Giuseppe Verdi, Stiffelio (1850)

This is an interesting one: Verdi, as was often the case, ran afoul of the censors, even more than usual with this one. This may perhaps have been inevitable given the subject matter--it's about a minister and his unfaithful wife--but good lord, people. To contemporary eyes, the idea that there could even theoretically have been anything offensive about this is just baffling. It's a story about sin and redemption. Isn't that what your religion is all about? Crikey. But in any event, he was so irritated by all this idiocy that he ended up withdrawing it from circulation, replacing it with Aroldo,a substantially reworked version in a different milieu that apparently was considered less offensive. The original Stiffelio was thought to be lost until it was rediscovered in the Verdi estate's archives in the 1960s. So here it is! How do you like that?

Well, actually, not all that much. I'm glad it was recovered and all, and the censorship is super-idiotic, but I still think the plot is a bit thin. I mean, I basically summed it up above. Stiffelio's wife Lina is having an affair with some guy named Raffaele. When this finally comes out (after a needlessly convoluted process), he's angry and jealous, and Lina's father Count Stankar isn't so happy about it either. Stiffelio is going to nobly relinquish his wife to her lover, but it turns out he's actually a Bad Seducer, and she still loves her husband. Nonetheless, they get divorced, and Raffaele is killed off-stage. Stiffelio has to give a sermon with his ex-wife in the audience, and he preaches about the woman taken in adultery, indicating that he's forgiven her. The end. In Aroldo, (wikipedia tells me) the two get back together, making it one of Verdi's least-tragic operas, but I don't think that'll happen here. Well, it might. It really would depend on how you choose to stage it.

You know, I really like this in theory. It could be a really powerful story about love and betrayal and forgiveness. And yet, as noted above, in fact I was kind of underwhelmed. The music...I don't know; it just didn't strike me as among Verdi's best or most memorable, and the characters and their relationships never came to life, for me, to the extent that I actually cared much about them. This production, I thought, was actually really good. Plácido Domingo is really excellent in the title role, and everyone else is at least fine, although through no fault of his own, Peter Riberi as Raffaele kind of looks like Walton Goggins, which is pretty distracting, although it's an extremely half-baked role anyway, so maybe that's not the main problem. I don't know. Not much else to say, really. Certainly not among my favorite from Verdi.

Vincenzo Bellini, I puritani (1835)

Bellini is the third big Bel Canto name, along with Donizetti and Rossini. I'd never seen anything of his before, so I decided to start here with his last (and therefore best?) opera before his early death at the age of thirty-three.

When Americans think about Puritans, we mainly think about witch trials, Hester Prynne, and funny hats. Maybe if we expand that to include "Pilgrims," a few more things, but we don't usually learn about British history in school, so I don't think most of us are really clear about what they were doing before some of them came to the Americas. I'm certainly not, so a little bit of wikipedia-ing was necessary to understand the context here.

So it's the English Civil War and the Puritans are on the verge of victory against the Royalists. The heroine is Elvira. Her hand was promised to Riccardo, one of the Puritan higher-ups, but she's in love with this Arturo guy, so she's sad. But she's able to marry Arturo instead, thanks to the intercession of her uncle Giorgio. So she's happy! And so is he! But there's a mysterious woman there who turns out to be the widow of the recently-executed Charles I; Arturo learns who she is and agrees to help her escape so she won't share his fate. Elvira is extremely sad about this and therefore goes insane, as one does. Arturo is now a fugitive, and it transpires that there's a death sentence on his head for having helped the Queen escape. Giorgio prevails upon Riccardo's better nature to plead on his behalf, but they both agree that if he's actually fighting with the Royalists, they will fuck his shit up. He appears, and Elvira sees him and stops being insane, although you do have to wonder about the overall mental state of someone who can flip between sane and crazy so quickly and easily. Everyone calls for Arturo to be executed for having helped the Royalists, but then word comes that they've won and Oliver Cromwell is pardoning everyone, so HURRAH. I suspect that the idea that Cromwell was this super-swell guy would be subject to a certain amount of, hmm, disagreement. But really, I don't think there's any interest in ideology here; the milieu was just a convenient backdrop for Bellini to use. Anyway, that's your opera.

I must say, I found the question of what Arturo's deal is very confusing. Is he a genuine Royalist sympathizer, or does he just save the Queen out of general compassion? He refers to her as "My Queen" when he learns her identity, suggesting the former, but later he justifies himself by saying that if he hadn't helped her, she'd've had a terrible death, suggesting more the latter. Also, everyone wants him to be executed, but then the pardon comes and now everyone's happy hurrah? What exactly is their attitude going to be towards him going forward? It's all very perplexing.

Well, questionable plot aside, I liked this. I mean, liked. Not loved; it didn't blow me away as much as I had hoped. Elvira's much-feted mad scene is good, but I couldn't help thinking that there really wasn't enough impetus for her to have gone mad. The title character in Lucia di Lammermoorhad a much better excuse. This production is fine, although it sort of bends a little under the weight of its extremely traditional production. Everybody talks about Anna Netrebko as Elvira of course, and she's good, there's no doubt, although actually, my favorite performance was John Relyea as the compassionate Giorgio. My favorite part of the opera was the patriotic duet between him and Franco Vassallo (a duet between a bass and a baritone--interesting) at the end of Act II.

I mean, really, it was fine. I must see more of Bellini to get a better idea of what he's about.

Fromental Halévy, La Juive (1835)

So here's this. In some unspecified city, there are constant threats, tamped down to a greater or lesser degree, of anti-Jewish violence. There's a Jewish goldsmith, Éléazar, living with his daughter, Rachel, la Juive herself. In the past, his sons were burned as heretics by the local cardinal, Brogni. Rachel is being courted by "Samuel," a young Jew who happens to actually be Prince Léopold in disguise. Even beyond the fact that he's married, their differing religious affiliations would subject them to execution if known, but she doesn't know any of this. She goes to try to get a job as a maid for the Princess, sees Léopold and realizes his duplicity, and is PISSED OFF. She publicly accuses him of seducing her, and the two of them, along with Éléazar (who is just collateral damage, I guess) are arrested. She later withdraws her allegations to spare Léopold (so why are the two of THEM still in trouble? Just generalized anti-Semitism, pretty clearly). Éléazar, likewise PISSED OFF, tells Brogni that his infant daughter from before he was a priest? The one he thought was dead? Well, some Jew saved him, but he'll never tell. Alas for Brogni, he is unaware that he is a character in an opera, or he'd immediately leap to the right conclusion. But he's not, so he's tormented. It dawns on Éléazar that his intransigence is likewise condemning Rachel, so he decides to tell the truth, but his resolution is hardened when he hears a mob going by baying for Jewish blood. So...what you'd think would happen pretty much happens. Yikes.

