“Ah, si tronchi dalla vita tutto quel che non e amor” ; Mozarts traurigste Oper: Resignation, Skeptizismus und Pessimismus des Komponisten gegenüber einer charakterlosen und unbeständigen Menschheit.

Die nunmehr an der Opera de Paris wieder aufgenommene Inszenierung von Willy Decker hatte ihre Premiere im Jahr 1997 unter der Stabführung Armin Jordans, des mittlerweile verstorbenen Dirigenten und Vaters des jetzigen musikalischen Direktors der Opera de Paris, Philippe Jordan.

Am 6. September 1791 wurde Tito im Altstädtischen Nationaltheater in Prag uraufgeführt. Mozart komponierte Tito als Festoper und Fürstenspiegel anlässlich der Krönung Kaiser Leopolds II zum König von Böhmen: In der Person des römischen Kaisers Titus, dessen kühler Edelmut gegenüber Untreuen, Verschwörern auch eine elegante Art ist, dem Monarchen oder sich selbst eine Lektion zu erteilen. Voltaire bezeichnete Pietro Metastasios Libretto in der Fassung von Caterino Mazzolà “als ewige Lehre für alle Könige und ein Entzücken für alle Menschen”. Zumindest das zweitere dürfte in Anbetracht der aktuellen Weltlage richtig sein. Viele der heutigen Regierungschefs und Staatspräsidenten sind da wohl eher aus dem Holz der ehrgeizigen, machtbesessenen, rachsüchtigen Vitellia geschnitzt.

In Willy Deckers nun schonlegendärer Inszenierung wird Titus im Laufe der Handlung wie der Kaiser aus Hugo von Hofmannsthals Die Frau ohne Schatten zu Stein. Genauer zu einem marmornen, glatten Kopf der Staatsraison. Das Bühnenbild und die Kostüme von John Macfarlane sind hochästhetisch in weiß, grau und gelb gehalten. Die farbigen wilden Tableaus, die die Leidenschaften zum neutralen Raum suggerieren, würden jedem Museum moderner Kunst zur Ehre gereichen. In der Schlacht der Liebe ist Titus ja in dem Moment gefallen, wo er auf die Fremde Berenice, die einzige Frau, die er je geliebt hat, verzichtet. Von da an scheinen sich seine Gefühle leidenschaftslos auf Pflichtgefühl und seine Rolle als öffentliche Person, Held und Kaiser zu beschränken. Erstarrt wie Sarastro kann ein frappierender Bezug zur gleichzeitig komponierten Zwillingsoper Zauberflöte hergestellt werden. Diese These (Daniel Heartz) wird in der 1. Arie des Titus ohrenfällig, deren Hauptthema und Begleitung auch “In diesen heiligen Hallen” anklingt.

Gesungen wird Titus an der Opera de Paris vom deutschen Klaus Florian Vogt. Einigermaßen verdienstvoll als Wagner-Held gefragt, wäre Vogt vom hellen jungenhaften Timbre, Stimmvolumen und Tessitura der Stimme eigentlich ein idealer Titus. Aber wo bitte sind die Korrepetitoren, die Herrn Vogts Italienisch polieren (eine Ohrenpein die geschlossenen Vokale an den Wortenden) und mit dem Sänger stilistisch an den Rezitativen arbeiten? Auch rhythmische Präzision und die Läufe der Arie im 2. Akt scheinen ihm nicht in die Gurgel gelegt. Was Vogt allerdings gut gelingt, ist die Darstellung der Figur: Titus als “tieftrauriger, verletzter Mann mit Bitterkeit im Herzen.” Der einzige Lichtblick in dieser Düsternis bleibt seine Zuneigung zu einem ontologisch unsicheren Jüngling, Sextus. Der verrät seinen besten Freund, wie in einer anderen Oper Tristan König Marke verraten hat. Sextus hat das Alter Cherubinos, ist wie Cherubin in blinder Hörigkeit der Schönheit einer Frau ergeben, die ihn ihrerseits nicht liebt. Stéphanie d‘Oustrac verkörpert Sextus mit wunderschönem Edelmezzo rollenadäquat. Ihre Arien sind Höhepunkte der Aufführung, insbesondere das Rondo des 2. Akts wird zu einer differenzierten Seelenklang-Skulptur. Ihre Stimme erinnert vom Timbre her ein wenig an Tatjana Troyanos. Die verwirrende Beziehung zwischen einem erwachsenen Mann und dem zum Jüngling herangewachsen Sextus und dessen Hörigkeit Vitellias gegenüber sind emotionale Knoten der Oper. Im Gespräch mit Publius (vom rumänischenBass Balint Szabo exzellent gesungen) sagt Titus deutlich, dass das, was er für Sextus empfindet, zärtlicher als Freundschaft ist. Dreifach tragisch für Titus! Man darf ja nicht vergessen, dass Sextus trotz luminöser Musik eigentlich aus dem Holz ist, das heutzutage (Selbstmord-) Attentäter hervorbringt und strafrechtlich gesehen ist dieser Sextus auf jeden Fall ein vorsätzlicher Mörder (wie viele Menschen sind beim Brand des Kapitols gestorben?), Brandstifter, Aufrührer, Staatsverräter... Auf jeden Fall nicht begnadigungswürdig. Der aufgrund einer Verwechslung von Sextus erdolchte Mitverschwörer Lentulus überlebt (schwerst verletzt?) und wird zum Kronzeugen gegen Sextus im Senat.

Kein anderer Komponist außer vielleicht Schubert, konstatiert Willy Decker, hat seinen Pessimismus in so trügerisches Licht gegossen wie Mozart. Eine Ambivalenz, die sich gerade am Schluss des Werkes manifestiert, während das übliche Happy End der Handlung sich in der Musik absolut nicht wiederspiegelt. In Tito kommt diese Traurigkeit sicher auch von Mozarts Gefühl der Einsamkeit und Isolierung während seines letzten Lebensjahres. Vielleicht hat Mozart aber auch etwas von dieser Einsamkeit in die wilde, egoistische, machtbesessene Figur der Kaiserstochter Vitellia gegossen. Dramatischer und musikalischer Kulminationspunkt der inneren Zerrissenheit und des Unglücks dieser Frau ist das Rondo im 2. Akt eine Wahnsinnsarie, eine Mozartsche Lady Macbeth, die letztlich an einer allzu verletzlichen Seele scheitert. Ihr wird laut René Jacobs (seine Gesamtaufnahme der Oper ist unbedingt zu empfehlen) von Mozart das Leben gerettet, da er im Anschluss an ihr Rondo im 2. Akt direkt den Chor auftreten lässt, Vitellia keine Zeit zum Handeln lässt und Titus (endgültig versteint) zu seiner (absurd-utopischen) Begnadigungsaktion schreiten kann.

Zu entdecken ist auf der Bühne der Pariser Oper in der Rolle der Vitellia ein Ausnahmesopran. Hibla Gerzmava, geboren in der Republik Abchasien, in Moskau am Konservatorium ausgebildet, ist ein lyrischer Sopran mit einer gehörigen Portion Spinto und Koloratur. Eine rassige, üppige Schönheit mit allen Qualitäten einer dramatischen Mozartsängerin ausgestattet. Demnächst wird man sie an der Covent Garden Opera als Donna Anna bewundern können. Im Palais Garnier wird ihre makellose Darbietung am Ende mit dem intensivsten Applaus bedacht. Ein wahrlich gelungenes Debut.

Im Titus gibt es aber auch, wie etwa im Figaro (Susanna und Figaro) oder in der Zauberflöte (Papageno und Papagena) das Beispiel einer adäquaten Liebes, eines heiteren Paars, Servilia und Annius. Charmant in der zweiten Reihe stehend, komplettieren sie das handelnde Sextett mit allen Ingredienzien Mozartscher Finesse. Titus preist die Ehrlichkeit Servilias, als sie die vorgeschlagene Heirat wegen ihrer einzigen Liebe zu Annius ausschlägt: Das ehrliche Herz Servilias sei ein Glück für jeden Herrscher. Amel Brahim-Djelloul und Allyson Mchardy verkörpern mit jugendlichen, schön zueinander passenden Stimmen dieses typische “geerdete” Mozartpaar. Brahim-Djellouls, die die Servilia schon beim Festival in Aix-en-Provence gesungen hat, ist eine stilistisch wunderbare Interpretin der Musik des 18. Jhdts.. Das Repertoire der kanadischen Mezzosopranistin Mchardy erstreckt sich erfolgreich von der Barockmusik bis hin zur Carmen.

Das Orchester und der Chor der Opera National de Paris (Einstudierung Allessandro di Stefano) werden von dem auch in Wien bestens bekannten Adam Fischer geleitet. In edelkapellmeisterlicher Art gelingt dem Humanisten und großartigen Menschen Fischer die atmosphärische Umsetzung der Partitur und des Regiekonzepts in einzigartiger Weise. Bravo!

Stylish, spirited vocalism that rang convincingly through the Palais Garnier was the hallmark of Paris Opera’s thrilling revival of one of Mozart’s least appreciated mature operas.

“Thrilling” and La Clemenza di Tito do not often occur in the same sentence, but thanks to a near-perfect cast, characterful instrumental effects, a visually handsome playing space, and cunning direction, this splendid revival makes a fine case for the infrequently performed opera. Perhaps the piece should be called The Sesto Spectacular since the mezzo role not only dominates the story, but has many of the best tunes.

