Traditional production pleases, but does not overwhelm.

The Franco Zeffirelli recipe for a successful evening of opera includes the following:

1. A traditional set blown up on a monstrous scale.
2. Instantly pleasing, pretty to look at, but never hard to digest or experimental. Nothing really ‘created’, just exploited.
3. Resembling Revue or old Busby Berkley films, his productions invite too much applause, sometimes interfering with the music.

All three of these ingredients were evident last night during the Met’s 1,215^th performance of La Bohème, at least a few hundred of which have been of this Zeffirelli production, dating from 1981. I do not mean to say it was not an enjoyable evening, but after looking at the sets for a couple minutes I found more pleasure in closing my eyes and listening. As opulent as the stage was, what was confusing was where to direct my focus. In the Act II street scene with over a hundred people on stage, attention drifted much too often away from the music and to a “Where’s Waldo?” search for the soloists. The Act III snow set was pretty and simple, suiting the music nicely, but was also very darkly lit, covering up the individual performances. Acts I and IV were set in a garret, successfully representing the little space and possessions of a bohemian life, and placed in front of a hazy backdrop of industrial Paris. These two Acts were the most palatable- I felt capable of digesting the visual without loosing concentration on the music. Even though La Bohème is detail specific in terms of its settings, audiences would be refreshed by a minimalist production of this opera. Stripping the template away is a good idea every once in a while.

When they sang at their best, the soprano Anna Netrebko and the tenor Piotr Beczala were ravishing and full of emotion. Mr. Beczala’s passionate singing of the Act I aria “Che gelida mania” prompted loud ‘bravos!’ from the audience, and Ms. Netrebko’s dark and silky toned rendition of “Mi chiamano Mimi” stood out for its sensual rubato and elongated phrases. The off-stage finale of Act I (“O soave fanciulla”) was just as beautiful as any legendary recording out there. Ruth Ann Swenson was a little horse in her top register, but nonetheless she sang with conviction.

This powerhouse singing, unfortunately, was not consistent. There was no drastic drop in quality, but the soloists often took too much liberty with time, becoming too detached from the orchestra. Mr. Beczala did not sing with the same volume or fierceness during the last act as he did in the first, and Ms. Netrebko was sometimes in her own little world. The conductor, Marco Armiliato led a nuanced performance, although I thought the opera’s finale could have used more ferocity and dynamics.

At the end I left very relaxed and happy. Besides total conviction, which makes me go back to the Thomas Beecham recording time and time again, the musicianship tonight was strong. What I missed, and what has made newer productions this season turn out a success, was the director/conductor collaboration. If Maestro Armiliato and Mr. Zeffirelli had created a production together, there would have been many more magical moments on stage and in the music. Instead, the Met keeps using the same antiquated 30-year-old production. In the end, the evening was run-of-the-mill. Exiting the theatre, an audience member commented to me about how “lovely” the opera was. I simply smiled in agreement. What I really wanted to say is that you can find “lovely” anywhere. She should have been exiting the theatre in tears.