So yeah, look, you would be forgiven for thinking that an opera from 1835 entitled "the Jewess" might be pretty unsavory, even if you knew the composer himself was Jewish, but let's be clear: no, La Juive is not anti-Semitic, and it's not even a tiny bit ambiguous. True, Éléazar does bear animosity for Christians, which leads to the final tragedy, but it is made extremely clear that this is because of their overwhelming persecution of him and his people. Frankly, it's kind of amazing to me that such a full-throated condemnation of Christian bigotry could be a hit at the time. You know, Wagner did indeed say some pretty unforgivably anti-Semitic stuff, but people are nothing if not complicated, and the fact that he championed Halévy in general and this opera in particular is certainly a point in his favor.

But don't take my word for it! Here is the actual factual first comment that appeared on the youtube video: "'Jews' HATE Christians! They've been killing them by the millions, especially since 1773! What a pointless plot!" Kid tested, neo-Nazi disapproved. What more do you need to know? Why is "Jews" in quotes you wonder? Well, because of a shaky understanding of English punctuation standards, obviously, but this undermining of the writer's own point amuses me nonetheless. And why 1773? Extremely difficult to say. A google search for "what do anti-Semites think happened in 1773?" turns up nothing. Probably best not to think too hard about it.

Okay, so that's all well and good, but how is the actual opera, regardless of cultural issues? Well, it's pretty damned great. I can see why it was a hit. The music (including the exquisite aria "Rachel, quand du Seigneur") is fantastic, and--even though I knew where it was heading--the climax is still shattering. I kind of wanted to cry.

However. However however however...I think probably the greatest single bit of praise I can give this is that it's still mostly able to work in spite of the production. I put off watching this for a long time just because I was a bit skeptical about it, and it turns out I was right to be. The cast is game--particularly Corinne Winters as Rachel, Roy Cornelius Smith as Éléazar, and Riccardo Zanellato as Brogni, but this production is baaaaaad. Really really fucking bad. The producer, Peter Konwitschny, is not a good producer (and he also has a history of abusing musicians, so COOL). I went through my list of operas seen, and the results are clear: this is the worst production I've seen, and it's not particularly close.

I don't mind that it's in modern dress. That's not an issue. But the first thing you'll notice is that the central...metaphor?...of the production is that Christians' hands are painted blue and Jews' yellow. Okay. This is strange and contributes nothing to the story and results in bits where characters have to hide their hands from one another because they're not meant to know others' religions. But I guess I could live with that, if it were all. But it's not: the whole thing is very abstract in an unappealing way, feeling almost theatre-of-alienation-esque. There are parts where characters sing while wandering through the audience, for no reason I could discern.

And then there's Act III. OH BOY is there ever Act III. So in this act, Rachel is wearing a long trenchcoat, and when she sees that her supposed boyfriend was actually the Prince, in her rage she opens it up, and she's wearing a suicide vest. Is she metaphorically blowing up the action of the opera? Is this meant to be some kind of half-baked commentary on Israel? It's juvenile and awful, whatever it is. Oh and you thought that was all? No. Because in the climax to the act, where Rachel, Éléazar, and Leopold are being condemned, suddenly this assembly line appears for no reason and the cardinal and Éléazar and the whole chorus--some of whom are now wearing green, red, and purple gloves for no stated reason--are building bombs. I can only assume this is supposed to be some sort of general commentary on religious intolerance? But there's just one problem with it: it fucking sucks. Jeez. This is the worst part; it gets slightly more normal after. But I also love this: in Act V, just before the fatal climax, a voice from off-stage shouts--in English--"kill the dirty fucking Jews!" So...yeah, earlier we were doing this abstruse, would-be-artsy bullshit, but now we're so unsubtle that we have to underline the not-notably-subtext? Gawd. What a mess.

So anyway! Great opera! I can only imagine how great it could be if done by someone who cared about the plot and characters!

Alban Berg, Wozzeck (1925)

So Georg Büchner's original play only existed in fragmentary form on his death in 1837, and it wasn't published until years later. Due to Büchner's bad handwriting, the editors chose "Wozzeck" as their best guess for the character's name, not knowing that it was loosely based on the life of an actual guy, Woyzeck. So Woyzeck is now recognized as the play's name, but this opera, written before that realization, remains Wozzeck. And that is that story.

As I believe I said when writing about Lulu, I really like Werner Herzog's film of Woyzeck. I believe I've seen it three times. So I had a pretty clear idea of what to expect from this, plotwise. And, indeed: the title character, whatever his name is, is a soldier being pushed around by superior officers and doctors, whose prostitute common-law wife Marie with whom he has a son is cheating on him, and who is clearly mentally ill and subject to apocalyptic visions. There's a scene in the original although not here in which he and Marie go to a carnival and see a trained monkey, and...yup. Finally, he snaps and stabs her to death and then drowns in a lake. The end.

I had a kind of unusual reaction to this. Because here's the thing: I liked it, basically. And yet, I still am, at best, indifferent to Berg's music. I liked it for the story, and that's just not something that happens: it's one thing to like an opera for the music while thinking the libretto's a bit naff, but the opposite? Not really a thing. Except, apparently, when it is. I mean, no arguments with the singing itself, so that helps.

I think this is the character that Klaus Kinski (in the Herzog version) was born to play. Sure, Aguirre's more iconic, but his kind of tortured countenance seems perfect for a character trapped in a hell that he can't even begin to fathom. I feel like you definitely need an awkward actor who looks like he's not comfortable in his own skin. Franz Grundheber here is certainly more, uh, normal-looking than Kinski, but I think he does a good job. He looks like he never quite knows what to do with his arms, which is appropriate. No one else really has a super-important role, but Hildegard Behrens--last seem as Brünnhilde--is of course fine as Marie.

So yeah. I liked this, basically, but I still don't know what makes Berg so great, and since he doesn't have any more operas, I'm not sure how I'd find out. Maybe I could get the idea by watching some Schoenberg? I don't know. We'll see.

Leoš Janáček, Jenůfa (1902)

That title there confuses me. Because wikipedia says (and has a poster from the premiere proving this) that the Czech title is Její pastorkyňa ("her stepdaughter"), but the English title is the main character's name? Why? Who decided that? Pretty weird.