Lean, lanky Stephanie D’Oustrac was a perfect physical fit for the pants role, and her vibrant, throbbing mezzo easily encompassed Mozart’s challenges. Ms. D’Oustrac has a beautiful evenness to her instrument whether nailing the writing in the chest register, sailing above the staff (where she slightly lightens her tone, only slightly), or railing through rapid fire melismas with supremely controlled accuracy. The best-known set piece Parto, parto was delivered with a powerful sense of discovery. Indeed such freshness, immediacy and excellent diction marked her singing throughout the evening. Stephanie’s dramatic impersonation was well-considered, her gait and demeanor were believable, and her phrases were meaningful and theatrically vivid. I might suggest she consider modifying the slight breathiness she uses to convey anguish or incredulity, but all things considered this was an accomplished, galvanizing performance.

We were no less fortunate with our Vitellia. The sensational soprano Hibla Gerzmava is the most remarkable new (to me) talent I have encountered in many a year (I ran-not-walked to Google her name right after the show). This Russian diva is possessed of a gorgeous, pliable spinto voice that is not only capable of caressing a phrase with meltingly beautiful piano singing, but also has no problem bouncing searing dramatic outbursts off the back wall. Ms. Gerzmava is also capable of considerable variety and she found an unusual depth in her interpretation of the villainess. Nowhere was this more evident than in her take on the lengthy aria “Non piu di fiori”, which the soprano made into an uncommonly meaningful mini-drama, all the while singing it flawlessly. Ms. Hibla is scheduled for a run of Met Mimi’s this season and I would not be surprised if this were the springboard to widen the reputation of this remarkable talent.

Allyson McHardy has a well-schooled mezzo which recalls von Stade’s responsiveness, as well as her controlled economy of vocal gesture. The vibrato is a bit quicker, but engaging. Her solid sound was a bit similar to Sesto’s, and in a perfect world, the casting director might have found a contrasting type. But it has to be said that Ms. McHardy gave substantial pleasure. She was excellently paired with the clear-voiced Servilia of petite, attractive Amel Brahim-Djelloul. Ms. B-D’s richly glowing timbre was jot only a perfect complement, but also blended beautifully with Sesto on the flowing duet Ah, perdona al primo affetto. Balint Szabo was an exceptionally colorful Publio, his penetrating bass making us wish for once that his second act aria was a bit longer.

But what to say about Klaus Florian Vogt as Tito? Having quite enjoyed Mr. Vogt as Walther in Bayreuth a few seasons back, I wish my second encounter with this in-demand tenor was as happy as the first. Tito definitely could benefit from a heroic young Wagnerian instrument, but that was not what Vogt served up on this occasion. I am not sure if he was affecting a precious, Mozartean delivery, or if the rather light voice has been affected by heavier roles. Here it sounded rather characterless with a somewhat dull tone that resisted coming out of the mask. Klaus did, however, essay the role with consummate professionalism, good communication of the character, clear diction, and a thorough understanding of the part. He certainly held his own. It’s not that he really missed anything in the role. It just seemed the role missed him.

There was nothing at all missing from the pit, however, where Adam Fisher elicited a wondrous account of the score. Clemenza especially benefits from this kind of knowing, dedicated rendering and the orchestra proved to be a willing accomplice in creating a memorable night of lyrical theatre. The bass clarinetist is to be especially commended for the incomparable obbligato to the two famous arias.

Willy Decker proved yet again that he is one of the best directors around for clarity of blocking, meaningful development of character relationships, and knowing use of the entire playing space. Decker was well-served by designer John MacFarlane, who provided a highly effective in-one set design that incorporated evocative historic architectural elements, and a series of eye-popping front drops that resonated with meaning. The huge, slightly leaning semi-circular wall enclosure on-stage suggested a Pantheon, and the stage right half of the unit could slide around front a bit to reveal upstage darkened skies in various stumbled effects. The master stroke was to start the show with a huge block of marble center stage, which the principals regard, variously, during the overture, and on which one of them eventually takes a piece of chalk and writes “Titus” in block letters. This monolith serves as a barrier, a reviewing platform, and eventually a bust of Titus. MacFarlane has devised a journey for this marble that involves revealing it in various states of development by an unseen sculptor. Mr. Decker obliges by bringing action periodically in front of the show drop to facilitate changing out the work-in-progress behind. And what show drops!

Against a blazing white background, and with a nod to Cy Twombly, MacFarlane begins with streaks of dazzling reds and yellows, with a ghostly central impression of the crowned Titus. This swaps out, tellingly, to another drop that features a Jasper Johnsian heart ,stabbed by a dagger; counter balanced by an image of a distended spirit reaching in vain for the crown. At opera’s close, a final drop depicts a stylized, Voldemorte-ish Titus, having (mortally?) fallen with the crown dislodged from his head. These were stellar images that masterfully underlined the major plot themes. The only other piece was a white chair-cum-throne that figured prominently at key moments, especially as used metaphorically in conjunction with the white “royal” cape and rudimentary, pointed crown that looks like Bart Simpson’s hair-do (this standard issue European opera house model is apparently the only crown allowed in use — there must be an EU rule about that).

Indeed, when Vitellia sang her last aria, it was done on, and around the chair, laden with the cape and crown, and perched atop a mound of marble chips that were residue from the creation of the bust. Director and soprano mined many exciting moments of stage business from those elements. Another interesting visual was the introduction of a victor’s bouquet of brilliant red roses that recurs as imagery at key points, and corresponds to a vision of Berenice, a drop-dead gorgeous extra in a fiery red gown. MacFarlane’s fanciful costumes seem to have been drawn loosely from Mozart’s time, with liberal adaptations of the silhouette for chic strapless gowns fresh off the runway (Vitellia and Berenice get treated to these). Having dressed Servilia in canary yellow, it was a witty touch to mirror Annio’s growing passion for her by having the maiden first present her beau with a similar colored waistcoat, but then to have the boy completely change to an all-yellow suit. This sexy playfulness was ingrained into the whole concept with a sultry (and manipulative) byplay between Vitellia and Sesto that was quite torrid, indeed.

A small suggestion to directors and performers everywhere: when a substance is supposed to be “marble,” don’t hit it, slam things down on it, or stomp around on it making it ‘thump’ like the painted wood it is! Theatre is an illusion, after all, and anything that breaks the spell should be avoided if possible. But that very very minor quibble aside, at the end of the night this was just the sort of dynamic, committed, top notch treatment that could convert anyone to the pleasures of the under-appreciated La Clemenza di Tito.

The Paris Opera kicks off the new fall season with revivals of two productions originally created here in the 1990s: Richard Strauss’s “Salomé,” staged by André Engel, and Mozart’s “La Clemenza di Tito” (here billed as “La Clémence de Titus”), staged by Willy Decker.

Designer Nicky Rieti’s extraordinary, immense decor for “Salomé” might be a potentate’s palace or a magnificent temple, with a soaring ceiling and light filtering in through huge mashrabiya panels of decorative latticework. The costumes are opulent, with Herod and Herodias in regal brocades, the Jewish priests in ceremonial regalia and prayer shawls, and a few Westerners in the chorus who seem to have strayed in from a colonial expedition. It all perfectly sets the scene for Strauss’s powerful score, which starts at a strong emotional pitch and builds relentlessly from peak to fevered peak, until the story’s gory conclusion. Salomé is a long, tough role, especially if a singer also does her own dancing, and the final 20-minute solo—a frenzied love song sung directly to a severed head—must be even harder to sing than it is to watch. Soprano Angela Denoke carries it off gracefully, although on opening night, at least, she was not in top vocal form. Towering Finnish baritone Juha Uusitalo is suitably stentorian as the hirsute John-the-Baptist character Jochanaan.

The dark obsession at the Bastille is countered by the brilliance of Mozartian melody at the Palais Garnier, where a sterling cast makes “La Clemenza di Tito” a delight. The set is minimal, just a few stylized, tip-tilted ancient Roman walls and a block of pseudo-marble gradually being sculpted into a giant head of Tito; and costumes are equally simple, unadorned 18th-century frock coats and gowns in black, white, gray and a bright canary yellow. The story of the enlightened Roman emperor so merciful that he forgives everyone for everything—from the maiden who refuses his imperial offer of marriage to the friend who not only betrays but also tries to murder him—is so improbable that it’s nearly a fairy tale, and delivers on the promise of a happy ending. Tall and imposing, German tenor Klaus Florian Vogt has a sweet and easy, high-perched timbre that is sheer ear candy, giving Tito some credibility as a kind-hearted pushover. Abkhazian soprano Hibla Gerzmava is in full and generous voice as the conniving Vitellia, and Canadian mezzo-soprano Allyson McHardy is an earnest Annio well-paired with Franco-Algerian soprano Amel Brahim-Djellous, who is just as enchanting and beautifully-sung a Servilia here as she was at the Aix Festival in July. And as the reluctant traitor Sesto, driven into attempted murder by his youthful passion for Vitellia, French mezzo-soprano Stéphanie d’Oustrac is simply terrific.

Ich weiss nicht, ob man in der “richtigen” Stimmung sein muß, um eine Bohème-Aufführung zu geniessen. Nach ziemlich langer Abstinenz hatte mich die Besetzung mal wieder in La Bohème gezogen. Das atmospärische Stimmungsbild der liebevoll gepflegten, fast 42 Jahre alten Inszenierung versetzt die Zuschauer in das winterliche Paris einer längst vergangenen Zeit und lässt uns teilhaben am Alltag der (Überlebens)Künstler Rodolfo, Marcello, Schaunard und Colline im vermeintlich so romantischen Montmartre zwischen bain vapeur und Café Momus. Und wem entfallen sein sollte, wie sich große Liebe in Klang umgesetzt anhört, dem sei die Orchestereinleitung zur Finalszene empfohlen.

