An opera house like the Met faces a challenge every time it presents a new production of a warhorse like Bizet’s Carmen. Any new production proves its mettle not upon its premiere, with its gala opening and heavy press promotion, but in its revivals. How well does it stand up to a new cast with minimal rehearsal?
Carrie Cracknell’s so-called “Rodeo Carmen” proved a succès de scandale at its premiere, moving Bizet’s classic story from 19th-century Spain to present-day America. There’s certainly something to the concept – the intersection between narcotics smuggling, police brutality and gendered violence remains painfully relevant in election year America. Roland Horvath’s poignant black and white projections accompany each of the opera’s four preludes and promise an exploration of immigration and border politics, but the rest of Cracknell’s stage direction is nothing more than your standard Carmen with cowboy boots and fringe. While Michael Levine’s sets are impressive, the updated setting hasn’t been thought through – why is the Walmart distribution center armed like a high-security prison? How do Carmen, Don José and Zuniga manage to find each other speeding down the Interstate 10? There are also issues with the basic stagecraft: a massive chain-link fence in Act 1 forces all of the action to a crowded strip at the front of the stage, the flashing neon lights of Act 2 are seizure-inducing, and the constantly rotating bleachers of Act 4 distract from the drama of the final scene.
Every revival rises and falls based on its cast. The Met has fielded a fantastic group of singers. Clémentine Margaine’s Carmen is a known quantity and she brought stylishness and sophistication to the role. Her rich, colourful mezzo has grown in amplitude over the years but a steady diet of Amneris, Eboli and Azucena hasn’t compromised her vocal agility, and she nicely charted Carmen’s development from a lightly flirtatious Habanera to the crackling drama of the final two acts. She was at her best in moments of high drama, singing with haunted intensity and molten tone in the card scene, but she also brought a welcome humour and wit to the part and pulls off fringed denim better than most Americans.
Margaine was nicely partnered by Michael Fabiano, whose combustible stage presence is an ideal fit for Don José. From the start his José was moody and volatile, and one could immediately see how he would pique Carmen’s interest as well as his potential for violent behaviour. His ardent, burnished tenor was thrilling at full throttle and he sounded properly dangerous in the Act 3 finale, but even more impressive was the nuance and delicacy he brought to his duet with Micaëla and his aria which he capped with a spectacular diminuendo B flat.
But this show was stolen by Ailyn Pérez’s Micaëla, who brought a creamy, luxurious sound to the part. It’s a gift of a role for a singer of Pérez’s calibre and it provided her ample opportunity to show off her ravishing pianissimi as well as a newfound steeliness to her voice, which cut through the orchestra at the climax of her aria. Despite her successes in Italian repertoire, Pérez has always sounded most at home in French, caressing the text and proving an effective dramatic foil for Margaine’s Carmen.
Ryan Speedo Green proved the least impressive of the principals, nearly inaudible in the lower passages of Escamillo's big aria. He sounded better elsewhere, with warm resonant tone and silky legato in his final duet with Carmen. He brought the necessary dramatic vigour and charisma to the role and managed to convince, even in the faintly ridiculous bits of stage business he’s saddled with in the final act. Among the smaller roles Sydney Mancasola stood out for her energetic stage presence and ringing high notes as Frasquita, capping a tight, zippy quintet together with Margaine, Briana Hunter, Michael Adams and Frederick Ballentine. Benjamin Taylor was appropriately menacing as Moralès and Wei Wu brought ringing tone to Zuniga, despite unintelligible French. In his long-overdue Met debut, Diego Matheuz opted for swift tempi and transparent textures with an emphasis on the dance rhythms that permeate Bizet’s score.