Wikipedia--again--calls this "a grim story of infanticide and redemption," which made me expect some of the ol' Gritty Eastern European Realism, but while there certainly IS that, I was surprised by how sweetly sentimental it turns out to be. Definitely not what I was expecting.

Let's talk about the plot! Actually, I really seriously got into this, and it might be worth watching without knowing what's going to happen. But I'm going to talk about it anyway! So there! So we're all Czech peasants. Jenůfa is in love with Števa, who's going to inherit property and be rich; she's also secretly pregnant by him. Laca, his younger half-brother, is in love with Jenůfa. Števa is a drunken, womanizing layabout, and Laca is insanely jealous. She refuses to accept his attacks on her beau, and in a rage, he ends up sorta-kinda-half-accidentally slashing her cheek with a knife, for which he immediately feels remorse. Later, her baby is born; her stepmother (and de facto real mother) Kostelnička had kept the pregnancy secret by sending her off to Vienna, and no one knows about it. Števa shows up and learns about his son, whom he agrees to support as long as his name is kept out of this; he no longer loves Jenůfa to due her new scar and general outlook; he's engaged to a non-scarred girl. He leaves and Laca appears; he still wants to marry Jenůfa, having throughly repented of his earlier action, but he's not happy at the thought of having to raise Števa's child, to which Kostelnička's immediate response is to tell him that it's dead. After he leaves, she works herself up to do the deed (I don't know, maybe first ascertain whether Laca can maybe perhaps be reconciled to it rather than leaping immediately to infanticide? Just a thought), and then tells Jenůfa that it just kind of died. Laca comforts her and she agrees to marry him. But when it comes time for the wedding, the baby's corpse is found under the newly-melted ice. The people first blame Jenůfa, but Kostelnička tells them the truth and is taken off. Also, now that everyone knows about Števa, his fiancée leaves him, and no one will ever want to marry him, "not even a gypsy girl," and man, I could've lived without that comment. Oh well. Jenůfa tells Laca that they obviously can't get married now, but he still wants to, and they're in love. So there you have it.

Janáček's best-known opera is The Cunning Little Vixen, which I found a little baffling. I liked this one a lot better. The drama feels real, and, as noted above, I was swept up in it. You can certainly ask questions, like: how deep is Laca's repentance? Is this likely to be a happy marriage? This is one of those deals where one perhaps wants a little bit more detail than opera can realistically give. But I was basically happy to take it at face value. I think it works. The music is...well, mostly inobtrusive, I guess? I think I had a similar reaction to it as to Vixen, although it has its moments, my favorite being the wedding chorus near the end. This performance is very good, featuring another great performance by Nina Stemme in the title role--which, again, fits her very well. Eva Marton is similarly strong as Kostelnička, and Jorma Silvasti does a good job of making Laca go from seeming like a jerk to...not.

This is really good; I want to see more of Janáček's stuff. Also, I hope you appreciate the effort I went through to write this; I had to do a shitload of copy and pasting to get those Eastern European diacriticals. And yes, if I'd written this in a web browser I could've just held down the key, but that doesn't work in Openoffice, and in any case, even that doesn't work for the u with the circle over it. So.

Sergei Prokofiev, L'amour des trois oranges (1921)

Yup, the libretto is in French (wikipedia claims "because Russian would have been unacceptable to American audiences"--da fuq?), and yes, it's called "The love for three oranges." It's based on a faerie tale, but I gather it has its own weirdness to it, and it's a little difficult to describe the plot without sounding like you're having a stroke: first, there's an audience arguing over whether they want to see a tragedy or comedy or what. Then the action starts, and there's a hypochondriac prince, the son of the King of Clubs. He has to be made to laugh or he'll die, but there are schemers trying to stop this from happening, at least in part by reciting bad poetry to him, so they can take the throne, supported by a sorceress, Fata Morgana. The king decides to have a carnival to make the prince laugh, with the help of a clown, Truffaldino. It seems like it's not going well, but then Fata Morgana has a pratfall and the prince laughs at her, so she curses him by making him obsessed with a love for three oranges. This works immediately, and he drags Truffaldino off with him to look for the oranges, which are in a witch's lair. So they outwit the witch's cook (a woman played by a baritone--a reverse trouser role?) and get the oranges and escape. The oranges keep getting bigger until they hatch one by one into faerie princesses, the first two of which die of thirst, it being a desert (surprisingly morbid). But the audience gives the prince water to save the third one, and in spite of some scheming, the day is saved. The conspirators are going to be executed, but Fata Morgana spirits them away. That is all.

Wikipedia quotes some baffled initial reviews: "The work is intended, one learns, to poke fun. As far as I am able to discern, it pokes fun chiefly at those who paid money for it." I wouldn't say that, but I have to admit...I didn't love this. That same wikipedia article calls it "satirical," but I would be hard-pressed to say what it's satirizing, exactly. I still like Prokofiev's music a lot; let there be no doubt about that. And yet, somehow, this was not my all-time favorite thing. Maybe it should be; I liked The Nose well enough, so obviously I don't need an opera to have a plot that makes sense or is emotionally involving. But...I don't know. This production is a reasonable thing, minimalistic in a way that suits the absurd story, but do I have anything much to say about it? I feel like I really just wanted to register that I did in fact see it.

Also, there's a bit where the villains replace the princess with the conspirators' servant, who it looks like he's going to have to marry. "A negress!" he shouts in despair. Which...hum.

Richard Wagner, Das liebesverbot (1836)

This is Wagner's second completed opera. It was a failure at the time, and disavowed by the composer; the account on wikipedia of that premiere is pretty funny:

Poorly attended and with a lead singer who forgot the words and had to improvise, it was a resounding flop and its second performance had to be cancelled after a fist-fight between the prima donna's husband and the lead tenor broke out backstage before the curtain had even risen; only three people were in the audience. It was never performed again in Wagner's lifetime.

Fun! It's certainly not commonly performed nowadays, and I certainly wouldn't have gone out of my way to see it, but I found a productionon youtube, so what the hell? It's his only comedy other than Meistersinger, so...bam.