Die Künstlerfreunde Marcello, Schaunard (Christian Rieger) und Colline (Christian Van Dam) waren bekannt spielfreudig und rollendeckend besetzt, wobei ich Levente Molnárs Marcello hervorheben möchte. Er interpretierte Marcellos zahlreiche Facetten zwischen Freundschaft, Eifersucht und Mitgefühl sehr treffend und gefiel mir hier wesentlich besser als in dem kürzlich gehörten Rossini. Immer eine Freude ist das Wiedersehen und Hören von Alfred Kuhn, dieses Mal als Vermieter Benoît.

Für meinen Geschmack keine sehr glückliche Hand hatte die Bayerische Staatsoper in der Vergangenheit mit der Besetzung der Musetta. Laura Tatulescu, die ich zume ersten Mal in der Rolle sah, machte ihre Sache dafür gut. Ihre Erscheinung ist kapriziös. Leider neigt sie völlig grundlos zum Forcieren. Ihre besten Momente hatte sie im letzten Akt.

Aus mancherlei Gründen habe ich Joseph Calleja in den letzten Jahren verpasst. Ich hatte zwar seinen Gastauftritt in einer Fledermaus in Erinnerung, war aber jetzt mehr als angenehm überrascht von seinem Auftritt als Rodolfo, für den ich nur Superlative verwenden kann. Der leichte Vibrato seines wunderschönen Tenors ist so passend für die Rolle. Dazu kommt die von mir so sehr geschätzte feine Diktion, für die man weiß, warum man Italienisch lernte, und die damit einhergehende Phrasierung, das Fließen der Sprache mit der Musik. Toll.

Hibla Gerzmava gab als Mimi ihr Debüt am Nationaltheater. Sie darf es feiern. Auch ihre Stimme hat ein aussergewöhnlich schönes Timbre, ist modulationsfähig. Auch sie mit klarer Diktion. Ein bißchen mangelte es am Legato, was keine Beanstandung an dem insgesamt beeindruckenden Auftritt sein soll. Die in Youtube veröffentlichten Videos hatten mich, ehrlich gesagt, zuerst an der Besetzung als Mimi zweifeln lassen.

Das Orchester unter Marco Armiliato wurde im Verlauf des Abends immer besser (siehe Absatz 1), wobei ich meine Zweifel daran habe, ob da mehr als 50 Prozent Stammbesetzung des Staatsorchesters an den Pulten saß.

Der Abend bot, was man sich im Idealfall von einer gelungen La Bohème erwarten darf — Emotionen zwischen Heiterkeit, Rührung und Mitgefühl. Das Publikum reagierte begeistert.

Soon after Peter Gelb was appointed general manager of the Metropolitan Opera in 2004, he began inviting Broadway directors and Hollywood filmmakers to stage productions at the house, a controversial move, given the differences between opera’s traditional values and those of contemporary theater and film. But Mr. Gelb argued that those differences are precisely the point: that fresh ideas will ensure the Met’s artistic vitality. And though there have been hits and misses, Bartlett Sher’s magnificent production of Offenbach’s “Contes d’Hoffmann,” first seen last season, has been one of this policy’s vindications.

The production returned to the Met on Tuesday with a mostly new cast — only Kate Lindsey, last season’s Nicklausse, returned — and with the French conductor Patrick Fournillier making a belated house debut with a taut, lively performance. Mr. Sher’s vision has retained its combination of charm and slightly unsettling power. In some ways, it is solidly traditional. His fascination with the work’s psychological underpinnings, after all, only amplifies what Offenbach tells us explicitly: that the three women Hoffmann pursues disastrously represent aspects of his current flame, Stella, and that the villains who thwart him are connected, too.

What Mr. Sher offers is modernist imagery. In interviews, he has invoked Kafka and Fellini, and his staging — with attractive, colorful sets by Michael Yeargan and fantastically motley, era-spanning costumes by Catherine Zuber — is packed with nods to both. Figures with a Kafkaesque pallor and dourness circulate through alternately nightmarish and circuslike crowd scenes that evoke Fellini. The production is often busy, but that suits Hoffmann’s psychological clutter. Indeed, his most lucid moments are in the Act II romance with the ill-fated singer Antonia, for which the staging is elegantly spare.

Giuseppe Filianoti, as Hoffmann, looks like a young Charlie Chaplin and brings a compelling combination of swagger and vulnerability to the role. His voice is warm and powerful, and in Hoffmann’s most passionate music — the duets “C’est une chanson d’amour” and “O Dieu! De quelle ivresse” — he is completely convincing.

That is an achievement: if we are to care about Hoffmann at all, we must believe in his amorous attachments, even if one is to a mechanical doll (Olympia) and another to a cynical courtesan (Giulietta) in league with a demon.

Offenbach also gives us a saner view, by way of Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s loving, poetic muse, who patiently attends him as he pursues his women and leads him back to his typewriter in the epilogue. Ms. Lindsey sang and acted the role with an exquisite suppleness that perfectly offset the quiet madness of Mr. Filianoti’s Hoffmann portrayal.

Hoffmann’s women have sometimes been sung by a single soprano. It makes sense psychologically, but there is something to be said for splitting them, not least the possibility of assigning the four very different characters to sopranos with different vocal qualities. Here, Anna Christy painted Olympia’s flighty ornamental music in bright textures and had no problem with its difficult filigree. Hibla Gerzmava, as Stella and Antonia, and Enkelejda Shkosa, as Giulietta, both in their house debuts, brought darker timbres to their roles, and Ms. Gerzmava made the most of Antonia’s wrenchingly beautiful “Elle a fui, la tourterelle.”

Ildar Abdrazakov’s full-bodied bass-baritone filled out a series of wonderfully evil portrayals of all four villains. And Wendy White, Dean Peterson and Joel Sorensen made strong contributions in smaller roles.

“Les Contes d’Hoffmann” runs through Oct. 19 at the Metropolitan Opera; (212) 362-6000, metopera.org.

A version of this review appeared in print on September 30, 2010, on page C5 of the New York edition.

Debutto della ripresa della produzione de Les contes d’Hoffmann firmata da Bartlett Sher andata in scena per la prima volta lo scorso dicembre. In linea col gusto non propriamente progressista del pubblico del Met, Sher firma un allestimento dal sapore vagamente modernista. Ma e solo un’illusione perche, pur nella freschezza della realizzazione scenica (firmata da Michael Yeargan, costumi di Catherine Zuber e luci di James F. Ingalls) anche questo spettacolo e, in definitiva, fortemente didascalico. Sher trasporta la vicenda nella Praga di Kafka degli anni Venti del secolo scorso strizzando l’occhio al cinema di Fellini. Lo spettacolo scorre liscio, senza idiosincrasie di sorta, vivacemente popolato da una folla di mimi, ballerine e comparse, raccontando ed illustrando la storia e dando particolare rilievo alla figura della Musa-Nicklausse. Forse un po’ troppo statico e monotono l’atto di Antonia, con quelle silhouettes di betulle sullo sfondo che fanno tanto Evgenij Onegin e scena della lettera.

Nelle note di sala il regista dichiara che centro della vicenda e l’ossessione sessuale di Hoffmann e la sua ricerca di una identita personale che sara trovata solo alla fine con l’accettazione del dono della Musa. Noi non ce ne siamo accorti.

Giuseppe Filianoti e un Hoffmann appassionato ed intenso, convincente sulla scena e credibile come personaggio e coglie un bel successo personale; la linea vocale, e pero, a nostro avviso, ampiamente censurabile. Il suo Hoffmann e monocorde, avaro di sfumature, privo di dinamiche ed il canto, complice un registro acuto affaticato e faticoso, e tutto forte, e risolto con piu di un sospetto di sguaiataggine.

Splendida la Olimpia di Elena Mosuc, spericolata e funambolica ne Les oiseaux dans la charmille conclusa con un mirabolante mi bemolle sovracuto. Ottima la prova di Hibla Gerzmeva come Antonia/Stella, bella voce di soprano lirico, dotata di un luminoso registro acuto e di centri considerevoli. Accanto a lei la pregevole Giulietta di Enkelejda Shkosa.

Bellissima sorpresa Kate Lindsey, giovane artista laureata del Lindemann Young Artist Development Program a cui era affidato il ruolo di Nicklausse e della Musa e che speriamo destinata a grandi successi. Bella voce di mezzosoprano, omogena su tutta la linea e interprete matura e spigliata.

Trionfatore della serata, accanto alla Mosuc, e stato sicuramente Ildar Abdrazakov, chiamato a interpretare i quattro ruoli mefistofelici, che si e accattivato la simpatia del pubblico del Met grazie ad un’interpretazione maiuscola e riuscitissima, complice anche una sensazionale presenza scenica, e ad una linea di canto elegante, sempre sostenuta da un fraseggio sfumatissimo e ricco di intuizioni personali.

Su tutti ha sorvegliato la bacchetta precisa di Patrick Fournillier che ha ispirato una lettura attenta e lucidissima, ricca di contrasti e di chiaroscuri senza mai perdere di vista l’aspetto piu propriamente teatrale. Meno sicura di quanto ci era sembrata nel Rigoletto di alcuni giorni fa l’Orchestra del Met. Alle prese con la scrittura di Offenbach che al di sotto del brioso ed efferevescente impeto melodico nasconde difficolta tecniche invero micidiali, ci e parsa spesso a disagio, sopratutto nelle file degli archi, e priva di quello spolvero virtuosistico e precisione che questa musica richiederebbe. Buona la prova dell’impegnatissimo Coro del Met preparato da Donald Palumbo.

