Fighting to Stay On the Met's Stage

It is difficult-but not impossible-to create a sense of intimacy at the Metropolitan Opera, the largest opera house on earth. This difficulty makes performing works that are of a chamber-like nature challenging. Some directors and set designers have worked out their own solutions to the problems posed by such a vast stage area.

One of the best is Mark Lamos' 1997 production, with sets by Robert Israel, of Berg's Wozzeck, a minimal and abstract staging that creates the intimacy that the introverted drama and psychologically suggestive score demand. Another approach is represented by Otto Schenk's production of Bergs's Lulu that utilizes the full and vast dimensions of the stage to marvelous effect. It succeeds in turning Lulu-an opera riddled with violence, perversity, and excess-into nothing less than an epic.

John Copley's stiff and stilted 1988 production of Handel's most popular opera Giulio Cesare, currently in performance at the Metropolitan Opera, is a benchmark of how not to present chamber opera. Unlike Lamos' Wozzeck, it does not aim to preserve the intimacy of the work. Unlike Schenk's Lulu, its gargantuan set is too poorly deployed, and employed, to successfully re-imagine the work as epic. This is all the more a pity, since the Met has assembled a dazzling Anglo-American cast.

There was much musical beauty and vocal virtuosity in this antiquated landscape . Opera seria, the genre of Handel's operas, is a string of virtuoso arias connected by recitatives, or lyrical passages, that advance the plot. Though the arias themselves are static outpourings of individual emotions, they constitute the dramatic backbone of the opera. In other words, these completely interior moments are the fulcrum of the opera, similar to Shakespeare's monologues. One of the effects of this is that contingencies of plot are downplayed, individual psychologies are heightened, and the emphasis is placed on the heroic and noble sentiments of larger-than-life figures. In other words, opera seria really isn't about plot at all.

Handel spreads his exquisite vocal writing to all of the principle cast members, but to none more so that Cleopatra (Ruth Ann Swenson). In her eight solo arias and love duet, Cleopatra expresses a wide range of emotions-love, fear, and turmoil-matched by dynamic and demanding music.

Swenson, who recently underwent treatment for breast cancer, did sweet justice to her demanding and complex role. At 47 years old, her voice has lost little of its youthful timbre and agility. One highlight was her Act 2 aria "V'adoro pupille," which Swenson fashioned into a bittersweet plaint that fused the dramatic and lyric sides of her voice. And she seemed every bit the prima donna while navigating the coloratura runs of "Da Tempeste."

Swenson has been singing at the Met for over 15 years, in a diverse repertoire. Cleopatra is her second role this season after Marguerite in Faust. But her future at the Met seems uncertain. Earlier this month, Swenson told the New York Times that she felt Peter Gelb, the Met's new general manager, had it out for her.

Recently, four of her performances as Violetta in next season's Traviata were given to Renée Fleming, a soprano with far more star power than Swenson. Swenson told the Times that she suspected that her age and body type were of greater concern to Gelb than her vocal abilities. More than anything, this Cesare was a strongly argued case for not giving Swenson the boot.

The American countertenor David Daniels is the first man ever to sing the demanding title role at the Met. He looked highly uncomfortable in his lavish robes and armor. Thankfully, however, these constraining garbs did not affect his vocal performance.

He sang forcefully and robustly, his sizable frame often quivering along with his voice during lengthy virtuosic runs. His sustained trills were impressive during the fiery "Al lampo dell'armi," even if ornamentation was kept to a minimum. Another highlight was the glorious Act 1 aria "Va, tacito," in which Caesar's cunning and shrewdness is figured musically by a pulsing French horn accompaniment.

The other principles were equally impressive, especially the feisty Sextus of Alice Coote and the plaintive Cornelia of Patricia Bardon, making an impressive Met debut. Though individually formidable, they brought an almost Straussian richness of emotion and tenderness to their melancholy duet "Son nata a lagrimar," with which the first act concludes.

In the pit, Harry Bicket, a British early music expert, led a spirited and smooth account of the famous score and even played harpsichord for the continuo. His measured and lively approach made him a much better friend to Handel than Copley, whose embalmed production detracted from, but could not altogether destroy, the evening's many musical riches.