That title translates as "the ban on love," and if nothing else, GOOD GOD is that ever thematically in keeping with Wagner's later career. If nothing else, that is a cool thing about it. It's based on Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, a play which I've never seen nor read, and I really ought to just take a month or so and read all of Shakespeare straight through. Seems like a cultural imperative. But anyway, I can tell you that what's happened is that The King has left the country and put a governor named Friedrich in charge. Friedrich is strait-laced and puritanical, so he's having all the fun things shut down: bars and brothels and general places of amusement. Some guy named Claudio is being sent to jail thence to be executed for having had a love affair, which is now illegal. So he gets his friend Luzio to go find his sister Isabella in a convent to get her to plead his behalf. It turns out Friedrich is a big fat hypocrite, having seduced and abandoned another nun, Marianne. Be that as it may, Isabella goes to agitate on behalf of her brother, but he wants to make a Scarpia-type deal for his release (and seriously, I'd be surprised if Puccini was actually familiar with this non-famous opera, but the similarities are remarkable). So she gets Marianne out of the convent and tricks him into engaging in the merriment that he'd condemned, and there is rejoicing, the end.

I thought this was pretty good, actually. It's no Meistersinger, but it's such a different sort of thing that the comparison may lack meaning. Is it the case that Wagner's insistence on the intensity of all this merriment feels a bit forced? Sure. I think he didn't have a sufficiently light touch to make this work perfectly on its own terms, but there's still some fun stuff to be seen, and the music? Well, it certainly feels like proto-Wagner to me. Not bad.

This is a 2016 Teatro Real performance, in a very modernized production, with a lot of the action in a glitzy red-light district and with cell phones and everything. Very extravagant costumes. Also, a funny thing during the overture where there's a big portrait of Wagner that's been crudely animated to make the neck and mouth move to the music. The whole thing works pretty well for the most part (one strange distraction, though: when the "king" appears at the end, it's clearly meant to be Angela Merkel, which...wha?), although a lot of the performances are a bit generic. The singing's fine, but I feel that a lot of the actors weren't really getting into their characters, making this less than it could have been (not that I think they're particularly vividly written anyway). The huge, obvious standout here is a not-very-recognizable Christopher Maltman as Friedrich, and seriously, he is a wonder (as well as the only name I know in the cast). I would go so far as to say that, adjusting for role quality, this is easily his best performance I've ever seen. His mannerisms, body language, facial contortions (sometimes reminding me of Rick from The Young Ones)--it all comes together to bring to life what wouldn't inherently be a super-interesting character. Manuela Uhl as Isabella is also pretty good, as is Ante Jerkunica the constable Brighella, but honestly, it's really worth seeing for Maltman alone.

I have to say one thing about the subtitles just because it's SUCH a bizarre quirk: every time the word "I'll" appears, the rest of the line is cut off. There must be a reason for this, but I can't imagine what it could be.

Arrigo Boito, Mefistofele (1868/75)

Yes! it's anotherFaust opera, this time by a man best-known as the librettist for Verdi's Otello and Falstaff. ARE YOU EXCITED?!? Well, you should be. I'd been wanting to see this one for a long time, so when someone on the Met in HD facebook group linked to this production, I was THERE, baby!  I'm not clear how long it'll be up, and I couldn't figure out how to download it, so better see it now rather than later.

Well...yes, it's the Faust story, but unlike Gounod's and Berlioz' operas, which were based (give or take) on Part I of Goethe's Faust, this one is based (give or take) on both parts. So you're gonna see some stuff you didn't see in those, along with Faust being redeemed in the end. You're also going to see the part where Mephistopheles makes a Job-like bet with God for Faust's soul, which isin the first part but which is in neither of the other two operas, perhaps having been considered a bit too potentially ticklish. The thing still isn't exactly what you'd call tightly plotted, but that does not matter even a little.

Really, this is terrific. The music is dramatic and tuneful and why do we not hear more about Boito? This is his only completed opera, but he also has another, about Nero, that was almost finished and is sometimes performed. I'd like to see it. ANYWAY. If you're just going to see part of it, don't miss the climactic Walpurgisnacht sequence at the end of Act II. Terrific.

Verdi allegedly said of his future librettist's work that it "aspires to originality but succeeds only at being strange." Sick burn, dude. Is it true? Is this strange? Well...I feel like it's really only strange to the extent that Goethe's original is strange, so I would say...kind of. But this production--which I thought was just awesome--definitely amps up the strangeness. There are these long, shimmery curtain tassels that sort of represent Heaven very effectively, and we see various historical figures in the Heavenly choir, but the main thing is this giant skull that's on-stage throughout most of the production, with eye holes where characters can stand or sit. I think "strange" is really the only word. Except for "cool." That would be another word.

But what I reallylike here is the presentation of Mephistopheles himself. Faust is, there's no denying it, about as dull as usual, but his Adversary really lights up the stage. Producers staging the opera could really present him any way they wanted, but here, in the person of Erwin Schrott (former paramour of Anna Netrebko and father of her child), they have chosen to depict him as this kind of camp, glammy musclehead whom you could picture on Jersey Shore,which sounds totally bizarre and maybe is, but is also reallyeffective. You would never ever envision the character this way, and that's maybe what makes it work: you can't just slot it into your common tropes re demonic tempters. It's really vital and alive, and Erwin Schrott's acting actually makes the character seem sorta kinda sympathetic, which is a feat. Really, just great, although I have to say, I still kinda want to see this badass-looking production:

EUROTRASH HEAVEN.

Richard Wagner, Tristan und Isolde (1865)

So at the beginning of Donizetti's L'elisir d'amore, the heroine Adina is reading from a book about Tristan and Iseult and the basic gist of it is "wow! Look at this delightful story! At first Iseult didn't like Tristan, but then she drank the potion, and she fell in love with him! How fantastic! If only we could have a potion like that!" If she had read on, she might find that the story became somewhat less cheerful. Though actually, at least here, that set-up isn't even right: it's not that he's in love with her first; neither of them is until the potion comes up.  Donizetti just presents it that way to set the plot in motion.  Anyway. Here's this.

At first I wasn't too sure about this, and I was all ready to write a fairly indifferent entry to the effect that "yeah, Wagner's music, but man, it's kinda boring." I had a pretty dramatic conversion at some point, however, because now I think this fucking rules, to the extent that I'm easily willing to forgive the occasional somewhat wobbly plotting.

I think I got thrown off initially because the opening is a little weird: the idea is that Tristan's bring Isolde over from Ireland to be King Marke's wife (don't try to think about the morality of this forced betrothal stuff; the opera doesn't address it, and it'll just make you crazy). She's angry at him because, as you would be, because he killed her previous fiancé, and there's no love lost between them until they both drink this potion she's made, that was supposed to be poison but actually turned out to be this love potion. This part is intentionally unclear: is it in fact a potion, or is that just an excuse for them to act on their feelings? Or is it the poison after all, and this is what leads them to their ultimate tragic end? Whatever the case, though, it's pretty awkward: as soon as they drink it they're instantly in love and the very good reasons that she had hated him are just instantly forgotten, seemingly. You'd think at some point someone would at least comment on the strangeness of the whole situation.