In 1999, Placido Domingo’s Operalia competition gave prizes to three tenors — aged 21, 25, and 27. The eldest, blessed with rare dramatic abandon and engagement, was first to superstardom — until his intense temperament abetted a vocal crash&burn from which recovery looks desperately unlikely. The youngest — and most sonically gifted — is more bel cantist by temperament, and will bring his golden-age lyric tenor voice to Boheme, Rigoletto, and Lucia this winter. And the middle one, a singer with both hyper-intense and bel canto sides — well, his fate has fallen between the others’ as well.

The three took turns in this one place: each the face of the Met’s Tales of Hoffmann. Rolando Villazon (the eldest) was the lead featured, with prominent pictures, in the original production announcement preceding last season. But even that was after his Lucia meltdown, and so it was little surprise when he was dropped. Joseph Calleja (the youngest) has been admirably cautious in his career development, so his taking on the long heavy role of Hoffmann (far more taxing than anything he’d done here) was a surprise... But to open a prominent new Met production (with moviecast) is something, and in fact he made a success of the actual show, one of 2009-10’s highlights.

This season Giuseppe Filianoti (the middle) has taken the lead, and as I noted in the season preview, it was impossible beforehand to know what to expect. He made a worthy splash in 2005 (as Lucia’s Edgardo, another common thread we’ll see again in February), but the big illness-driven crisis soon after (attributed at the time to peritonitis but in fact apparently thyroid cancer) had him seemingly headed in the wrong direction even after years of recovery, with even his effective singing being more vulgar and one-dimensional than what he’d early promised. Last year’s worrisome performance of Rigoletto’s Duke could have portended the worst in this — again — much more taxing sing.

But we didn’t get the worst of Filianoti — we got something like the best. Not just high notes but all of his singing was fully commanded: fearless and phrased with all his characteristic intensity, while no longer lacking in grace or vocal support. Only a few on-but-raw notes near the end of the first act recalled the iffy years, but they seemed more choice than struggle. I no longer doubt his future — or his present.

Direct comparison to Calleja is probably unfair to both. The thread of opulent sound that makes him always the center of the world is Calleja’s advantage over pretty much everyone, but Filianoti’s plangent tenor well grounds his complete, serious, and more familiarly dark portrayal of the Romantic poet. Calleja’s Hoffmann was, on the whole, sunnier: more than a touch naive in his ever-renewed sincerity and love, he honestly could not (well) see each blow coming. Filianoti’s physical and musical expressions show a more tortured soul, who jumps at each attachment half-fearing and half-expecting some familiar yet shattering disaster.

The darkness of Filianoti’s Hoffmann colors the whole show, but the heroines — three new eastern Europeans — fit the new scheme. For Elena Mosuc (whose debut this was) this was unfortunate, because Olympia really should be more outrageously colorful. Mosuc has the notes but is still an iffy fit: the voice has a nice womanliness and is strongest below the trick top, making her probably a nice exponent of human roles (she’s singing Liu and Mimi elsewhere!) but not much of a mechanical chirper. Nor does she seem a natural comedienne, being rather more earthbound with the funny robot business than Kathleen Kim (last season), Natalie Dessay, and other predecessors. Between this and Filianoti’s seriousness, some of the first act’s wild sparkle — so evident in the original run — was lost.

But the Antonia of Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava was superb. If Anna Netrebko could sing in tune... And get through the starting aria... And have a bit less bludgeoning power but also less coarseness... Ah, forget the comparison. Gerzmava’s is a live soprano voice, a bit but not hugely Slavic (more like the much-missed Anja Harteros, perhaps), and pretty spacious (with some reserved force). She started out pretty but conventional and warmed up to a deeply moving death scene: one to watch.

Albanian mezzo Enkelejda Shkosa, a late replacement for Olga Borodina as Giulietta, did well in as the third-act heroine, as did Joel Sorensen as the four servants. The other major parts — Nicklausse/the Muse and the four villains — were familiar Met faces Kate Lindsey and Ildar Abdrazakov, singing to their usual high standard. Abdrazakov really relishes these satanic roles — he was a better Mephistopheles than Rene Pape — and he doesn’t try to match his predecessor Alan Held for sheer dark intensity because he doesn’t have to. The personal and vocal force he now commands shines throughout the show as a satanic contrast to Hoffmann and his Muse.

New conductor Patrick Fournillier shaped the piece well. Despite the relative lack of contrasting Act I joy-in-absurdity with this cast, the evening adds up to quite a lot.

What a difference a season makes. When the Met introduced its latest version of Les contes d’Hoffmann last December, nearly all the principals were replacements for the scheduled stars. The results were, to put it kindly, insecure, and Bartlett Sher’s rather muddled production fused busy-busy clutter with irrelevant glitz.

The tales were told with greater success on Tuesday; the staging manoeuvres seemed better focused. More important, most of the new singers were good, and one was spectacular. That one was Giuseppe Filianoti, the Italian tenor who inhabited the title role. He sang with equal parts poise and eloquence. He rang rafters with a tireless volley of plangent top tones. He sustained the high tessitura without a flinch. He conveyed the hero’s feverish, foolish passions with urgency, charm, impetuosity and pathos.

Ildar Abdrazakov conveyed the evil of Hoffmann’s multifaceted, multifaced nemesis with glee, savoir-faire and nice, dark, rolling tone. Others have made more of the villain’s supernatural sleaze, but the Russian bass offered a useful argument for understatement. Kate Lindsey, the only veteran of 2009, repeated her fascinating Nicklausse, a magnetic demonstration of sensual irony and vocal finesse.

The three heroines managed to hold their own, although Anna Christy squeaked — literally and figuratively — through Olympia’s doll routines; Hibla Gerzmava’s strong lyric soprano betrayed a metallic edge as Antonia, and Enkelejda Shkosa sounded a bit shrill as the seductive Giulietta. Joel Sorenson clowned the various servant routines decently, and David Cangelosi projected incisive brio as nasty Spalanzani.

Making an auspicious debut in the pit, Patrick Fournillier favoured taut articulation and speedy propulsion over sentimental indulgence. Actually, a little indulgence might have been welcome in “Scintille, diamant” and “O dieu! de quelle ivresse.”

The house yawned with empty seats, and the crowd thinned as the evening progressed. A pity.

Reading the cast list for Offenbach’s “Les Contes d’Hoffmann” (“Tales of Hoffmann”) at the Metropolitan Opera, audiences might understandably have asked themselves, “Hibla who?”

No more. That’s Hibla Gerzmava. As in Russian soprano. As in star in the making.

And her debut as Antonia wasn’t the only thing to cheer about Tuesday night as the company revived last season’s new production by Bartlett Sher.

In the title role of the unlucky-in-love poet, Italian tenor Giuseppe Filianoti gave a fearless performance, taking most if not all the optional high notes in the long and grueling role and holding onto them tirelessly. The sound of his lyric tenor is warm and appealing, and it seems to have grown in size and stamina since his debut five years ago. He played the role with disarming earnestness and ever-hopeful romantic ardour.

But the surprise of the night was Gerzmava, playing the second of Hoffmann’s loves, Antonia, who has inherited her mother’s musical talent but also her weak heart and ends up singing herself to death.

As soon as the curtain rose for the second act and she began her plaintive song about a turtledove, Gerzmava showed the audience that she is a major artist with rare vocal abilities. She produced a shining tone that easily filled the house and yet seemed to be holding back reserves of power at the same time.

Her soft singing had a tender, lyrical quality to it. And she produced a dazzling trill as she expired. Though she has sung coloratura roles and summoned some impressive high notes, her only missteps came when a couple of them fell slightly flat.

There’s a mournful tinge to her voice that calls to mind her more famous compatriot, Anna Netrebko, who sang the same role last season.

Comparing the two does no injustice to either. Like Netrebko, she is also a compelling actress, imbuing the character of Antonio with a desperate and doomed passion.

Until now, Gerzmava has sung mostly in Europe. The Met would do well to quickly engage her for future seasons.

The other women in Hoffmann’s life were sung by American coloratura soprano Anna Christy, as the mechanical doll Olympia, and Albanian mezzo-soprano Enkelejda Shkosa, as the courtesan Giulietta. Christy had only middling success in a role that should be a show-stopper, lacking pinpoint precision and secure high notes. Shkosa, also making her debut, sang brightly, but the part is relatively brief and didn’t allow her to make much of an impression.

Returning from last season, mezzo Kate Lindsey was again excellent as Hoffmann’s devoted but cynical muse, Necklace. Russian bass Ildar Abdrazakov, with hearty voice and a fiendish twinkle in his eye, made a terrific impression in the multiple roles of the villains who undermine Hoffmann at every turn.

Patrick Fournillier, in his Met debut as conductor, led a spirited and persuasive performance once past some initial co-ordination problems.

Sher’s production appears little changed from last season. It’s colorful, even eye-popping, but sometimes more busy than inventive.

And the mix of styles remains a puzzlement, with frenetic action in the Olympia scene, a virtual orgy in the Giulietta scene, and sandwiched between them a severely stripped down set for Antonia.

Anna Christy as Olympia and Giuseppe Filianoti as Hoffmann in the Metropolitan Opera’s production of Offenbach’s “Les Contes d’Hoffmann.” Photo: Marty Sohl/Metropolitan Opera Bartlett Sher’s production of Les Contes d’Hoffmann made a mixed impression at the Metropolitan Opera when it was introduced last December, but it was born under unfavorable stars. For diverse reasons, Rolando Villazon, Rene Pape and Elina Garanca all dropped out of the announced cast, and Anna Netrebko, originally slated to assay Hoffmann’s multiple loves, chose to narrow her involvement to merely one, Antonia, along with the non-singing role (in this production) of Stella.

The Met managed to line up some able replacements, but disappointment over the cast may have tainted initial reactions to the production itself. Then too, advance word that Sher would seize on Offenbach’s supposed status as a Jewish outsider living in Paris-a dubious proposition to begin with-to characterize Hoffmann seemed less than promising. And in the event, some found the production to be overly busy.

