Tchaikovsky Gets a Sci-Fi Makeover

Traditionally speaking, a premiere at the Metropolitan Opera is usually a hit-or-miss proposition, with hits such as An American Tragedy and A View from the Bridge and misses like The Great Gatsby. The case of the Met's new production of Tchaikovsky's Mazeppa is an interesting one. It arrived in early March in a co-production with the Mariinsky Theater of St. Petersburg, which previously presented a different production at the Met during a guest residency in 1998. That this 120-year-old opera had to wait so long for a New York premiere seems an unforgivable oversight.

Based on Pushkin's narrative poem, "Poltava," Mazeppa is less known but no less compelling than Tchaikovsky's other Pushkin-based works, Eugene Onegin and The Queen of Spades. Like its source material, Mazeppa tells of the late 17th-century hetman of the Cossacks who conspired with the King of Sweden to lead an insurgency against Peter the Great. While Mazeppa's uprising was ultimately crushed at the battle of Poltava, he became, to some, a hero of Ukrainian nationalism.

In Mazeppa, Tchaikovsky ignores the political dimensions of Pushkin's poem and instead milks it for its dramatic potential. At the core of the opera is the romance between the aging hetman and Maria, daughter of the wealthy Cossack, Kochubey. After Maria defies her father by marrying Mazeppa, Kochubey threatens to expose Mazeppa's dark plans to the Czar, only to have his head cut off by Mazeppa. Maria learns of her husband's dark purposes and goes mad. The opera ends in the wake of the battle of Poltava, with Mazeppa fleeing for his life, while Maria is left to die in the freezing cold.

If Mazeppa is a discovery, than it is a shame that the overly- and ill-conceived production doesn't do it justice. The Mariinsky has imported many of its principle talents, chief among them Maestro Valerie Gergiev, whose fiery temperament fits Tchaikovsky's warm-blooded and searing score like a glove.

Yuri Alexandrov's production, while not as over-the-top as his 2002 production of War and Peace, does have an even larger share of outlandish touches. For this symbol-laden evening, Alexandrov throws whatever he wants onstage: plaster-cast statues that look like action figures, garish golden costumes, rubberized bat-suits with styled pony-tails protruding from their bald heads. Invariably, some of these touches work. Most, however, do not. At its best, this new production looks like some edgy instillation you might encounter at a Chelsea gallery.

George Tsypin's set had some clever touches, but the overwhelming feeling was of being adrift in a kitschy sea of Eurotrash. This was especially true of the first act, with its comic-book-meets-social-realism statues and Persian rugs. There was little sense to make out of the onstage spectacle of Kochubey's feast in Mazeppa's honor, which included a lengthy ballet sequence that drew groans from the audience.

Sergei Gritsai's choreography might have worked had the slew of dancers been better coordinated, and wearing something a trifle less silly than golden tutus and stockings. That said, credit is due to Alexandrov and Tsypin for the horrifying Act 2 finale-Kochubey's execution-which was by far the most gruesome spectacle I've seen on the Met stage.

Vocally, the evening was superb, despite a few glitches from the mostly-Russian cast. As the tragically naive Maria, soprano Olga Guryakova was deep-throated, with a voice that carried fairly well over the four-hour performance. She faltered slightly in a big Act 3 aria and was also somewhat hard to hear when pitted against Putilin's Mazeppa. However, at evening's end, she sounded as clear and fresh at she had at the beginning.

The punishing role of Mazepa was assumed by Nikolai Putilin, a full-bodied and deeply-textured baritone who was equally at home in declaring his love as he was in wreaking horrifying vengeance-an ability which made for a compelling, three-dimensional character. Almost his equal, Paata Burchuladze started off a bit stiff, but soon found his footing ingeniously, delivering a bold, brazen performance that culminated with his deeply affecting "Three Treasures" aria in Act 2.

In the supporting roles, Oleg Balashov as the opera's sole tenor, Andrei, sang powerfully and sympathetically, although, admittedly, he was rather wooden. He did, however, pull through beautifully for his dying duet with Maria, to which he gave an honesty that was lacking from his earlier work.

In the pit, Gergiev gave a forceful account of the endlessly lyrical score. His overture was strident, solid and clear, with suitably clipped playing from the strings. His account of the dramatic Act 3 prelude, which describes the battle of Poltava, was a thrilling dramatic performance in its own right.