Well, REGARDLESS, things pick up after that. The second act--some time later--is mostly them declaring their love for each other in that rapturous, typically Wagnerian way; in the third, they're separated, he's been mortally wounded, and can she make it in time to save him? NO. This is the most dubious plotting of all: Marke discovers their affair, and Tristan is mortally wounded in the scuffle. So okay...but then in the third act, he's been taken far away, for some reason, and Isolde's coming for him, and if she's totally free to do that, why didn't she treat his wound while they were still together? It really makes no sense.

But never mind that, because the music and the high emotion here just kick all kinds of ass. More than ever before, I understand what people mean when they call Wagner over-the-top, but it's to damned good effect, and I was one hundred percent swept away. This production features Nina Stemme as Isolde; she's good at projecting this kind of deranged intensity that suited her well in Elektra and suits her well here. As Tristan, we have Stuart Skelton, an Australian tenor I'd never heard before. He definitely has the necessary intensity for the role, though he does look somewhat simian (Stuart, if you're reading this, that's not meant as in insult! You're great!). Also, there's René Pape as King Marke; the role doesn't amount to much more than an extended cameo, but the character's nobility is really important to the plot, I think, and Pape is good as always.

This production would drive a purist up the wall, being a present-day military-themed thing. I thought it was...fine? Certainly better than the updated HolländerI saw. I had no problem with it, though I don't know that it exactly contributed to enhancing the story either. I have no strong feelings! I will however probably check it out in another production, just because...well, because it's great.

Gioachino Rossini, La Cenerentola (1817)

Yup, I was right.

This has some interesting divergences from what I think of as the "original" Cinderella story (though that word probably doesn't mean much applied to a folktale). The most immediately obvious difference is that there's a stepfather (Don Magnifico) rather than mother (Cinderella's own mother having died). Apparently--shocking!--he squandered her inheritance on his own less-appealing spawn. Then there's the fact that there's no Faerie Godmother--instead there is, somewhat murkily, a "philosopher" who basically plays that role. How does he get La Cenerentola (here named Angelina) all dolled up for the ball? Not apparent. A bit of magical realism, we can perhaps say. Instead of anything to do with shoes, she gives the Prince one of a pair of bracelets and tells him that if he can find her again and thus match the two of them up, they can get married. Also--last important thing--a big part of the plot involves the Prince having switched places with his valet Dandini in order to observe in secrecy.

Having watched this back-to-back with the Massenet, the reasons that this succeeds while that one doesn't really stand out. First and foremost, the romance is a lot more satisfying. Also, Angelina's just a much better version of the character than Lucette, who came, I would say, dangerously close to only being "good" by virtue of being put upon rather than by anything she actually does. The comedy works better, as does the drama, the music--or so I thought--is much more infectious...damn. The bits you should listen to to get an idea are "Sia qualunque delle figlie," Magnifico's aria at the beginning of Act II where he fantasizes about what his life will be like when he's the father of a queen, and "Si, ritrovarla io guiro," the Prince's impassioned aria about his determination to find this mysterious woman. In this production there's so much applause afterwards that Juan Diego Flórez has to come back on stage to acknowledge it (well, whether he "has" to or not, he does, is the point).

I chose this one because I thought it would be interesting to see Joyce DiDonato playing the same role, give or take, and indeed. I like her better here just because the whole thing is better, and she is thus elevated. I hadn't seen Diego Flórez in quite some time, but he's a terrific prince, and then you have Alessandro Corbelli as Magnifico...crikey! The production is traditional with some good comic touches. It gets a lot of mileage out of a three-legged sofa.

Interesting thing about Rossini is that while he lived to the age of seventy-six, he wrote forty-ish operas between the ages of eighteen and thirty-seven and then, for reasons that are still debated, just...stopped. I guess when you're this successful, you can, at any rate, afford to do that. At any rate, it's obvious why this one would be a crowd-pleaser. What's not to like? I foresee a lot more Rossini in my future.

Jules Massenet, Cendrillon (1899)

Well, I saw this one. It's a Cinderella story, as you might have gathered. It includes most of the usual story beats, though not necessarily with the levels of emphasis you'd expect. It does not, however, feature anyone getting their feet mutilated, which is probably for the best.  No anthropomorphic mice either, thank goodness.

So it's all cute and everything, but somehow...I feel underwhelmed. You need a certain kind of insouciant glitter for a story like this, and I just didn't really feel that here. The music, to me, had its moments but wasn't by and large that gripping. The business with The Prince and Cendrillon (Lucette, is her real name) is underdeveloped, which might just make this a regular Cinderella story, admittedly, but there are these pathos-laden arias which somehow feel unearned and tonally dissonant. And her dopey father is just annoying, though again, why would you expect otherwise. Hmm. Is it possible that I'm really just objecting to the Cinderella story tout court?

You certainly can't complain about the cast. Top honors, in my estimate, go to Kathleen Kim as a suitably sparkly Faerie Godmother, who gets some fun coloratura to boot. It also features STEPHANIE FUCKING BLYTHE as the evil (although "evil" might be pushing it here) stepmother, which was actually what prompted me to watch this one in the first place. She gets a few good vamping moments, but again, I feel more could have been made of the character. Alice Coote is good (if overdetermined) as The Prince, and Joyce DiDonato in the title role, fine, but again, this central romance, if you want to call it that, does not overwhelm.

I also think the production didn't really help matters. There's this conceit where the text of the original French story is printed over the background screens, and a few props have big letters on them. This seems like it should be cool in theory--and maybe it is in practice, even--but it feel like a gimmick that just sort of...sits there. Inertly, and you sort of think, well, okay. And? It does not seem to serve the text as well as it could, and nor does the distinctly forced whimsy at the dance, which mainly consists of the women wearing OUTRAGEOUS costumes and the royalty and courtiers doing Silly Walks. I mean...that only goes so far, I feel.

Oh, I don't know, it wasn't painful to sit through or anything, but I strongly suspect that when I get around to it, I will enjoy Rossini's La Cenerentolamore.

Domenico Cimarosa, Il matrimonio segreto (1792)

From an opera buffa throwback to the real thing. This was apparently a big hit back in the day, and it's certainly the only Cimarosa opera you're likely to see these days. Well, maybe "likely" is pushing it. Whatevz.

