Steve Martin was wrong.

Comedy is in fact pretty, at least when it's done at the Metropolitan Opera lately. Donizetti's Don Pasquale, the closing salvo of the Volpe regime, was a popular success largely because of the magnetism of its principals, dishy soprano Anna Netrebko and boyish tenor Juan Diego Flórez. Physical allure also plays a part in the company's new production of Il Barbiere di Siviglia, which stars citywide poster boy Flórez alongside another dishy soprano, Diana Damrau, with Swedish barihunk Peter Mattei added to the mix. These are very attractive players, who also made very attractive sounds.

I'm guessing that Monday night's performance was more settled and better balanced than the Friday night premiere, because I didn't detect any of the insecurities that both Tony Tommasini (in his New York Times review) and Patrick J. Smith (in a review on the subscriber-only MusicalAmerica.com) reported of Flórez's singing in the prima. Here, his voice was a thread of pure spun gold: pitch perfect, and mellow even in his most strenuous passages. I agree with Tommasini's assessment that Almaviva's long soliloquy near the end did seize up the finale's momentum, but when confronted with vocalizing so vivid and heroic, it seems somewhat pointless to complain: grandstanding is certainly native to this idiom. Flórez's acting was also far more mobile and committed here than the milquetoast presence he offered in Pasquale.

Likewise, Damrau's pinpoint-accurate coloratura provided an uncorkable flow of electricity. Here was a Rosina whose iron will was evident even in captivity; you could believe it when the housekeeper Berta deems her "insane" (at least according to the Met's translation). But the evening's true rock star was Mattei, whose Figaro was a smoldering presence with an Elvis-like swagger, frequently accompanied by a gaggle of groupies. The barber's boasts seemed unusually potent when attended by a fawning entourage; more importantly, Mattei sang with dexterity and a rich tone that filled the room, and acted with a lithe athleticism that riveted attention even when he was tiptoeing through the scenery.

John Del Carlo's blustering Dr. Bartolo was a stuffy tyrant who richly deserved his comeuppance -- but how welcome it was to see this managed without the pitch-black, soul-sucking cruelty of that aforementioned Pasquale. Samuel Ramey played Don Basilio with the same comedic instincts that made his Leporello (opposite Gerald Finley's Don Giovanni in 2005) so memorable. As the wheezing Berta, Wendy White once again confirmed her status as one of the Met's most valuable character actors. And Rob Besserer, in the non-singing role of Ambrogio, Dr. Bartolo's manservant, stole scene after scene with his caustic narcolepsy.

Credit for these alert, genuinely funny performances is surely due in some part to director Bartlett Sher. The evening's other major innovation, the walkway that extended around the pit, proved a mixed blessing: Rossini's intricate mix of voices was superbly projected, and the singers were afforded ample opportunity to sell their goods to an audience at close range. But the orchestra sounded slightly muffled, especially during the overture. The percussion section, to which I always pay special attention, didn't always keep up with conductor Maurizio Benini's springy conception; otherwise, the ensemble lived up to its usual high standard.

Contrary to the mass of critical opinion, I found designer Michael Yeargan's spare sets -- mostly orange trees and moveable doorways manipulated by shadowy cavaliers (much as Anthony Minghella enlisted ninjas to shuffle room dividers in his Madama Butterfly) -- highly attractive. Yeargan sketched settings loosely but succinctly, leaving much to the imagination. (This was also true of Sher and Yeargan's elegant musical, The Light in the Piazza.)

That said, I'm completely in sync with a point Justin Davidson made in his Newsday review: With settings this sparse, the production is going to live and die by the performers who animate it. In this, the Met did well on Monday night, and there's every reason to suspect the same will be true when Joyce DiDonato dons Rosina's wild wig next spring. But unlike the company's usual best sellers -- Zeffirelli's various eye-popping orgies, the non-stop pachinko machine of Julie Taymor's Magic Flute (and maybe Minghella's Butterfly), all of which might tolerate all comers -- the fate of this particular Barbiere seems to be completely beholden to the vocal talent and personal charisma of the singers who inhabit it.

Playlist:

Gioacchino Rossini - Il Barbiere di Siviglia - Maria Callas, Luigi Alva, Tito Gobbi; Chorus and Orchestra of La Scala, Milan/Carlo Maria Giulini (Opera d'Oro)

Kaija Saariaho - Maa - Mikko-Ville Luolajan, Tuula Riisalo, Lea Pekkala, Eva Tigerstedt, Pauliina Ahola, Jaana Kärkkäinen, Tapio Aaltonen, Juhani Hapuli, Juhani Liimatainen, Tapio Tuomela (Ondine)

Felix Mendelssohn - Violin Concerto in E minor; Max Bruch - Romance in F for viola and orchestra; Violin Concerto No. 1 - Janine Jansen, Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra/Riccardo Chailly (Decca; forthcoming release)

Comments

[Maury D'Annato]

"nonstop pachinko machine" does kind of sum up my mixed feelings about The Lion Flute.