OPERA REVIEW : Golden Throats at Silver Anniversary

The massive Metropolitan opened its season Monday and, at the same time, celebrated its silver anniversary at Lincoln Center. This wasn’t just another night at the opera.

The Opera House, capacity 3,778, was hopelessly sold out. A box that seats eight cost $25,000--repeat, $25,000--with refreshments and a few social perks included in the tab. The cheapest ticket in the top balcony fetched $50. The folks at home could watch the proceedings on pay-per-view television at the bargain rate of $34.95.

The first-nighters were treated to a show-- show definitely is the right noun--that comprised three separate acts from three disparate works, with stellar operatic personages decorating each fancy set. Near the end of the long evening, 12--count ‘em, 12--surprise guests popped in with a parade of extra arias to enhance the competitive glitter.

This was one of those anything-you-can-sing-I-can-sing-better-or-higher-or-at-least-louder nights.

Placido Domingo came to illuminate the third act of “Otello.”. He was in good voice.

Luciano Pavarotti came to illuminate the last act of “Rigoletto.” He, alas, was in not-so-good voice. His top notes sounded tight and precarious, and he frequently turned his heroic back to the audience for some furtive lozenge-popping or water-sipping. Then, at the final cadence of the last reprise of “La donna e mobile,” he ascended to a crack heard ‘round the world.

Jose Carreras did not come.

Nearing the end of the marathon, when the ball scene from “Die Fledermaus” had evolved into an ecstatic orgy of interpolations, the Pavaringo act took full flight for the first time on an American stage. This historic, earth-shattering event allowed the terminal tenorial rivals to impersonate amiable, mutually accommodating colleagues--as if they were just a couple of nice, regular guys who happen to like to sing.

They clowned amorously as they kissed a bevy of chorine escorts. They sported matching camouflage shawls. Lucky Luciano wore one for his entrance and bestowed another on Pleasant Placido, who eventually passed the sartorial gift to a conveniently located baritonal buddy (Sherrill Milnes), upstaging his fellow tenorissimo in the process.

The multimillion-dollar larynxes fused, after a fashion, in “Ah, Mimi tu piu non torni” from “La Boheme.” The duet found a husky-toned Domingo condescending, as it were, to the baritone line.

Although the judgment may offend any number of fine singers and their vociferous partisans, the greatest hero of the evening turned out to be the one artist who kept his mouth shut: James Levine. He conducted the Met orchestra--possibly the finest pit band in the world--with splendid sweep and astonishing breadth. He observed the numerous stylistic variations at hand with canny flexibility and accompanied the motley crew of soloists with unfailing sensitivity.

One could argue that a lavish, complete performance of a new or, at the very least, rare opera might have befitted this momentous occasion better than the elaborate vocal circus assembled by Levine. One also would have to admit that Levine really knows how to assemble a superior vocal circus.

In the first ring, he placed the denoument of the old-fashioned, romantic “Rigoletto” production staged by Otto Schenk and designed by Zack Brown in 1989. Pavarotti’s indulgent Duke was complemented here by Leo Nucci’s slender but authoritative Rigoletto, Nicolai Ghiaurov’s crusty Sparafucile and Birgitta Svenden’s sexy Maddalena. The revelations came, however, from the Gilda, Cheryl Studer, whose exquisite spinto recalled Zinka Milanov in the famous Toscanini performance of the same scene at Madison Square Garden nearly a half century ago.

In the second ring, Levine placed Act III of Franco Zeffirelli’s naively cinematic vision of “Otello,” first seen here in 1972. Domingo raged appreciatively at the mature but still poignant Desdemona of Mirella Freni, with the ubiquitous Justino Diaz functioning as a muted, lightweight Iago. Diaz, incidentally, was the only principal in this cast who had appeared at the opening of the new Met at Lincoln Center. Twenty-five years ago, he portrayed Antony in Samuel Barber’s “Antony and Cleopatra,” an ill-fated opus about to be revived not by the Met but the Chicago Lyric Opera.

For the third ring, Levine turned to the elaborate turntable devised in 1986 by Otto Schenk and Gunther Schneider-Siemssen for their pretty “Fledermaus.” The oddly polyglot proceedings began normally on this occasion, with the lanky Anne Sofie von Otter delivering Prince Orlofsky’s couplets elegantly, with Hermann Prey prancing suavely and mellifluously through Eisenstein’s amorous routines, with Barbara Kilduff laughing pertly as Adele and Barbara Daniels flouncing formidably as Rosalinde. Soon, however, Johann Strauss’ operetta was abandoned in favor of an engaging orgy of Greatest Hits from other sources.

Projecting Papageno’s feathers in Eisenstein’s tails, Prey proved that time has only mellowed the charm of his Mozartean bird-catcher. Frederica von Stade exuded witty erotic magnetism as Offenbach’s needy Duchess of Gerolstein. Thomas Hampson made a cleverly flamboyant tour de force of Figaro’s “Largo al factotum.” June Anderson splashed with grandiose urgency through the inane coloratura of the polonaising Philine in “Mignon.”

That was just the beginning.

Sherrill Milnes, dubiously introduced as “America’s leading baritone,” sounded a bit strained even in Leonard Bernstein’s ode to Maria. Aprile Millo introduced verismo pathos in “La mamma morta” from “Andrea Chenier.” Feruccio Furlanetto recited Leporello’s catalogue with bluff Latin flair. Kathleen Battle swept on in yards and yards of scarlet to project pin-point prima-donna glitter as Linda di Chamounix.

Samuel Ramey left a sonorously low-brow impression with the banalities of dreaming Don Q’s “Impossible Dream” (one would have preferred Massenet’s Man of la Mancha). Mirella Freni returned for a passionate approximation of Adriana Lecouvreur’s humble rapture. Then, at last, came Pavaringo.

The vocal standards remained reasonably high, although dynamic subtlety and variety of expression were sometime things.

When tedium threatened, an observer with good eyes (or binoculars) could find perverse amusement in studying the faces of the singers serving as onstage audience. It was interesting to watch the veteran Prey while young Hampson sang Rossini’s Sevillian barber--once a Prey specialty--or Anderson trying to project neutral admiration as Battle negotiated “O luce di quest’anima,” or Millo passively mouthing the words as Freni declared herself, via Cilea, a mere handmaiden of the arts.

Incidental intelligence: Reliable sources who watched the festivities on costly television report that musical integrity was compromised by inane chatter, inadequate annotation, missing credits and faulty pronounciation. The operatic experts engaged as hosts for the occasion included NBC news anchor Tom Brokaw and Katie Couric of the “Today” show.