The idea is that Carolina, daughter of A Rich Guy, has secretly married a household secretary, Paolino, and they don't dare tell him. But the good news is that now Carolina's older sister, Elisetta, is going to be married to a count, and they hope that that's going to make their marriage more acceptable to him. But then, A TWIST!: it turns out that this putative engagement has Complications! And also, Rich Guy's widowed sister Fidalma is secretly in love with Paolino, not knowing that he's already married! It would be useless to say more than this.

The only negative thing I will say is that the ending is entirely too pat for its own good and, let's face it, kind of insulting to Elisetta. And is the Count supposed to be undergoing, like, character development? Because it kind of seems like he is, and yet it just never goes anywhere or is convincing or amounts to anything, so I don't know.

WHATEVER, dude. In spite of whatever quibbles one might have, I've got to say, this kinda fucking owns. Is it Mozart? Not exactly, but you can definitely see the resemblance, and it's bright and spritely and fun. It may not quite have the depth or range of Figaro or Giovanni or even Cosi, but if you like those, you're pretty much definitely going to like this.

Here is a very good, very traditional production from 1986, filled with singers I'd never heard of who do a great job. Amazing how much talent there is out there.

Sergei Prokofiev, Betrothal in a Monastery (1946)

This is interesting, because it's clearly an intentional effort on Prokofiev's part to write in the classic opera buffa mode, like Mozart's Da Ponte collabs. The fact that it takes place in Seville (although it still feels distinctly Russian, at least in this production) seems to be a none-too-subtle nod in this direction.

As such, the plot is a very standard comic-opera thing: Louisa's father Don Jerome wants her to marry a goofy but rich fish merchant, but she's in love with the penniless but noble Don Antonio. Meanwhile her brother, Don Ferdinand, is in love with Clara, who is being kept as a virtual prisoner by her family. Can disguises and false identities save the day? Will everyone end up with the proper partner? And will there be drunken monks to remind you that in spite of its pedigree, this is still a Russian opera? That...you must find out for yourself!

Prokofiev's music is really fun and sometimes mesmerizing. The subject matter may tempt you to compare it to Mozart, which won't do it any favors, but it's still really good. The actual presentation of the material though...well, it's also not exactly Figaro level, which is a bit more a problem. Even in operatic terms, the characters are REALLY not well-delineated, and neither of the romances is convincing. Also, Clara? The woman allegedly being kept as a virtual prisoner? We never SEE her as a prisoner or learn anything about her family, so it's a bit of a fizzle. Don't get me wrong; I still enjoyed it overall. But you can see why it's not as famous as some of its inspirations.

It's a 1998 Mariinsky Theatre production, and as with Sadko, it was impressive. A lot of very extravagant costumes and pageantry that firmly situate it as a Russian thing in spite of the putative setting. The cast was also very good. The highlight for me was Nikolai Gassiev as Don Jerome, making the most of a somewhat limited comic role. Everyone was fine, though, including--a bit of a surprise--a young, pre-international-fame Anna Netrebko as Louisa. I also want to give a shout-out to Vladimir Vaneev as the head monk--not that it's a particularly meaty role, but I was really impressed with him as the father-in-law from Hell in Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk,so I was just glad to see him again.  There was really only one problem here, which wasn't with the production: on that youtube version, after about forty minutes or so, the subtitles become out-of-sync with the audio, appearing too early.  You can still follow it, but it's more annoying than you might think.  It's particularly bad in the last scene; it's no biggie because you certainly know what's happening, but matching specific lines to specific people becomes kind of impossible.  OH WELL.

Anyway, pretty okay. I'll probably watch more Prokofiev.

Carlisle Floyd, Susannah (1955)

Speaking of American operas...well, here's one. One of the most famous, I'd say. It's loosely based on an apocryphal Bible story, transplanted to small-town Appalachia, but that's very loosely. The story goes and turns out entirely differently.

Susannah is the subject of jealousy by the town's wives and lust by the husbands, but she stays kind of apart from them, living with her brother Sam. They'll grab onto any opportunity to ostracize and shame her, until she's raped by the new preacher, Reverend Blitch (whose self-serving remorse afterwards is somewhat stomach-turning); Sam kills the preacher, but a mob comes for her, and although she chases them off with a shotgun, she's obviously completely cut herself off from the community--which, given this community in particular, does not seem like such a bad thing. And that is that, though her sharp rejection of her admirer Little Bat(?) seems needlessly cruel.

Short but potent, and the extremely American folk- and gospel-inflected music is great. I am seriously obsessed with Susannah's aria "The trees on the mountains are cold and bare," which could easily be performed as a regular folk song. The story did seem perhaps a little abbreviated to me. I wondered, in particular: are we supposed to sympathize with Blitch? I really didn't (the main thing that seems to upset him about what he'd done is that Susannah was a virgin--ugh), but I can't help feeling that more drama could be wrung from this than was. Floyd is still around in his nineties, and he's written a dozen operas, but this seems to be the only one anyone thinks about.

I watched this production from Undercroft Opera, which is (was? it's not clear to me whether they still exist) an amateur company meant to give opportunities to people who wouldn't otherwise have them. It's pretty okay. The singers are, basically, amateurs, but perfectly reasonable amateurs. The tenor who plays Sam and the baritone who plays Blitch (the recording does not include credits that would let me identify them by name) are notably better than most, but the real obvious stand-out is Susannah herself. Someone identifies her in the comments section, so I know that the singer's name is Lara Lynn McGill, and she is on a completely different level from the rest of the cast. I'm not saying she'd stand out on the Met stage, but she sounds like a professional in a way that no one else here does. And indeed,she seems to be making a reasonable living from music, as well she should be.

More than anything, though, this sorta whets my appetite to see a REAL performance. This makes you appreciate the way big opera houses are able to cast great singers even in tiny roles.

John Adams, Doctor Atomic (2005)

BOY it's hard to know what to make of this one. I don't think I've ever seen an opera of which it was so hard to know what to make. It takes place in Los Alamos in the days leading up to the Trinity atomic bomb test, mainly centering around J Robert Oppenheimer. The libretto consists mainly, or possibly entirely, of found texts: communiques among scientists, declassified documents, and bits of poetry.

