AP News, September 25th, 2007
Poor, mad Lucy of Lammermoor had been on a losing streak at the Metropolitan Opera. In recent years, two successive productions of Gaetano Donizetti's bel canto masterpiece were savaged by critics and public alike and quickly discarded.
All that changed as the 2007-08 season opened Monday night, thanks to two women who definitely have their wits about them _ French soprano Natalie Dessay and American theatrical director Mary Zimmerman.
Together they have given the Met a "Lucia di Lammermoor" worth keeping, one that's handsomely traditional and imaginatively provocative at the same time.
Donizetti based his 1835 opera on a novel by Sir Walter Scott that in turn was inspired by a true story from 17th century Scotland: A young woman forced by her family to abandon her sweetheart and marry another apparently stabbed her bridegroom on their wedding night.
Zimmerman has updated the action to Victorian times, when, she reminds us, ghost stories were extremely popular.
In Lucia's first appearance, as she awaits the arrival of her beloved Edgardo, she sings of being haunted by the apparition of a young murdered woman. In most productions, it's taken as a sign that our heroine is unhinged from the start.
But Zimmerman daringly puts the ghost on stage, in a creepily iridescent costume, and makes Lucia's story a warning of the real dangers that lies ahead _ her brother, Enrico, will in fact force her to abandon Edgardo and marry the wealthy Lord Arturo.
Sure enough, in the final scene, when Lucia has succumbed to madness after killing Arturo in their bridal chamber, she herself appears as the apparition and incites the despondent Edgardo to join her in death.
Zimmerman's other notable embellishments include having a wedding photographer pose the bridal party during the famous sextet, creating an ironic contrast between the formal harmony of the portrait and the anger and dismay the characters are expressing in song. And near the end of Lucia's mad scene, a doctor arrives to inject her with a sedative. It eventually quiets her, but not before triggering the cascade of vocal fireworks that ornament the repeat of her final cabaletta, "Spargi d'amaro pianto" ("Spread with bitter tears").
No amount of clever ideas, however, could compensate if the soprano in the title role were less than spectacular. That's where the diminutive Dessay comes in.
Met audiences have heard her previously in comic coloratura roles (Olympia in "Tales of Hoffmann," Zerbinetta in "Ariadne auf Naxos") and two years ago as the tragic heroine of "Romeo et Juliette."
"Lucia" gives her a chance to display all facets of her artistry at once, combining high notes and agility with a voice of mournful expressiveness and acting so spontaneous that every word seems to be coming from her lips as a fresh thought.
At this point in her career, the high D's and E-flats are no longer effortless, but she summons them when she needs to. What she's gained is a fuller sound in the lower register that rings out clearly in the large Met auditorium.
Her mad scene is riveting in part because she conveys frenzy mainly through looks and gestures that seem organically connected to her vocalism. Yes, she rolls down a couple of stairs and lets out one ferocious scream, but much of the time she stands still, plucking obsessively at her bloody bridal veil.
The Met has surrounded her with a strong cast, starting with tenor Marcello Giordani as Edgardo. Baritone Mariusz Kwiecien was a memorably nasty Enrico, pushing his handsome lyric voice to menacing extremes. As Raimondo, Lucia's tutor, bass John Relyea was as sympathetic as the underwritten role permits; debuting tenor Stephen Costello made a fine impression in his few lines as the hapless Arturo.
Zimmerman, making her Met debut, is a Chicago-based artist best known previously in New York for her Tony award-winning production of "Metamorphoses." She brought with her a production team also new to the Met, including Daniel Ostling, whose fluid set designs allowed scene changes within each act to take place without interruption.
Together they have given a grateful Met a production that is neither willfully eccentric, like Francesca Zambello's 1992 coffin-strewn version, nor bleak and downright ugly like Nicolas Joel's effort in 1998.
Met music director James Levine conducted the orchestra in a performance bristling with energy. One noteworthy element was the use of a glass harmonica as called for in the original score, instead of the flute that usually accompanies Lucia's ravings in the made scene.
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