Pleasing, if not quite magical, ‘Flute’

Magic isn’t always called for in “The Magic Flute.” It is not uncommon for an inventive director to ignore the opera’s obscure Masonic symbolism and fairy tale setting in favor of something more human. But if a magician is wanted, Julie Taymor might seem like the best possible choice. Not only does she have a flair for enchanting stagecraft, but as “The Lion King” has proved, she has one for box-office magic as well.

With its new production of Mozart’s beloved opera, the Metropolitan Opera gets both. Despite few unconditionally rapturous reviews, the theater had little problem filling its roughly 4,000 seats for the second performance Monday night (a problem it does encounter more than it likes these days). And it had little problem filling some 8,000 eyes with Taymor’s dazzling visual imagery. George Tsypin’s translucent set is a thing of beauty as well.

The ears don’t fare too badly either. James Levine conducts an exquisite performance. The singers are mostly satisfactory. Even Mark Dendy’s choreography is a step above the usual opera variety.

So if it looks good, sounds good, has both a popular and a sophisticated touch (which can also describe the opera itself), what’s not to like? Nothing, perhaps.

Still, better than average is not quite enough when magic is called for. Taymor and the Met have few surprises to offer. This production is the apotheosis of what works, of what has worked before. While magic, of course, is the art of astonishment.

“Lion King” fans won’t be disappointed by the fanciful puppets Taymor has designed with Michael Curry. Once more there are large, billowing, dancing beasts, charmed by Tamino’s “magic flute.” The opera opens with a slithering dragon floating onstage. Taymor is a master of masks. The three Ladies who attend the Queen of the Night, faces darkened, carry bobbing illuminated heads. Taymor’s costumes are uneven, but she comes up with winners with her balletic birds on stilts and a chorus costumed in robes that jut out at bold angles.

Nor has the director lost her talent for the occasional coup de theatre. The three Boys, wearing white and sporting knee-length white beards, lead Tamino and Papageno to the Temple of Sarastro and the start of their adventures while riding a large bird -- the effect a bit corny but nonetheless captivating. The fluttering wildfowl on poles that surround birdman Papageno couldn’t work better. Two huge figures onstage for the trial by fire, their faces flames, are memorable.

Yet such trademark Taymor tricks as these have become familiar and make it feel as though she and the Met are mostly interested in giving audiences what they want rather than trying something new.

In all fairness, Taymor’s “Flute” is based on a production she did some years ago in Florence, Italy. And at the Met she has had to cope with the problem of scale. She is saddled with a big house, a big stage and a big company that puts on six performances a week. That works to her advantage with the large puppets. But she gets fussy in her impulse to fill voluminous space with symbols, and she all but gives up when trying to direct standard-issue opera singers.

Tsypin’s set consists of three revolving transparent panels. They can serve as backdrop or frame a smaller stage -- one has a triangular opening in the center, one a square and one a circle. Masonic symbols projected on the backdrop come and go. Donald Holder’s lighting design is complex. At one point, the dotted night sky is projected on the Queen of the Night’s gown and its accompanying flag-like extensions.

Yet the singers do little to bring any of this to life. The visual scale overwhelms the human one. In other circumstances, an opera lover might be delighted to encounter a Tamino with so solid, ringing and secure a tenor as Matthew Polenzani’s or to hear Pamina sung with the rich, alluring sound of Dorothea Roschmann. But this stolid pair bring little theatrically to the party. Like Alice, they appear to have wandered into a Wonderland without a clue as to where they are.

Rodion Pogossov is the outgoing Papageno, too outgoing by half. If Pamina and Tamino seem more appropriate for a provincial German production, his alternate universe is closer to television sitcom. Kwangchul Youn’s Sarastro is dutiful, not imposing. The chorus and singers in smaller roles follow orders, Taymor’s and Levine’s.

Levine’s conducting straddles both worlds, underscoring Taymor’s sense of scale while still finding the essence of Mozartean warmth and tenderness. As rumors continue about the state of his health, about the only indication Monday of diminished strength from a condition with some symptoms of Parkinson’s disease was that he conducted while seated. But he led a performance that was entirely engaged. He coaxed an abundance of marvelous nuance and detail from the superb Met Orchestra while still maintaining a grand shape and plenty of vigor. That was the real surprise, the real magic of the evening.