So the score is great, tense and lush. Adams is a very good composer, and if I ever meet him I will shake his hand and tell him so. And yet, I have a lot of the same issues with this that I did with Nixon in China,accentuated. I'd say this first: I'm just not convinced that you can put relentlessly banal text to music and have it really work. It just sounds odd, and this is sort of complicated by me wondering: does opera always sound like this if you know the language? Well, I didn't have the problem with Dido and Aeneas, so maybe it's just when it's this casual, contemporary(ish) stuff. I understand that it's meant to create a cumulative effect, but I'm not sure it does. In addition to the "normal" dialogue, there's a lot of fairly opaque poetry, which honestly doesn't really work any better, albeit in different ways. Some of it comes from Oppenheimer's wife Kitty, and some from a Native American woman who is there for unclear reasons (don't get me wrong; it make sense to include the perspective of someone with long roots in the area, but hmmm). In any case, the singing is not, to my mind, particularly memorable. Nixon in China at least had "The people are the heroes now" and "I speak according to the book;" the only thing here that can approach them is the apocalyptic choral number "At the sight of this"--definitely worth hearing, but enough to carry the whole thing? I don't know.

It seems like it would be difficult to write a text about the development of the atomic bomb without presenting some sort of opinion on the matter, but this sure does the best it's able. Certain doubts are raised by the young physicist Robert Wilson, but mostly the text is just a blank. I think the worst of it is that Oppenheimer himself is just such a moral void. If I complained about the portrayal of Nixon, this is a lot worse. A cursory look at his wikipedia page suggests that the man did in fact feel conflicted about his work, but you sure wouldn't know that from this. He just doesn't seem to have an opinion about the ethical issues here. The opera tries to humanize him through his relationship with Kitty, but in the absence of anything else, that doesn't really contribute much. So he loves his wife. Hurrah. What does he think about this other...stuff? He has a big climactic aria at the end of Act I, "Batter my heart three person'd God," a musical setting of a John Donne sonnet (apparently the real Oppenheimer turned to poetry to deal with the stress). You'd think this would be a big moment to shed light on the character, but it's just...nothing. Or so I felt. God knows Gerald Finley (who created the role) does the best he can in it, but I'm not sure anyone could have done that much.

What I mainly felt watching this was dispirited, not because of the opera itself so much as because it made me think about what it all means: whether Oppenheimer or Edward Teller or anyone else involved was actually a genius per se, there was certainly a collectivegenius here, in the bomb's creation. We, humans, are capable of unbelievable achievements: we're penetrating the very fundamental essence of the universe! That's amazing! And yet...we're only doing it to help us slaughter one another more efficiently. Counterpoint: opera. Sure, but I think these two things are in different categories. But boy, if only people, whenever they're about to go do a shitty thing to other people, would just think, hey, you know, let's just watch some Verdi instead, we'd all be SO much better off. Of course, if that attitude were prevalent, Verdi wouldn't have been inspired to write a lot or all of what he did. So...let's not push this hypothetical too hard. But damn. I feel like my hippie-ish tendencies are becoming more pronounced lately. This government'll do that to you.

Anyway. I realize that this doesn't make it sound as though I liked Doctor Atomic very much, and maybe I didn't. It did get a lot of rapturous reviews, however, so I am reserving final judgment and accepting that it is entirely possible that I am missing something.

Georges Bizet, Les pêcheurs de perles (1863)

Bizet may be the sixth-most-performed opera composer, but that's almost exclusively on the basis of Carmen. Per that list, that's what eighty-six percent of the Bizet performances in 2017-18 were. But probably eighty-six percent of the others were this, with his other seven making up the balance. Anyway, the Met did a production, their first in a century, in 2016.

It's an Orientalist sort of thing taking place in Sri Lanka, Ceylon at the time. There are two men, Nadir and Zurga, the latter now the village chief, friends, who were previously in love with the same woman, Leïla, but swore her off for the sake of their friendship, and where is she now? Well, she's not there, but whoops! She's actually the priestess who's just shown up to protect the village, and Nadir pretty much instantly forsakes this vow to be with her (and she hers--she's not supposed to be having romances), to Zurga's anger and jealousy. What happens next...I won't say here. Although I'm pretty sure it'll come up later on in this review.

Apparently, nobody at the time felt satisfied with the libretto. One of its writers, Eugène Cormon, is quoted on the wikipedia page as saying that if they'd known how good Bizet was, they would've tried harder. I'm not sure that's the sort of thing you'd want to admit as a libretticist, but there you are. I do see their point: the friendship between Nadir and Zurga really needs to be A LOT more developed for the whole thing to work, and in general, the characters aren't really much of anything. Furthermore, the denouement--in which Zurga, having condemned Nadir and Leïla to death, saves them because he realizes that she had saved him when he was younger--would be a lot more dramatically effective if he saved them because of a natural change of heart, rather than this kind of quid pro quo. I mean, and the coincidence is pretty dubious in any case.

Just the same, I liked this. Is it as good as Carmen? Well...no, and there's nothing as instantly iconic as the Habanera and Toreador songs (though Nadir and Zurga's "Au fond du temple saint" duet is justifiably oft-performed), but Bizet was a very good composer and this was a very good score. Furthermore, even if the story doesn't work quite as well as it could have, it still cooks pretty well, particularly in the third act, and particularly particularly in the long confrontation duet between Zurga and Leïla.

Our pechêurs are Matthew Polenzani (HE'S EVERYWHERE!) as Nadir and Mariusz Kwiecien as Zurga, previously seen together in Don Pasquale (well, so we are told, although no actual pearl fishing occurs). They're good; if I like Kwiecien better, it's very likely because he has the only at all dynamic role in the opera. Diana Damrau is Leïla. Now...I've had issues with Damrau in the past. In both Rigolettoand Traviata, I just could not deal with what I perceived as her acting. In situations where she was supposed to be expressing the sublimity of her love, she always looked like she was just simpering to me. Now, I think that might have been a little unfair; the effect she creates on me is what it is, but I may be reacting more to something about her physiognomy than the performance itself per se. Anyway, I liked her better here. She can, at any rate, project defiance well.

This production is a modern-day kind of thing, and it's very well-done. It takes place on a waterfront shantytown, and the people are wearing a mixture of traditional and contemporary clothing that really seems authentic. I've never been to Sri Lanka, but it certainly comports with my experience in Indonesia. There's one scene that takes place in Zurga's office, and there's a campaign poster with his face and text in Tamil script, which I really wanted to know the meaning of. Regardless, it's a great touch, and presumably also a great souvenir for Kwiecien after the run's over. There are also really good water effects here; I know--because there was a little featurette--how they did the opening thing of pearl divers diving deep under, but it's totally seamless looking; you cannot see the wires. How they managed the water effects that appear throughout, though, is less clear to me, and damn, there's a REALLY impressive tidal wave effect that ends Act II. OBJECTIVE CORRELATIVE.

So, yeah. It has problems but I was basically satisfied and now this review is over.

