THEATER

Leading Ladies
Lucia di Lammermoor
written by Gaetano Donizetti
directed by Mary Zimmermann
Performances on Sep. 24 & 28; Oct. 1, 5, 9, 13, 17, 20 & 25, 2007; March 5, 8 & 13, 2008

Romeo et Juliette
written by Charles Gounod
directed by Guy Joosten
Performances on Sep. 25 & 29; Oct. 3, 6 & 11; Dec. 8, 12, 15, 20, 27 & 31, 2007

Metropolitan Opera House

63rd Street and Broadway
metopera.org

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Natalie Dessay in her viscerally gripping mad scene in "Lucia di Lammermoor"
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Natalie Dessay battling tragedy in "Lucia di Lammermoor"
Since Peter Gelb took over at the Met, he’s wanted to break away from the usual way of marketing opera—that is, pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. So we’ve been seeing Natalie Dessay’s face on seemingly every street corner and bus in Manhattan, in ads for the Met’s new production of Donizetti’s “Lucia di Lammermoor.” Although Anna Netrebko’s elegant good looks haven’t gotten as much ad space for her appearance in Gounod’s “Romeo et Juliette,” the best parts of both stagings stem largely from both sopranos’ charisma and vocal power. And that must be making Gelb very happy.

In Mary Zimmermann’s “Lucia di Lammermoor,” Dessay–one of opera’s most convincing dramatic singer and actress–effortlessly puts her stamp on a difficult role, a heroine whose tragedy stems from her mother’s recent death and that her brother Enrico is the sworn enemy of the man she loves, Edgardo.

Zimmermann’s production is on the timid side—conventional sets, lighting and blocking—but it’s paradoxically effective in its timidity, since it puts Donizetti’s music and the Met’s performers front and center. After all, no one attends “Lucia” hoping to see realistic-looking Scottish moors; they want to hear top-notch singers hitting their notes. And, in addition to Dessay’s starry star turn—her mad scene is both viscerally gripping and musically exciting—there’s excellent supporting work from Italian tenor Marcello Giordani as Lucia’s lover Edgardo, Polish baritone Mariusz Kwiecien as her brother Enrico, and Canadian bass John Relyea as the chaplain Raimondo.
                                
Conductor James Levine presides over a decent if workmanlike performance in the pit—it’s as if everyone (from director to conductor) wanted to defer to their big star for the evening. In this case, it’s a good idea.

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Starry-eyed Anna Netrebko awaiting her Romeo
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Heroine Anna Netrebko flawlessly falling to her death in "Romeo and Juliette"
In “Romeo and Juliette”—Charles Gounod’s musically lovely if dramatically hamstrung version of the Bard’s tragic romance—it’s once again the Anna Netrebko show, which partly stems from the fact that, by the time the opera’s run ends New Year’s Eve, she’ll have sung with no fewer than five Romeos. So of course she’s going to be the main attraction.

The evening I attended, Netrebko was paired with Joseph Kaiser, a Canadian tenor who just turned 30 and making his Met debut, and–even if he didn’t have the obvious star power of Rolando Villazon (with whom Netrebko was initially supposed to star) or Roberto Alagna (who stepped in for the first two performances)–he meshed superbly with Netrebko, who was obviously happy to be part of this young man’s big night. His ardent voice fits well with Netrebko’s versatile instrument, and they also act the hell out of their parts, looking for all the world like the love-smitten teenagers that Gounod and Shakespeare ask for.

Netrebko is in especially fine form, from the teenage Capulet’s first entrance with her father, where she girlishly dances and entrances a smitten Romeo, to the balcony scene, where she sang Gounod’s romantic-filled lines of unexpected love with Romeo, to the evening’s centerpiece, the beginning of Act IV, when the lovers are lying in a bed suspended in mid-air. At the curtain call, Netrebko enthusiastically led the applause for her co-star’s auspicious debut.

Placido Domingo conducts a sweeping account of a score he obviously knows intimately from his appearances as Romeo over the years, and the Met Chorus spins Gounod’s melodic lines with exquisite delicacy. Guy Joosten’s brightly-colored production balances haphazardly on a circular mini-stage that occasionally–notably in the fighting and romantic scenes–acts as a deterrent to fluid movement. It looks good, however, as does the Act IV bed trick, which garners applause when it’s unveiled and serves as an unsubtle but apt metaphor for a young couple floating on air.


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