Returning Tuesday evening as the second performance of the Met’s new season with an almost entirely new cast, Hoffmann came off well. For one thing, the idea of the poet Hoffmann as Jewish outsider has apparently gone by the boards. At the premiere last year, he reportedly donned a white prayer shawl and embraced his faith at the opera’s close. This time he just put on a hat and sat before a typewriter, looking for all the world as if he chose to embrace his art instead, which is pretty much what Hoffmann is about.

Sher does focus on the dark side by, among other things, suggesting a degree of mental instability on Hoffmann’s part, but there is much in the opera to back up this approach. And the swirling crowds in every scene except, strikingly, the central Antonia act, reinforce the idea that much is blurred in Hoffmann’s alcohol-impaired mind.

The doll Olympia, for instance, not only appears in multiple guises, but these guises turn up later in the Venetian act. And you would have to be prudish to object to the aura of sexual languor that infuses that scene. In addition to some suggestive leggy choreography, the stage is graced by several girls wearing just pasties and thongs. They too had appeared in earlier scenes.

More important, the cast is stronger than last year’s. As Hoffmann, tenor Giuseppe Filianoti, who made his Met debut in 2005 in Lucia di Lammermoor, again shows himself to be a most valuable artist. He may not be a paragon of French style, but his handsome, Italianate voice was a pleasure to behold and he sang with much fervor. Occasionally, the voice tightened a bit or briefly lost its tonal focus, but it stood up well in this demanding role, allowing for some especially passionate singing even late in the evening when he launched into the stirring opening of the duet with Giulietta.

Another welcome addition to the cast is bass Ildar Abdrazakov, who offers a robustly sung, deftly characterized portrayal of the Four Villains. His rich, chocolaty sound helps make him a real presence as Hoffmann’s nemesis, and in this production he is allowed the aria Scintille diamant. Strictly speaking, this aria has no place in the opera, since it was added by others after Offenbach’s death. But it does allow the singer a choice opportunity for lyricism, one that Abdrazakov embraced with vocal suavity.

Kate Lindsey, in the dual role of Hoffmann’s Muse and his friend Nicklausse, is the one singer with a major assignment who returns from last year. As before, her sterling singing ensures that the Violin aria of the Antonia act, sung with real commitment, and the moving apotheosis finale, Des cendres de don Coeur, emerge as the proper high points of the opera.

Again, Hoffmann’s love interests, rather than entrusted to a single woman, as is ideal, are allocated to three singers. Here the focus was on Hibla Gerzmava, a star of Moscow’s Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Music Theater, in her Met debut as Antonia. As the physically fragile would-be singer, Gerzmava brought a voice of power but also much beauty, which she deployed with a fine feeling for expressive nuance. Aside from a couple of shrieky high notes, hers was a first-rate portrayal. In another successful debut, the Albanian mezzo Enkelejda Shkosa sang Giulietta with a voice of sumptuous richness but it too betrayed signs of stridency on top. Soprano Anna Christy chirped prettily as Olympia.

Joel Sorensen, as the Four Servants, and Wendy White, as Antonia’s mother, also did well.

The conductor Patrick Fournillier, in his Met debut, also made a good impression. Ensemble was not always ideal, but his reading had verve and spontaneity.

It remains disappointing, however, that the Met’s basic performing text is the old Choudens edition and that the company has not taken sufficient advantage of recent scholarship concerning this textually problematic opera. But at least the acts are performed in the right order and important music for the Muse/Nicklausse is included.

El pasado sábado tuvo lugar en Les Arts el estreno de la última de las óperas de la temporada 2009-2010 y la que más demanda de entradas había generado. “La Traviata” de Giuseppe Verdi es posiblemente la ópera más popular del repertorio italiano y suele ser escogida como acercamiento al género de los no iniciados. Eso motiva que sea realmente complicado conseguir entradas incluso cuando, como es el caso, el reparto vocal no sea especialmente conocido.

Pese a estar vendida la totalidad del aforo hubo algunos huecos en platea y, por supuesto, en esos palcos reservados para invitaciones que, ni con “La Traviata”, consiguen que las posaderas VIP se dignen llenarlos, mientras el público aficionado tras horas de espera haciendo cola se queda con la frustración de no conseguir entrada.

La coproducción presentada del Arena Sferisterio de Macerata y la Fundación Pergolesi Spontini de Jesi, cuenta con la dirección artística de Henning Brockhaus y escenografía de Josef Svoboda.

Esta puesta en escena, conocida popularmente como “La Traviata de los espejos”, se caracteriza por el gran panel de espejos en ángulo de 60 grados que cubre la totalidad del fondo del escenario, reflejándose en él tanto lo que ocurre sobre el mismo visto desde arriba y detrás, como el suelo cubierto por telones pintados que son los que van creando los diferentes ambientes en los que se desenvuelve la trama.

Estéticamente resulta impactante, generando unas composiciones visuales atractivas que, sin embargo, sólo consiguen su efecto pleno vistas desde el patio de butacas.

Aunque siempre es arriesgado intuir qué narices quieren decir los directores de escena con sus más o menos osadas propuestas, parece que en este caso el espejo simbolizaría la doble moral de la sociedad. En la última escena, mientras la vida de Violeta se apaga, un foco ilumina directamente la platea y el panel de espejos se eleva hasta un ángulo de 90 grados, reflejando así no sólo lo que ocurre en el escenario, sino también el foso y el patio de butacas. Como me comentaba la amiga Assai, posiblemente se tratase de aludir a la vigencia del mensaje y a que todos nosotros formamos también parte de esa sociedad de doble moral. No sé si será así o no, pero en cualquier caso ese concreto momento escénico me pareció un error descomunal, por cuanto la luz sobre las butacas y el reflejo de los espectadores lo único que hace es distraer a estos en el intenso final.

Por otra parte, la dirección de actores es de una vulgaridad y sosería aplastantes y se concentra especialmente en coros y figurantes, dejando a los solistas en muchas ocasiones perdidos en escena, tiesos como palos. Especialmente significativo fue en este sentido la llegada de Giorgio Germont en el acto II y su posterior dúo con Violeta, un momento crucial de la obra, en el que hubo menos movimiento que en un museo de cera.

En el terreno musical, tras haber quedado maravillados con la reciente lectura de “Cavalleria Rusticana” llevada a cabo por Lorin Maazel, había gran expectación por ver “La Traviata” que nos brindaba el Maestro. Y el resumen de lo vivido sólo lo puedo expresar con una palabra: decepción.

Hubo numerosos desajustes entre foso y escena, la orquesta se mostraba desacompasada, la sección de cuerda no acababa de sonar como siempre lo hace... pero, sobre todo, Maazel daba la impresión de estar cumpliendo una rutinaria obligación, muy alejada de la intensidad que vive y transmite en las representaciones de Cavalleria (como en la del domingo sin ir más lejos, a la que tuve también la suerte de asistir). Fuere por lo que fuese, el caso es que la varita mágica de Maazel parecía haber sobrepasado el plazo hasta medianoche concedido por su hada madrina y haberse vuelto a trocar en vulgar batuta, porque la emoción no llegaba a la sala.

El archifamoso brindis fue un cúmulo de despropósitos entre el berreante Grigolo y una orquesta que parecía perderse. Y un momento musical tan propicio para haber vivido alguna genialidad del Maestro como es el preludio del acto III, fue ejecutado correctamente, pero con alarmante frialdad.

En Cavalleria el uso de los tiempos y las intensidades que hace Maazel puede ser discutible, pero es coherente con el conjunto de la lectura que efectúa. En “La Traviata” hubo unos pocos chispazos inconexos, pero que no acababan de encender la emoción: algunos pianísimos exagerados sin venir a cuento, paradas en seco de la orquesta, y un final “alla Maazel”, rotundo y explosivo, pero que después de lo escuchado quedó como un simple acto de exhibicionismo.

Quiero pensar que el decepcionante resultado fue fruto de unos insuficientes ensayos y que con las sucesivas representaciones irán subsanándose muchos defectos.

Dicho todo lo anterior me gustaría dejar claro que la ejecución musical ofrecida por la Orquesta de la Comunitat Valenciana fue correcta, pero con lo mal acostumbrados que nos tiene Maazel, esperaba mucho más y encontré una Traviata muy normalita.

El Coro de la Generalitat volvió a ofrecer un excelente rendimiento, aunque también fuesen apreciables algunos puntuales desajustes con el foso.

La rusa Hibla Gerzmava fue la encargada de asumir el rol protagonista, tras caerse del cartel Marina Rebeka sin previo anuncio ni explicación alguna por parte de los ineptos gestores administrativos de Les Arts, en una muestra más de incapacidad e indecente menosprecio al público.

Gerzmava fue sin ninguna duda la gran sorpresa y la triunfadora de la noche. En el primer acto tuvo un inicio inseguro y alguna dificultad con la coloratura, aunque solventó el “Sempre Libera” con nota alta. En los actos segundo y tercero, posiblemente más adaptados a su voz, dio una auténtica lección de canto. No tiene Gerzmava una voz especialmente bella, presentando algunos sonidos demasiado fijos, pero cantó con un gusto exquisito, matizando y derrochando toda la emoción que se le echaba de menos al foso. En el concertante del final del segundo acto estuvo sencillamente perfecta y su “Addio del Passato” estuvo cargado de delicadeza.

