Met's double header

No, not those Mets, silly. Did you not notice the possessive apostrophe? We’re talking the Met Opera. Unless, of course, Audra takes up baseball - in which case, “Play ball, bitches!”

Over the last two weeks, Trish and I revisited two operatic war-horses, Carmen (photo courtesy of NY Times) and Turandot (photo courtesy of Met Opera). One re-emerged as a sleek and sexy Fatal Attraction-esque thriller, the other laid bloated and unwieldy as a beached whale. Yes, the story of the gypsy seductress is the most recognizable in all operatic literature and the famous “Toreador Song”, played as background music to commercials and cartoons, may very well border on self-caricature. But watch out Justin Timberlake, director Richard Eyre is bringing sexy back…to the Met stage no less! Hollah! Elina Garanca, my newest obsession (sorry Diana Damrau), gives us a Carmen whose bite is as nasty as her bark and she ain’t afraid to shake her money maker, either. Using a hyper-realism that just skirts cliché, Eyre’s Carmen is gritty, harsh and violent. Garanca is fearless and exudes a primitive sensuality you rarely see on the Met stage. The Act IV confrontation between Jose and Carmen was thrilling. Knowing full well the final written outcome, Garanca’s viper of a Carmen left me wondering if she might perhaps subdue Jose and actually get away. Alagna’s Jose was a hair shy of crazy - in a good way. “The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them” indeed! I could feel the bruises forming on Garanca’s elbows and forearms as she took repeated throws to the floor.

Granted, the production wasn’t perfect. The third act “love” pas de deux seemed superfluous. Yes, I know they were going for symmetry given the first act “seduction” pas, but it just seemed cheesy. Alagna, though generally vocally consistent (if a bit whiny at times), had quite a big vocal squawk in the third act that left Trish’s knee with the indent of my gripping hand. I’m also not quite convinced about the final tableau. I assume the bull is symbolic. Bull fighting as a metaphor for Jose’s final “conquest” of Carmen? Hmmm. It seems a bit too literal - though it does provide a visually stunning curtain closer. But these are minor quibbles. I only hope that in future re-stagings, they Met is able to capture the intensity and gritty realism of Alagna and Garanca (as well as Garanca’s hefty set of maracas - olé)!

If Garanca’s Carmen is a high-priced DC call girl, Zeffirelli's classic Turandot production is its sagging-breasted, worn out older sister. Yes, the set is ridiculously ornate and on the surface, beautiful. But after about ten minutes, the sparkles and gold dust stop distracting you and you realize just how much cover stick the old girl’s using to hide all the mileage. This revival wallows in opera cliché - meaningless and meandering stage direction and either over the top gesticulating or park-and-bark non-“acting”. I’m sure at one time the production was fresh and exciting, but now it’s just stale and overblown. When the set gets more applause than any of the performers, you’re in deep doo-doo.

And the singing? Yikes. The tenor, Frank Porretta, possesses a pleasant enough timbre, but is barely audible over the orchestra. So of course, what better way to amplify his less than ample endowment than by directing him to sing directly upstage, backside to the audience. Grazia Doronzio’s Liu, a pretty wisp of a thing, had volume but lacked emotional connection to anyone on the stage. I’d have gotten more interest and engagement listening to a good recording. In Doronzio’s defense, she seemed to warm up both vocally and emotionally around Liu’s death scene; but alas, I started caring just barely in time for the knife to slice through her gullet. The evening’s vocal saving grace lay in Lise Lindstrom’s Turandot. Her ice queen had the presence and vocal timbre to slice through orchestra and chorus. If not pretty, her voice had a steely edge that worked nicely for the character. Unfortunately, she obliterated anyone who happened to wander into the line of fire, including the poor tenor. Sensing this, Porretta valiantly and foolishly tried to match Lindstrom’s wall of sound. I could almost see the pressure building up in his head and waited for the blood-spurting explosion. Instead, we only got a few wobbles and near cracks in his upper register. Predictably, “Nessun Dorma” received applause almost before Porretta had cut-off the final note. Will I ever get to hear a thrilling performance of the aria in context? - seems highly unlikely.