Metropolitan Opera House, Lincoln Center, N.Y.; October 1, 2012
The new season at the Metropolitan Opera has opened with an easy-going, crowd-pleasing opera and studded it with a fine cast. L’elisir d’amore is Donizetti at his most charismatic and the opera is incredibly straightforward: Nemorino, a not-very-bright country peasant, adores Adina, who is socially, intellectually and financially above him. An army sergeant, Belcore, arrives in town and Adina seems to fall for him. When a traveling quack, Doctor Dulcamara, shows up, Nemorino buys an “elixir of love” from him to lure Adina; the “elixir” is really cheap wine, and a tipsy, artificially confident Nemorino woos Adina, almost losing her entirely in the process. But she realizes that she has always loved him for his sweetness, honesty and charm, and all ends happily.
This is an opera without a subtext – no interpretation is needed. Well, director Bartlett Sher has decided that it isn’t as lighthearted as all that. He sees Nemorino as a sort of Tuscan Hoffmann (from the “Tales”) or Werther; he arrives on staging glumly jotting things down in a notebook. Forget that later in the opera he must sign his name with an “X” because he is illiterate (this is made clear); forget that he’s a sweet, shy milquetoast as well: he practically stalks Adina.
Why mess with such a work? Granted, it seemed a bit light for a Met opening night, but opting for a misinterpretation of the work is counter-productive: While it isn’t a riotously funny opera filled with slapstick, Sher’s decision to update it a few years, placing it politically in the midst of Italy’s fight for independence from the Austrians, makes about as much sense as putting Bohème on a country estate in Darien, Connecticut and making the cast a bunch of trust-fund kids, one of whom has a bad cough. It turns Belcore and his soldiers – apparently Austrians – into bullying villains. It doesn’t work. And who would care, given the characters’ personalities and the opera’s plot? None of this ruins the opera; it’s simply superfluous.
The physical production is fine – certainly better than the riot of nauseating pastels that was scrapped for this occasion. Michael Yeargan’s sets present a lovely, rural landscape and a homey piazza and Catherine Zuber’s costumes offer us debonair soldiers in bright blue and soft-toned cuteness for the chorus. I’m not sure why Adina wears a top hat: to protect her from the Tuscan sun? Who wears a top hat in the countryside in 1836 Italy?
But musically, what a joy the performance turns out to be! These will probably be Anna Netrebko’s final forays into the “ina” roles (i.e: soubrettes); her stunning voice is now darker and plumier. But it is in great shape, rolling across the footlights into the house, with big, secure high notes, the best coloratura she’s ever presented at the Met, and oodles of personality. A sheer joy. Tenor Matthew Polenzani has been up-and-coming for so long that it’s good to report that he’s here: His Nemorino, albeit, as mentioned, oddly directed, is a paradigm of smooth legato, generous tone, subtle shadings and utter charm. Ambrogio Maestri, a giant of a man, sings Dulcamara with a huge voice (baritone, not bass) and fine comic timing, particularly after a far too loud entrance. Marius Kwiechen, after an unfocused start, is a marvelous, fluent Belcore despite having to act like a thug. Anne-Carolyn Bird’s Gianetta is shrill enough to warrant mention.
Conductor Maurizio Benini is very much in his element here and leads with a clear love of bel canto, letting the winds toodle away enchantingly and keeping Donizetti’s rhythms bouncing along. There’s no doubt that the Met has a hit on its hands; let’s hope that it soon tones down the politics that Sher has plugged into it.