Richard Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (1868)

Any five-hour opera is gonna be a bit of a hard-sell, but making your comedy that long? That takes...well, it takes Richard Wagner, obviously. I really didn't know what to expect from this going in. Wagner has never struck me as a particularly jocose guy, so, I mean, is this going to work? At all?

It's all about sixteenth-century Meistersingers, who had a guild and did events and things. There's a knight named Walther von Stolzing. He's recently met Eve, the daughter of one of these guys, and they fell in love at first sight. But! There's a problem! Which is that her hand in marriage is going to be the prize in a song contest the next day! It's slightly less patriarchal than it sounds, since she's allowed to refuse anyone she doesn't want, but she can't marry outside the guild. So, six of one half dozen of the other. Also, most of them are already married, so they're excluded from the contest. I'm not sure how well-thought-out this idea was. But anyway, Walther, who is a talented musician but untrained, wants to join the guild quick so that he can compete and win Eve. But it's not so easy to get everyone's approval, and also there's an unlikeable Meistersinger, Beckmesser, who wants to woo Eve, though given that she has agency here, this clearly isn't much of a threat. Anyway, Walther wins everyone over in the end and there is general rejoicing, and this synopsis doesn't even mention who's really the main character, Hans Sachs, a real guy,a cobbler and the wisest Meistersinger, who helps to make sure everything works out for everyone. I'm sure I'm the five billionth person to note this, but this is kind of a comic inversion of Tannhäuser: in that, the hero has different sensibilities than the Meistersingers' and therefore is destroyed, but here, the outsider wins out. More evidence for the idea that Wagner himself was divided over this issue.

Well, anyway, no need to worry: he really did have it in him, and this is pretty great. Hard to imagine a five-hour opera feeling fleeter. Very appealing characters, great music, and the whole thing is just really lovable, which is something I never thought I'd say about anything by Wagner. I think what most people would consider the centerpiece is the absolutely great last scene of Act II, in which Beckmesser's efforts to serenade Eve outside her window at night are thwarted by Hans loudly singing while also loudly hammering the soles onto shoes he's making. It doesn't sound that funny when I described it, but I authentically el oh elled several times. Great stuff.

I chose this performance because I wanted to see James Morris as Hans, and I think I made an excellent choice. He gives the character the perfect mix of avuncular affability and wisdom, and he's always a great singer. I listened to an interview with him on the Met podcast, and he said it's his favorite character to play. You can see why. Ben Heppner (last and first seen by me in Fidelio) is very solid as Walther, and as for Karita Mattila as Eve, my initial kneejerk reaction--she's too old to be playing this character!--was quickly obviated by the force of her performance. Thomas Allen is effective as the hapless Beckmesser (I've heard people suggest that he's meant to be an anti-Semitic caricature, but boy do I not see that. It's not at all like Mime in Siegfried, and to make that come across, I feel like you'd have to make a conscious effort). We also have later Met in HD mainstays Matthew Polenzani and René Pape in small roles as Hans' apprentice, David; and Eve's father, Pogner, respectively (although can I just take the opportunity to say that maybe the one thing I didn't like about the opera was David's complaints about Hans inflicting physical violence on him when he screws up. It's meant to be comical, but to me it didn't fit the character and took away a bit from the story. Not a big bit, but a bit). It is a shame that Wagner didn't do more comedy; it seems to have fit him, and it's not so ponderous as some of his other operas.

Anyway, I didn't say this in the last paragraph because it would've kinda sucked the air out of the room, but another thing Morris says in the aforementioned podcast is that he first performed the opera in San Francisco, so he had to fly out from New Jersey. SOP for singers under new contracts was to leave the day before and start rehearsing the next day, but he was new to the role, so he asked if he could come a few weeks early to have more time to prepare. So everyone agreed and he did and...is it at this point super-obvious what the punchline of this seemingly pointless anecdote is? Well, if not: had he gone when he was supposed to have gone, he and his wife and children would have flown on United Airlines Flight 93 on 9/11. So his performance here (in December 2001) is even more a blessing.

Giacomo Puccini, La Rondine (1917)

Here is a Puccini opera that you never hear about. That's my impression, at any rate, and one piece of evidence is that this 2008 production was the first time it was done at the Met since 1936. That's nuts. This isn't some sort of dubious bit of juvenilia; this is mature Puccini. It comes immediately after La fanciulla del West and before Il trittico,which means that in addition to whatever else, it's also Puccini's last completed multi-act opera. That's...something, isn't it? So let's have a look.

Puccini was commissioned to compose an operetta. He wasn't a big fan of the form, but after ascertaining that he didn't need to include spoken dialogue and could basically just write a regular opera, he agreed. But then the War broke out and things were difficult, such that it took a while to produce and wasn't a big success. So there you go.

The story is that there's a high-class courtesan, Magda, who's kept by a rich, older man. Ruggero is a young man from the sticks in Paris for the first time for...reasons. It's not entirely clear. But he meets Magda and when she goes out for a clandestine night on the town, they meet again and fall in love. They go away...somewhere, for some reason, to be together, but when he wants to marry her, she feels constrained by her past and leaves him to go back to her old life, much to his chagrin. Finis.

Okay, so I absolutely loved the first two acts here, in Magda's salon and then in a nightclub. They were sparkling and sophisticated and romantic and fun in every way. Of course, you can't object to Puccini's music either, and this nineteen-twenties production seems to perfectly complement the action. But the third act was...a bit of a mess.  It's a rather violent tonal shift from the first two, and  I have so many questions: why did they feel the need to run off? Where are they, exactly? Why is there a butler? How is it that the "poet" from the first two acts (who at first seemed comic and fun, but is revealed as kind of a douchebag) and his lover, Magda's former maid, show up? What are they there for? And why doesn't Magda evince any surprise to see them? These are questions, and they made the whole thing a bit disorienting. But they're not my main annoyance.

No, the fact is, I just can't deal with this "oh, she can never escape her past" thing. The conceit just strikes me as incredibly sexist, obviously written by a man; maybe she would feel so constrained because of ideals driven into her by the ever-present patriarchy, but I don't think that's the point, and I think that even if we're not supposed to agree with her decision, we're supposed to sort of sympathize with it, and I just can't: maybe I'm guilty of refusing to take the text on its own terms, but given that everything's fine, his family would be happy to see her, and that he's made it totally clear that knowing about her past is not going to bother him, it just annoyed me. I wanted to be swept away by his heartbreak and the general melancholy, but I just kept...not being able to. Unfortunately.

God knows it's still Puccini, and clearly worth seeing, but somehow it was not the unalloyed classic I was hoping for.