Vittorio Grigolo fue un nefasto Alfredo. Grigolo tiene una voz que podría ser bonita si el amigo supiera cantar, pero no es el caso. Toda la noche parecía empeñado en imitar los histriónicos recursos de Villazón, pero sin tener las cualidades que pudiera tener en su día el mejicano. Absurdos golpes de glotis, estentóreos berreos, deficiente técnica respiratoria, graves inexistentes, agudos abiertos y un horrísono fraseo, fueron todo su bagaje musical. Este es un cantante que, si de verdad quiere dedicarse a esto, debería cuidar su voz, estudiar mucho y centrarse en el repertorio operístico que mejor se ajuste a su vocalidad, en lugar de andar por ahí haciendo bolos como crooner guaperas, dándole igual cantar Verdi, rancheras o el himno de la Legión.

Gabriele Viviani compuso un Giorgio Germont vocalmente apocado, con demasiadas carencias en el registro grave, lo que no contribuía a hacer demasiado creíble el papel, como tampoco lo hacía el burdo maquillaje y el traje “tres tallas más” que parecían más propios de una función fin de curso. Cantó con gusto y suma corrección, pero no parece ser éste el papel que mejor se adapta a sus condiciones vocales, requiriendo una voz de mayor peso.

Volvió a destacar, esta vez en el pequeño papel de Annina, la excelente cantante del “Centre de Perfeccionament Plácido Domingo” María Luisa Corbacho.

Otra cantante del “Centre de Perfeccionament”, Ekaterina Metlova, fue una Flora Bervoix discreta. El resto de comprimarios estuvieron correctos, y muy notable fue la actuación de los bailarines Ricardo Sánchez, Esther Jiménez y Laia Salvador.

El público asistente al estreno fue un ejemplo de lo contagiosa que debe ser la tisis. Mientras Violeta tosía en escena con discreción casi inaudible, aunque su vida seextinguía consumida por la enfermedad, algunos ocupantes del patio de butacas, pese a parecer bien sanotes ellos, tosían y carraspeaban con sonoro alarde por encima del volumen de las trompas.

Al finalizar hubo entusiastas aplausos para todos los participantes, especialmente para una emocionada Gerzmava, y tan sólo se escucharon unos escasos y aislados abucheos entre muchos bravos al saludar Grigolo.

En definitiva, una Traviata aceptable, normalita, pero que a quienes esperábamos mucho más de Maazel, nos ha resultado bastante decepcionante. Espero que en las sucesivas representaciones mejore la cosa. Como tengo previsto acudir a la última, si mi impresión varía prometo contarlo.

La Boheme has long been established as one of the most popular of all operas, though even its greatest devotees would have to admit that the plot is rather thin: impoverished but carefree artist (Rodolfo) meets girl (Mimi); they fall in love; girl dies of tuberculosis.

Fortunately, however, we rarely go to opera for the plot, and in the case of La Boheme, it is Puccini’s magnificent music, playing the joie de vivre of the Parisian artists against the underlying tragedy, that makes for a great evening’s entertainment.

The First Night on Saturday of this revival of John Copley’s 35-year-old production had an unusual drama of its own. An announcement was made at the start that Piotr Beczala, playing Rodolfo, had been suffering from a heavy cold but would nevertheless appear.

At the start of the Third Act, however, we heard that he was really struggling, and could not continue. The good news, however, was that two casts have been rehearsed for this run, ready for a cast-change in January, and Rodolfo number two, Teodor Ilincal, who had been in the audience, had agreed to take over for the second half.

This half-time substitution gave the audience the rare experience of Mimi outlasting Rodolfo.

Hibla Gerzmava, as Mimi, made the most of it, giving a magnificent performance, both in her sublime singing and her acting Her skills came through especially in the last act, which is always a tear-jerker, as Puccini reworks some of the happy themes of earlier in the opera into more sombre versions to accompany her growing weakness and death.

Apart from that final act, the best part of the production is the Tavern scene, featuring the sort of crowded, busy stage that the Royal Opera always does so well.

With some 60 people and one dog on stage, each in striking costume and with a clear part to play, the atmosphere of Parisian cafe life was perfectly created on the huge Covent Garden stage. In this scene too, Inna Dukach gave a fine performance as the slutty Musetta.

My only reservation came in the acting — though not the singing — of the male roles. Rodolfo’s anguish seemed shallow, as did the characters of his companions.

Apart from that, Copley’s 35-year-old production stands up very well — but even in this case, the blame should perhaps lie with the original librettists more than the director or singers.

Mansel Stimpson talks to the Russian soprano whose dramatic flair is central to her performances...

It was thirty-five years ago that Covent Garden presented a new production of Puccini’s La boheme directed by John Copley and held in much affection and still with Copley at the helm. This time around it is Hibla Gerzmava who plays Mimi in the first of two casts. Since she has previously appeared in the role of Musetta as well as that of Mimi, it is an opera that she knows well, but when I meet her she displays a very special enthusiasm for this particular production and not least for working with John Copley.

Previously Hibla has appeared at The Royal Opera as Tatyana in Eugene Onegin. That proved to be a happy experience for somebody who had dreamt about being at Covent Garden and who recognised it as an important step in her career. It must also have pleased those who had hired her because it led to her being booked for this return visit in which she finds herself singing in the first seven of the ten performances (Rebecca Evans takes the final three). “Being the second time here, I can feel a bit more comfortable about it, and I’m very happy that on this occasion I am singing in Italian because it’s that repertoire that comes most naturally to me.”

This last statement is something of a surprise coming as it does from a Russian artist, but it’s only one of several comments that shed an unexpected light on this singer and on her approach to her work. In addition to Onegin she has appeared in operas by Rimsky-Korsakov, Glinka, Prokofiev and Stravinsky but her preference for Italian works is linked to her background. It’s true that she trained at the Moscow Conservatory from which she graduated in 1994 and it is Moscow that is now her home, but she was not born there and we talk first about her early days. “I come from the south and was born in Abkhazia, in Pitsunda. My parents were not professional musicians but the whole family was musical and we would all sing together in a way that is traditional in that region. We were involved in a lot of polyphonic singing with up to 8 or even 12 voices together. That was my background and while still in Abkhazia I studied to be a pianist. Today I find that my ability at the piano helps me a lot as a singer even though I do not play in public. It was only after reaching the Conservatory in Moscow that singing became my main concern, but in going there I was fulfilling the dream that my late mother had for me. She hoped that I would be able to study there, so by leaving home after her death I was making her dream a reality.”

Thus it was that Hibla left behind her life in Abkhazia, but it had already marked her in important ways. “I appreciate the music of composers such as Tchaikovsky and Rimsky-Korsakov and it was a major step for me when in 1994 I became a prize-winner in two International Competitions, the Tchaikovsky held in Moscow and the Rimsky-Korsakov which took place in St Petersburg. But what you perform there doesn’t have to be by those composers, and I find that it’s the Italian repertoire to which I am particularly responsive. Down south where I come from the rhythm of life and the emotions and the way that people express them are actually closer to what one associates with Italy, so temperamentally I almost feel more Italian than Russian, and some people believe that my looks are more Italianate too. Consequently, I’m happy to be showing my Italian side in La boheme. Where I do have a special feeling for Russian music, it’s perhaps more for songs like the Russian Romances which I have recorded. In any case I am keen to do concert-hall work as well as opera and I travel a lot doing concerts both around and outside Russia as well as going back to the Conservatory and singing at the Stanislavsky Theatre. I like to try everything and recently I have developed a jazz programme with wonderful musicians. Indeed, when I appear at the Stanislavsky in January it will for the first time in that theatre’s history of a jazz concert being presented: some of it will be classical melodies put into jazz rhythms but I will also be singing established jazz compositions in operatic voice.”

This desire to embrace a wide range of music applies no less to Hibla’s ambitions on the operatic stage. Her CV refers to just one Mozart role — Zerlina in Don Giovanni — and to one work of a much earlier period, Daphne by the Italian composer Marco da Gagliano, so I ask if she has any wish to build on that. “Actually I do quite a lot of Baroque pieces and I would love to do more in different styles and different languages, even if at present the period of the 19th-century is particularly comfortable for me. The voice you need for Italian operas like Traviata and Lucia di Lammermoor is very different from what is required in Mozart which I associate more with the melismatic elements to be found in earlier music. I’ve done quite a lot of Mozart with orchestras and in 2011 I shall be doing La clemenza di Tito. I look forward also to singing Donna Anna.”

The references she has made to her repertoire tend to stress dramatic roles, but one should not overlook the fact that Hibla has also played Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia, Adina in L’elisir d’amore and Adele in Die Fledermaus. “Those roles come naturally to me because I am myself very fun-loving, but what I really like is to achieve a balance by mixing heavier and lighter parts. There is a side to me that is well suited to dramatic roles and although it never became official I did receive overtures enquiring if I would be interested in appearing in straight theatre”. In contrast to Maria Callas who appeared as an actress for Pasolini in his film of Euripides’s Medea, Hibla has not followed up these suggestions, but the fact that the possibility was mooted is significant in itself as a sign of the importance that drama and emotion play in her approach to being a singer. When it comes to considering roles, she is quite clear about what she is looking for. “I need to fall in love with the character so that I can live it and, indeed, every role that I do has to be done with love. I have to have a passion for the character if I am to do it well. You can sing Lucia very beautifully and a lot of people do, but I feel that to play such a role, to portray her, you need to go beyond the singing as such: you have to show what is going on inside her and it’s a work that provides room for you to reveal many different aspects of her character. It’s the same in Traviata: you only have to compare the first and third Acts to see how the character of Violetta changes from the one to the other.”

