Franco Zeffirelli’s gaudy, extravagant Turandot remains one of the Met’s biggest sells, even 37 years after its premiere. Such is the power of its gargantuan sets that it’s often a vehicle for quickly assembled, lazily cast revivals. The latest revival, however, is uncommonly well cast – certainly the most solidly sung revival in years – and with several major house debuts is worth catching.
It’s to the great credit of Ukrainian conductor Oksana Lyniv that she never allowed Puccini’s score to be dwarfed by Zeffirelli’s staging. Zeffirelli’s more-is-more approach reaches its absolute pinnacle with this production – the stage drips with gold, ornate palaces slide in and out of view, and the stage is so packed with acrobats, ribbon dancers and lion dancers that it can be challenging to find the singers. But Lyniv’s symphonic conducting put the focus firmly on the score, balancing transparency and energy with attention to detail – I’ve rarely heard the colour and dissonance in Puccini’s orchestration come through so clearly. Top marks, as well, to the Met Orchestra and Chorus, shifting between ferocity, bombast and sweetness with ease.
Lyniv was well attuned to the needs of her cast, achieving a good blend between soloists and orchestra, though her big-voiced leads would have managed under any circumstances. Making her Met debut, Elena Pankratova is perhaps the most solidly sung Turandot in years. It’s a rich, velvety sound, with rock-solid high Cs and a warm lower register. She also brought a welcome nuance to the role, shading her vocal colour to enhance the text. After a tentative “In questa reggia”, the riddle scene found her on thrilling form, riding ensembles with authority. She’s not the most compelling stage presence and I missed a sense of urgency in her delivery of the text, but there’s no denying she’s a major exponent of this fearsome role.
She was well matched by SeokJong Baek’s Calaf, marking his first lead role at the Met. Baek made the transition from baritone to tenor in a few years ago, and his dark, ardent sound is a lovely fit for Puccini’s tenor roles. If his high notes don’t ring out into the auditorium as much as one would desire, they’re seamlessly integrated into the rest of his voice, and it was a relief to hear “Nessun dorma” as poetry rather than as shameless showboating. Baek and Pankratova were at their best in the Act 2 finale, though they weren’t helped by the acoustics of Zeffirelli’s massive, open set.
No such audibility problems for Aleksandra Kurzak’s Liù, whose lyric soprano projected effortlessly into the auditorium. Kurzak has established herself as an unexpected Puccini star at the Met – she alternates these performances with Madama Butterfly, and returns next season as Tosca. Among these roles, Liù is the best fit for Kurzak, who brought girlish tone, sympathetic presence and beautifully floated high notes. More importantly, she understands the Italian idiom perfectly, and her use of portamenti recalled the great sopranos of the past. Given the brevity of the role, she didn’t need to pace herself as carefully as she does with Butterfly or Tosca, and her death scene found her on blazing form. She was by far the best actor in the cast, touching in her interactions with Vitalij Kowaljow’s Timur. Kowaljow’s rich, sonorous bass projected majesty, and his grief at Liù’s death was moving without sliding into melodrama. There were also standout contributions from Le Bu as a booming, resonant Mandarin and Joo Won Kang’s Ping, who anchored the opening of Act 2 with plaintive tone and judicious rubati.
