OPERA REVIEW : ‘Mlada’: Bolshoi Triumphs With a Rimsky Rarity at Met

After an absence of 16 years, the mighty Bolshoi Opera opened its two-week stand at the Metropolitan Opera House last week with a muddled new production of “Yevgeny Onegin.” It wasn’t a wise choice.

The Muscovites should have opened with “Mlada,” which triumphantly entered the repertory and restored the Bolshoi reputation Friday.

“Mlada”?

It isn’t exactly a household title even in the Soviet Union. Rimsky-Korsakov wrote the sprawling, fascinatingly uneven opus--he called it “a magical opera-ballet”--at a time when Russia was haunted by the earthy mythological past yet enthralled by the mystical Wagnerian future.

The Leningrad premiere in 1892 was not a resounding success, although none less than Tchaikovsky deemed “Mlada,” “something to listen to, something to study.” The Bolshoi Opera attempted its own ill-fated edition a few years later, tried again soon after the 1917 revolution, and then gave up.

The current version received its first performance on Dec. 25, 1988. The Soviet press hailed the uncharacteristic Christmas gift as the “first truly inspired post- glasnost production.” Inspired it is.

Boris Pokrovsky has staged the opera as a multiple allegory, the same plot unfolding simultaneously on several stylistic levels. There are at least three plays within his clever play.

Spinning a fanciful yarn about love and death, selfishness and sacrifice, sorcery and miracles, greed and redemption, high drama and low comedy, the veteran director toys with the formal conventions of the Imperial Theater. At the same delirious time, he dabbles in innocent folkore and fairy-tale narrative, then adds a few layers of symbolist embellishment for the picturesque fun of it.

Valery Levental has provided decors that transform the stage into a churning, ever-changing panorama of pretty, bizarre, ultimately poignant delights. This “Mlada,” far more complex than the libretto would suggest, employs giddy armies of singers, dancers, mimes, dolls and puppets, all of whom perform even the silliest maneuvers with the urgency that springs from unabashed conviction.

What does the Bolshoi “Mlada” look like? Think of those marvelous old Palekh boxes, lacquered treasures decorated with intricately detailed, rainbow-hued scenes of Russian legends. Pokrovsky and Levental, who somehow distorted the basic impulses of “Onegin,” really illuminated the tone and style of Rimsky’s far more elusive fantasy.

They found a sympathetic ally, moreover, in the choreographer Andrei Petrov. He elegantly assimilated Maryinsky classicism for the ethereal components of the piece--Mlada happens to be something of a Petipa Wili--and appropriated fond echoes of 9th-Century Polab dances for the lusty folk rituals.

The staging scheme reinforces every disparate pleasure in the exotic, oddly structured score, whether it involves Wagnerian sensuality, impressionist glow, primitive thump, grotesque twist, ensemble force or heroic cheer. The harmony between stage and pit is perfect.

Aklexander Lazarev, chief conductor of the Bolshoi, is listed in the program as official music director for this production. However, he was too busy in Duisburg, Germany, to lead the American premiere. (His return to the Soviet-export fold is now scheduled for tonight.) In his inexplicable absence, the baton fell to Alexei Stepanov, obviously an enlightened deputy.

Under his crisp and affectionate guidance, the musical tapestry unfolded with grandeur that never precluded wit. Both orchestra and chorus performed with the resonant Bolshoi glory that had been so sadly missed in “Onegin.”

The huge cast on Friday proved that the company still commands a massive roster of compelling singing actors. Russia can still produce sopranos who do not turn shrill under pressure, mezzos who are undaunted by deep descents, and bassos who really sound profondo . What’s more, they have distinct personalities. All is not lost after all.

Makvala Kasrashvili negotiated the fiendish, wide-ranging vocal leaps of the jealous Voislava with rich, luminous, gutsy tone and enacted her convoluted intrigues with irresistibly mischievous ardor. Oleg Kulko, who had been a bleaty Lensky in “Onegin,” looked properly befuddled and sang like a young Russian Siegfried as the lovesick peasant-prince Yaromir.

Galina Borisova snarled and cackled warmly as Morena, the amusing goddess of evil. Gleb Nikolsky growled and bumbled cannily in the caricature ploys of nasty old Mstivoy.

Replacing a presumably indisposed colleague, the hard-working Kulko returned to a somewhat different line-up on Saturday. Here, Irina Udalova introduced a steely-voiced, nicely insinuating Voislava. Nina Gaponova flaunted a devastating gallon-jug contralto as Morena. Boris Morozov boomed blackly as Mstivoy.

On both nights, Nina Ananiashvili, beloved diva of the Bolshoi Ballet, glided radiantly through the willowy arabesques assigned Mlada’s grieving ghost. Alexei Malykhin was her strong partner.

No supertitles telegraphed the plot convolutions to the enthusiastic Lincoln Center audience, but an interesting synopsis in the program booklet offered some useful clues as to what was happening on the busy stage.

This information, for instance, explained the climactic event that causes the ultimate cataclysm:

“Voislava enters to confess her treachery and to beg forgiveness, saying she did it all for the love of Yaromir. He, however, slays her.”

Tenors are like that, even in the quaint city of Retra deep in the ancient, mellifluous land of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Elbe Slav tribes.