In making these points Hibla may seem to be stressing the dramatic qualities required of an opera singer rather than the vocal demands, but she does not separate the two. “The voice that you use when reaching out to an audience — the very sound of it — comes to a great extent from the drama. I live a role in such a way that it is the emotional state of the character that gives the energy and the quality to the voice, and I believe that that is something which the audience feels. That’s why audiences who know an opera like Boheme and how it ends and who may have seen me in it before always seem to cry at the end. It’s through the intensity of the emotion that I can give to it that this happens, and I have to say that I am not one of those singers who comes to herself as soon as the music ends. When I play Lucia it can even take as long as two days before I fully leave the character behind. Indeed, it’s because I feel so involved with a role that those around me in rehearsal have learnt to express themselves carefully whenever my character is one who passes away: they know that they should not talk to me about ‘when you die’ but should always say ‘when Mimi dies’ or ‘when Violetta dies’. I prefer that.”

Hibla mentions that she finds it very interesting to do rarer works. This is a particular pleasure for her when she performs in Russia where it is commonplace for such events to be fully booked and to attract a wide audience. However enjoyable it is for her personally to discover these pieces there is an even greater satisfaction in knowing that she is probably bringing these works to an audience unfamiliar with them. La boheme being one of the most popular of all operas stands at the opposite extreme to this, but appearing in it offers its own satisfactions. “Mimi is undoubtedly one of my favourite roles, but very important too is the fact that it brings me full circle since I started out in opera with La boheme. Then I was singing Musetta, but there’s still this nice feeling of coming back to something you remember fondly.”

The fact that Hibla has appeared both as the opera’s tragic heroine and as the flighty, fiery but warm-hearted Musetta makes me wonder if having seen the piece through the eyes of both characters has provided her with special insights. However, raising this question leads us into an area that I had not foreseen. “To tell the truth, I know this particular opera so well that it’s not just a matter of having played both roles but a case of knowing the work so fully that I could probably sing it for everybody! But, yes, playing these two contrasted characters does add to one’s understanding of the piece. It’s not easy to explain but the feelings involved are so different depending on which character you are playing. Whenever I appear as Musetta and come to that last scene of the opera, I find that I can’t prevent myself from crying. In the Second Act Musetta is flirting and fooling around, but in the Fourth Act when Mimi is dying she is desperately trying to help but can’t really do anything and that leaves me feeling truly tearful. But when I am Mimi it is not like that at all. Throughout the entire opera there’s a lot of emotion involved for her, but at the close she’s very peaceful. However draining for her it has been emotionally, she is there with Rodolfo, the man she loves, and is surrounded by friends. She has accepted her destiny and she is so much at peace that she probably finds it hard to understand why everybody is crying. So at the end of the day it is as Musetta that I feel distressed while as Mimi I can sense that she is peaceful and I identify with that.”

Andris Nelsons is conducting the December performances (Paul Wynne Griffiths and Maurizio Benini those in January) and is new to Hibla but already she is finding him helpful, very involved in the rehearsal process and emotionally devoted to it. As Rodolfo, she is reunited with Piotr Beczala (he was Lensky in Onegin) and then Teodor Ilincal takes over for two performances. Her role obviously remains the same but she has started to rehearse with both singers and is aware of how her acting will vary through instinctive rather than planned responses to each of these two artists. However, in enthusing about the way things are going it is to John Copley that she gives pride of place. “I am so grateful for the way he approaches the whole working process. He makes it very light, very enjoyable, and there’s so much laughter at the rehearsals. The atmosphere he creates is such that it just feels like a big celebration every day. He’s there to give you the basic direction in which he wants you to go but then he gives you enough freedom to express yourself and bring your own experience to bear. He gives you so much air to breathe and I find that wonderful.”

Of the many awards that Hibla has won, one stands out due to its special nature. In 2006 she was given the title of Meritorious Artist by Vladimir Putin. You can’t help but wonder how she would have reacted as a child growing up in Abkhazia had she been told then that one day she would receive an award of this kind from Russia’s President. “I would have been very curious about the prospect of meeting the President and very happy — and, yes, I would have believed it.” Hearing that reply and registering the justified confidence it suggests, you feel that Hibla is in a very special way her mother’s daughter.

No Moscow opera season in post-Soviet times has come close to matching the one that began last September in its abundance of high-quality, new stage productions and performances in concert form.

No Moscow opera season in post-Soviet times has come close to matching the one that began last September in its abundance of high-quality, new stage productions and performances in concert form. Over the past few weeks, still more have been added to the season’s remarkable number of operatic success stories, first with the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theater’s brilliantly conceived, mostly well-executed new production of Gaetano Donizetti’s bel canto masterpiece “Lucia di Lammermoor,” an opera absent from the repertoire of local companies since the 1890s. An extraordinarily fine concert version of Georges Bizet’s “Carmen” followed, played by the Russian National Orchestra under the baton of Mikhail Pletnev, and sung, in its principal roles, by a group of outstanding singers from abroad.

“Lucia” stands or falls with the soprano cast in its title role. Luckily, the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko has just the singer the role requires, in the person of its sparkling coloratura from Abkhazia, Khibla Gerzmava. Gerzmava sailed beautifully through the first two acts and displayed, if not complete mastery, at least promise of great things to come in the long and fiendishly difficult Mad Scene of the third. To really succeed, “Lucia” also needs a smooth-voiced, ardent-sounding lyric tenor for role of Edgardo, which the theater provided as well. Its Edgardo, Alexei Dolgov, seems to go from strength to strength in the Italian repertoire, and never, to my experience, has he sounded more like a true Italian tenor of quality than he did in the new “Lucia.” Unfortunately, at least at the production’s second performance, the theater could boast neither a baritone nor a bass with any perceptible mastery of the vocal art of bel canto.

Given a first-rate Lucia and Edgardo, “Lucia di Lammermoor” can withstand an indifferently staged production and has done so many times since its premiere in 1835. But nothing at all indifferent can be found in the staging at the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko.

Unlike so many of his counterparts who come to opera from success in spoken drama, director Adolf Shapiro seems clearly to understand the difference between the two forms of theater, which is that in opera, unlike spoken drama, the action must follow the music.

Moreover, both Shapiro and his set designer, Andris Freibergs, seem to have taken a stance toward opera much like that of minimalist Robert Wilson, whose staging of Giacomo Puccini’s “Madame Butterfly” is one of the rare delights in the Bolshoi Theater’s operatic repertoire. Their clear delineation of both action and setting and their refusal to clutter the stage with a welter of objects and gimmicks are clearly akin to what Wilson demands. As a result, nothing stands between the audience and its ability to perceive what is most important of all in opera, the music of the composer’s score.

Since abandoning his distinguished career as a pianist some two years ago, Mikhail Pletnev has devoted himself full-time to the orchestral podium. In the process, he has extended his conducting to include opera. Leading “Carmen” last week at Tchaikovsky Hall, he proved just as adept in his first encounter with the opera of a non-Russian composer as he had previously shown himself to be with operas of Sergei Rachmaninov, Pyotr Tchaikovsky and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. His spirited account of Bizet’s score stood head and shoulders above any that have appeared in Moscow during the past two decades.

On hand for the performance was a near-flawless cast of singers, including a Carmen and Micaela of French origin who provided an object lesson in authentic style and diction. Accustomed to hearing the sumptuous sounds of Russian mezzo-sopranos in the title role, some in the audience seemed dismayed by the relatively lightweight voice of Beatrice Uria-Monzon. Yet hers was precisely the kind of voice for which the role was written. Natalie Manfrino brought an appropriately clear and steady soprano to the music of Micaela.

The only jarring note of the evening came in the sometimes disfiguring cuts made in the music of all four acts. Most notably missing was the violent encounter in the third act between Don Jose and the toreador Escamillo, which deprived the latter, excellently sung by Italian bass-baritone Simone Alberghini, of nearly half his music. Surely, with a performance of such high quality, the audience would gladly have remained for another 20 minutes or so to hear both that and the rest of what went missing.

This revival of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin offered the rarest and sweetest of operatic pleasures: a performance rich in truly first-rate singing.

Hibla Gerzmava, a Russian soprano new to me, made a glorious Covent Garden debut as Tatyana, warmly expressive in the Letter Scene and full-voiced and tonally steady throughout.

In the title role, Gerald Finley was, as ever, exemplary, his musicianship, artistry and technique beyond carping. Their final encounter, in which buried emotions explode destructively, was electrifying.

The secondary roles were taken with no less distinction. Piotr Beczala sang Lensky with virile confidence and ardour, nicely matched against the ebullient Olga of Ekaterina Semenchuk.

A mighty German bass, Hans-Peter Konig, made me sit up and listen to Gremin’s aria, which usually bores me.

Diana Montague was an elegant Larina, Elizabeth Sikora a vivacious Filipyevna and Robin Leggate spot-on as Monsieur Triquet. The chorus sounded magnificent.

All praise to the conductor Jiri Belohlavek, whose conducting combined authoritative pacing with refinement of orchestral detail. Under a lesser baton, this score can sound thin and sentimental, but here its romantic splendour and tragic gravity blossomed.

The only bad news is that Steven Pimlott’s production, revived a year after his sadly premature death by Elaine Kidd, looks even more leadenly lavish, dramatically inept and perversely ugly than it did when it was unveiled in 2006. But don’t let anything put you off buying a ticket for this otherwise superb performance.

Mess with Eugene Onegin at your peril. Several characters in Pushkin’s verse novel and Tchaikovsky’s opera learn this the hard way. But the warning applies to directors, too. The relationship between Tchaikovsky’s assured “lyric scenes” and Pushkin’s dazzling irony is a delicate one. Unfortunately, the late Steven Pimlott’s production, here revived by Elaine Kidd for the first time since the director’s tragic death last year, blunders gratuitously into the elaborate dialectic between author and composer. The result is a theatrical jumble.

