Pari siamo: Rigoletto and the Rat Pack

Saturday's matinee of Rigoletto confirmed that a pretty solid performance of this Verdi masterpiece makes for an above average night (or afternoon) at the opera. Michael Mayer's gaudy production, saturated with the neon artificiality of 1960s Las Vegas, is essentially traditional, adhering closely to the narrative of the libretto. The literalism with which the choreography stuck to the score in the pacing of gestures, embraces, exits and entrances might not be terribly imaginative, but it's functional. There are a number of clever touches--Gilda telling her diary about Gualtier Malde, Sparafucile haunting a dive bar--and the novelty of the visuals drew a pair of my friends up from D.C., and drew audible "ohhs" from the young girl in the row behind us. I'm inclined to give it a pass as a functional if not terribly exciting new production. The brutality of the court was suitably emphasized, and the grittiness of the final act I especially liked. A "God forgive me" from a self-sacrificing soprano can seem merely conventional in sixteenth-century Mantua, but there's no mistaking the genuine terror in a trenchcoat-clad girl hitting her knees on wet asphalt. This brings me to the performance of Diana Damrau, which was technically breathtaking and of impressive dramatic nuance and depth; her Gilda came across as the most fully realized of the principal characters.

Manon: l'homme est très observateur

Manon and the male gaze
Photo (c) Ken Howard/Met Opera

Massenet's Manon, an opera about sex, scandal, and social status--oh, and true love--revolves around the character of its title heroine, and around others' perceptions of her. Manon is described as a sphinx even by her lover Des Grieux, and treated as a creature of caprice, but Laurent Pelly's production makes her a passionate young woman who pursues her own goals, playing perilous games with a hypocritical society. Maybe it was partially the updating to the 1880s which made me see the Manon of this production as a figure parallel to De Maupassant's Georges Duroy (Bel Ami): a provincial set on conquering Paris, an individual of insignificant antecedents but extraordinary personal beauty, for whom sex is not only a sensual pleasure, but a weapon of social conquest. The tone of Pelly's production seemed, like the opera's heroine, to hesitate between laughter and tears without quite knowing why. The voyeurism of male(-dominated) society was highlighted, as were Manon's resolute attempts at self-assertion within that society. But despite the near-ubiquity of sinister flâneurs, the trio of Poussette, Javotte, and Rosette were played as straightforwardly comedic, and even Guillot and de Bretigny were relatively non-threatening. In short, the production, while not devoid of style or ideas, did not always seem to have the courage of its convictions.

Fabio Luisi's leadership of the Met orchestra was light of touch, and sensitive to the quicksilver undercurrents in the score. Even when Massenet's characters dissemble, his orchestra reveals what they are thinking and feeling; Luisi and the Met forces did so with subtlety nearly always, and with well-timed escalations of passionate intensity. I especially appreciated the nuanced handling of the frequent ostinati in the strings, and the fine work of the woodwinds throughout. Anne-Carolyn Bird, with an agile, bright soprano and vivid presence, made a memorable Poussette. The Guillot of Christophe Mortagne was another standout: Mortagne sang with bright tone and assured diction, and acted with comic opera flair. David Pittsinger sang the Comte des Grieux with consistently elegant phrasing and rich, expressive sound; his Act III scene with Beczala was notable for its emotional nuance. Paulo Szot sounded somewhat grainy, but made a charismatic (and thoroughly caddish) Lescaut.

Roméo et Juliette: L'heure s'envole

I went to the second performance of the current run of Roméo et Juliette at the Met, and found it overflowing with charm, but rather lacking in sustained tension, erotic or otherwise.  Vocally, though, I was quite impressed; according to seat neighbors, things were more solid on that front than on the first night.  Guy Joosten's production, frankly, did nothing for me.  I like a perspective drawing or a constellation map as much as (well, probably more than) the next person, but "It's the Renaissance!" strikes me as insufficient for a driving production idea.  The firmament was also very present, echoing the motifs of the libretto, but not in a visually consistent way; elegant maps and models ("It's the Renaissance!") were supplemented by Space Age photographs, mostly of nebulae, on the back wall.  Then there was a solar eclipse, and then there was something resembling an Escher drawing.  I don't know what it was supposed to be doing there... possibly representing that violence leads nowhere.  But we knew that already.