Metropolitan Opera House, Lincoln Center, N.Y.; April 3rd, 2012
Massenet’s Manon is a cautionary tale: on her way to a convent, a 15-year-old girl from the provinces suddenly encounters the possibility of riches, glamor, and sex— and her head is turned completely, leading eventually to her ruination. It may be because she is innocent or greedy, or that her sexual awakening happens at exactly the moment when there is no-one to watch over her. She meets a nice young man from a good family and they run away to Paris. Her cousin is a gambler and roué, and while initially pretending to care, eventually realizes that he can profit from arranging for her to take up with a wealthy older man: he becomes, in essence, her pimp.
Laurent Pelly’s production of the opera, new at the Met this season, is a grim affair; except for his costumes— which are black tie and top hats for the men and beautifully stylish gowns in white and variations of pink, violet, and red— the world is gray, cold, and abstract, and all men, save for Des Grieux, are lecherous and all women, when not praying, are prey.
Chantal Thomas is the set designer; the sets’ physical perspective is off. Houses are miniature, pillars in a church are slanted, tables have legs that are shorter at one end than the other, floors are slanted, there are metal ramps for the Cours de la Reine scene, with some yellow lights, what looks like a giant basketball, and the outline of a Ferris wheel in the distance. After a ballet of young girls in white tutus, the dancers are carried away screaming by the lascivious men. And there is a bed in the church— yes, in it— for the St. Sulpice scene. Very convenient for a seduction. Perhaps most grievously, Pelly paints Manon as ripe for the picking from the start: she sings of her wonderment at being away from home for the first time, but it’s not sweet— it’s “World, here I come!” The world is a crooked place, and Manon is going to fit in.
All that having been said, I will add that Massenet’s music, save for that given to Manon and Des Grieux (and the Gambling Scene), is seeming more insubstantial all the time. But with a pair of singers such as the Met is presenting, it is a vocal treat. The production centers around Anna Netrebko, and a more charismatic singer is hard to find. The voice may not be ideal for Manon at this stage of her career— it has developed more weight than some of our heroine’s music can tolerate, and Netrebko is a note-or-so short at the top and she flats on her high Ds— but the sound itself is gorgeous, her involvement supreme, her apparent love of singing and the stage a joy to behold. Despite Pelly’s image of Manon as a selfish girl who gets what she deserves, we can’t help loving Netrebko. And beside her is the splendid Piotr Beczala. What a fine singing actor! The voice is beautiful, the demeanor sincere, the attention to vocal and textual detail winning. And his French is excellent. After Netrebko sang an exquisitely nuanced “Adieu…” in Act 2, Beczala won us over with a sensitive “En fermant les yeux”. And together, in St Sulpice, from pew to bed, they were both stunning and passionate.
The role of Lescaut is both thankless and dull, but baritone Paolo Szot made it seem vital and important, both dramatically and vocally. Christophe Mortagne and Bradley Garvin, as the equally nasty Guillot and De Bretigny, offered vibrant portrayals. David Pittsinger as the Comte Des Grieux, gave a distinguished reading.
Fabio Luisi, in the pit, appeared to be trying to avoid the score’s more cotton-candy leanings (which is certainly in keeping with Pelly’s cynical direction), and this was a blessing. It’s a long evening— four hours— but despite the concept’s lack of appeal, tenor and soprano certainly make it worthwhile. These are voices people will admire in 50 years.
