find their fate (or flee it.)  Space was also given for the sounds of silence, through hushed pauses in the music and deliciously drawn out pianissimi.  We heard not only the sounds of the sea, but the sounds of light and darkness, of doubt and desire.  Although there were a few rustlers, and what seemed like excessive coughing in the few instances where the curtain was lowered between scenes, the audience seemed to be sensitive to the delicacy and tension of the piece; with an exception for Yniold and Golaud's scene at the window, applause was limited to the intervals, and was not premature.