The spring season at the Met is as changeable as March weather in New York: crisp and brilliant for a day or two, and then suddenly as dismal as Thursday night’s “Faust.”
After the company’s dazzling productions of “Parsifal” and “Traviata” in recent weeks, Des McAnuff’s 2011 staging felt as feeble as Gounod’s title character — in this updated version, a dying atomic scientist who sells his soul for a second chance at youth.
Unlike Faust, though, this revival never came back to life.
The “Jersey Boys” director lined the singers up against a dreary unit set resembling a warehouse fire escape. Drab costumes recalled the cemetery scene in “Our Town.”
In a low-camp lowlight, a ballet of Hiroshima survivors lurched and flailed like backup zombies from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”
A brighter spot was the singing of Alexey Markov as Valentin, brother of Faust’s lover Marguerite. His richly colored baritone soared in his prayer “Avant de quitter,” and he sustained a noble legato in his anguished death scene.
Piotr Beczala’s tenor rang out glamorously in Faust’s music, though the only emotion communicated in his love song “Salut, demeure” was triumph at nailing a difficult high C.
And John Relyea’s bland bass made the satanic messenger Méphistophélès about as diabolical as a middle-school lacrosse coach. He sounded like a superstar, though, next to Marina Poplavskaya’s shattered soprano as Marguerite. She’s an intense, magnetic actress, true. But so is Vanessa Redgrave, and you don’t see her trying to sing at the Met.
The five acts of “Faust,” only about three hours of music, seemed to last all night thanks to Alain Altinoglu’s droopy conducting. The “Jewel Song” never sparkled, and even the swaggering “Soldier’s Chorus” felt dutiful instead of dashing.
The finale of the opera sees the hero damned, but from the very beginning, this “Faust” was from hell.