Again and again, Pimlott allowed an intrusive finger, and sometimes an elbow, to put pressure on the opera’s finely constructed balances. The result is never happy. Tchaikovsky aimed at a romantic naturalism somewhat at odds with Pushkin’s take of emotional self-deception. But Pimlott thought he knew better than the composer. From the start, the characters come down to the front of the stage and sing in the grand opera manner that Tchaikovsky sought to avoid.

But that is one of Pimlott’s minor offences. His most serious misjudgment lay in interpolating a surrealistic dream scene from Pushkin that Tchaikovsky never used — bears, frogs, skeletons and other grotesques shimmy across the stage like a scene by Fuseli. The effect is to destroy the tragicomic realism of the row between Onegin and Lensky at the country ball to celebrate Tatyana’s birthday, on which the story turns. The production is off-balance from then on.

That said, musically, this is a very distinguished revival. Best of all is the fluent and idiomatic conducting of Jiri Belohlavek, who moves the score along delicately while never overlooking its darker and more declamatory side. The Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava — who shares the role in this production with Marina Poplavskaya — makes a vocally compelling Tatyana. Her letter scene, the heart and soul of the opera, has an authenticity that only a Slav voice can bring to it. But Gerzmava is a wooden actor, not helped by Antony McDonald’s unflattering costumes, and, in a production that purports to see the drama through Tatyana’s eyes, this lack of credibility is a failing.

Occasionally straining, Gerald Finley nevertheless gives a classic Onegin, suavely assured but hopelessly mistaken about almost everything — Covent Garden owes this fine artist a better production than this. Piotr Beczala is a good Lensky and Diana Montague an exemplary Larina. Ekaterina Semenchuk has a remarkable voice, but overdoes it as Olga. Hans-Peter Konig struggles with Gremin’s famous aria, though his role in this misconceived production is reduced to even less than usual.

One remarkable performance, that of Gerald Finley in the title role, stood out in this first revival of the late Steven Pimlott’s 2006 staging of Eugene Onegin, directed by and handsomely if strenuously designed in bright rustic Russo-Napoleonic style by Antony McDonald.

Tchaikovsky’s music penetrates to the heart of Pushkin’s poem, forcing aside its artifice of cool irony. Finley, ever more wild and impassioned, heaped risk on vocal risk to deepen the character of the flawed hero. It helps, too, that this Canadian baritone, now in his prime, has legs born for knee-breeches, obligingly provided by the 1820s costumes.

Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava offered vocal insights as impetuous young Tatyana (alternating with Marina Poplavskaya) but remained too impassive. Her big moment is the Letter Scene, that huge monologue in which she pours her heart and inkwell out to the unyielding Onegin and lives to regret it. If there’s any message here, it’s don’t press “Send”.

Piotr Beczala’s Lensky had ringing top notes but wooden presence and Ekaterina Semenchuk’s Olga, though securely sung, sacrificed charm to a desperate dose of over-acting. Chorus and cameos gave strong support.

For his ROH debut, Jiri Belohlavek conducted with sensitivity and tenderness, his love of the music evident in every note, expressively played by the ROH orchestra. He must be a dream to sing for. The tentative moments should soon disappear to reveal the perfection of this magically woven masterpiece.

When the late Steven Pimlott’s production of Tchaikovsky’s Pushkin opera was first presented by the Royal Opera, large stretches of it bored me as much as a life in the country bores Mr Onegin. From the drippy, homoerotic front-tab paintings to the inert crowd scenes, it seemed far too fey and limpid.

But what a difference a change of Eugene makes. To go from handsome but wooden Dmitri Hvorostovsky to mad, bad and dangerous-to-know Gerald Finley is to swap a paddle round a millpond for a white-water rafting trip. This Onegin seduces a more than willing Olga with a wicked glint in Act II, then crashes through shocked aristocrats in Act III, swigging what’s probably not lemonade from a hip flask. True, Finley doesn’t command such velvety tone. But his explosion of nihilistic despair after Tatyana’s rejection of him is thrilling music-theatre.

And his Tatyana, the young Russian soprano Hibla Gerzmava, reserves her most impassioned singing and acting for that scene, too. She has a potentially fabulous voice: clear and focused, yet also full of colour and with a reservoir of power that enables her to ride the biggest fortes like a surfer on a wave. But earlier, particularly in the letter scene, she doesn’t work hard enough to project the turmoil of doubt, exhilaration and trepidation experienced by an adolescent girl pouring out her heart for the first time. It’s reflective rather than impulsive.

Nor is she helped by Jiri Belohlavek’s often stiff and sedate conducting. The emotional temperature in the pit rises a bit as the evening progresses, but Belohlavek needs to put a lot more snap, crackle and pop into his allegros if he’s going to project the level of barely suppressed hysteria that Tchaikovsky surely expected.

Elsewhere, there’s an appealingly acted and delicately sung Olga from Ekaterina Semenchuk, a superbly sonorous Prince Gremin from the German man-mountain Hans-Peter Konig, a slightly underpowered and vocally pinched Lensky from Piotr Beczala, and two seasoned British mezzos — Diana Montague and Elizabeth Sikora — to put over the roles of mother and nurse with style and musicality.

The staging of the great ball scene, and Lensky’s unwise call for pistols at dawn, seems much more highly charged than it did two years ago. On the other hand, turning half the stage into an ice rink — for three minutes of skating — seems just as unnecessary.

The Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theater presents a sexy new staging of “La Traviata.”

After introducing opera to its newly restored main auditorium three weeks ago with a dismally sung, played and staged version of Giacomo Puccini’s “Tosca,” the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theater more than redeemed itself last weekend when it presented the local public premiere of a production of Giuseppe Verdi’s “La Traviata”. Though not exactly new, the production had previously been seen only at a closed preview two years ago and on tours to the United States and Yekaterinburg.

Of the half-dozen versions of Verdi’s immensely popular opera to appear in Moscow over the past decade, the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko’s, from what was seen and heard at the performance last Saturday, stands at the very top in terms of both dramatic conviction and musical execution.

The production, played in modern dress against a mostly abstract setting, is the work of the theater’s artistic director of opera, Alexander Titel, and it is probably the best thing he has come up with since directing Sergei Prokofiev’s “The Gambler” at the Bolshoi Theater six seasons ago. His is a hard-edged approach, one that truly succeeds in bringing the opera’s characters to life and in revealing much about them that conventional productions tend to gloss over.

Violetta Valery, the “Lost One” of the opera’s title, is not the usual stock figure, the “whore with a heart of gold,” but a genuine human being, one who foolishly accepts what she takes to be true love, sacrifices herself on its behalf and, as a result, suffers humiliation, abandonment and a death under the most abject of circumstances. Her supposed lover, Alfredo Germont, is exposed as a complete cad, indifferent to the ruin he has caused. And the concern expressed by Alfredo’s father, Giorgio, for the welfare of both parties seems to stem from nothing more than a selfish desire to save face and reputation.

The role of Violetta last Saturday fell to Khibla Gerzmava, the Abkhazian-born soprano who took the Grand Prize in singing — a unique award, never given before or after — at the 1994 Tchaikovsky Competition. Many at the time considered Gerzmava a dubious choice. But during her subsequent career at the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko, she has cast aside any doubts raised 12 years ago with a series of outstanding portrayals, sung in a crystal-clear coloratura voice and, for the most part, displaying a superb gift for comedy.

With “La Traviata,” Gerzmava has managed a remarkably successful move to the world of high operatic tragedy. Singing beautifully as usual, with secure technique and ethereal high notes, she seemed not merely to play, but to become Violetta. The very picture of a frivolous courtesan at the start, her later suffering and death seemed equally believable. At the curtain call, Gerzmava looked as if she had just been awakened from a nightmare.

Playing opposite Gerzmava on Saturday, as Alfredo, was Alexei Dolgov. A bit wooden and at times awkward on stage, he nevertheless fit quite neatly into Titel’s concept and sang the part with a clean lyric tenor and with all the notes at his command. Probably no finer Alfredo can currently be heard on the Russian operatic stage.

All of the minor roles were nicely handled, in particular those of Violetta’s protector, Baron Douphol, as played by the theater’s stalwart bass Roman Ulybin, and of Violetta’s friend, Flora Bervoix, in a delightfully sexy interpretation by soprano Yelena Maksimova.

The only real flaw in Saturday’s performance was baritone Yevgeny Polikanin’s portrayal of Giorgio Germont. What emerged was yet another of those all-too-familiar variations on the theme of Polikanin playing Polikanin. Perhaps his limitations as an actor might have been forgiven had he given one of Verdi’s supreme baritone roles its vocal due. But instead of the rich and finely nuanced vocalism the part requires, all he brought to it was a dull, unvaried forte, occasionally interspersed with bits of crooning at reduced volume.

Apart from taking certain passages at unusually slow speed, the theater’s principal conductor, Felix Korobov, gave “La Traviata” the same sort of firm, decisive and idiomatic leadership that so distinguished his reading of Sergei Prokofiev’s score for the ballet “Cinderella” early last month. And his musicians in the pit responded again with a top-notch performance.

Titel likes to call the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko “a theater for the thinking man with a sense of humor.” Perhaps with that in mind, he chose to replace the usual Spanish dancers in the opera’s second-act ballroom scene with five ladies and three gentlemen from a pair of so-called “erotic dance” companies, all of whom eventually stripped to their G-strings. Some in the audience on Saturday were not amused. One critic said it was simply embarrassing, adding that it left her with the feeling she might have if she opened the door of a toilet stall and found its seat already occupied. To me, however, it seemed a completely harmless bit of comic relief.

Further performances of “La Traviata” have yet to be announced. But the Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko will no doubt be presenting it early and often in the New Year.