Carrie Cracknell’s highly publicized new production of Carmen has returned to the Met with a new cast, and the cast is the sole reason why this production is worth seeing. The singing is superb on all levels and the orchestra sensitively conducted by Diego Matheuz richly nuanced and responsive to the singers.
Clémentine Margaine brought cool allure and smoldering sensuality to the role of Carmen as well as an untamable force that burst through her gleaming tones in cascades of striking vocal power. Her luxuriant Habanera could be a study in sophisticated, strategic seductiveness, effortless and creamy, teasing and purposefully restrained, with hints of danger coloring the perfect glistening roundness of her voice. In the Seguidilla, Margaine allowed herself more rawness of sound, especially when she succeeded in getting Don José to free her. The effect of the less traditional high note she released before reprising the Seguidilla theme was primal, like that of a wild force basking in regained freedom—all the more effective in contrast with the overall evenness of her voice. That visceral wildness resurfaced both during “Les tringles des sistres tintaient” and in the ensuing confrontation with Don José as she mocked him for his conformity to rules and sent him back to the barracks. Immobile in the face of presaging doom, Margaine delivered the Card Aria with poise and resignation, and as she wove her phrases toward the climax, she still seemed to emerge triumphant despite the funereal undertones.
This was a Carmen that stared death in the face with the same coolness with which she handled the lust and passions of others. Margaine’s embodiment of the iconic role gave the impression of always being one step removed from her own participation in fate’s game, as though she were both player and observer of what was happening to her and around her. In this respect, Cracknell’s production contributed visually by beginning each act with Carmen’s silhouette behind a white screen and her hand touching that screen as if, conscious of a larger reality, she were attempting to find her way out of her circumstances. It even seemed as though Carmen were aware of the audience itself and longed to be among us watching her own fate unfold, as a perpetually uninvolved, free observer. The final duet with Don José swelled electric and ravishing, a breathtaking confrontation between two vocal powerhouses, with Margaine’s rousing retorts increasing in bravery and defiance, feeding off Michael Fabiano’s fiery, pleading, unhinged outbursts.
If there ever were an ideal combination of desperation, rage, obsessive passion, and romantic tenderness that remained believable to the end without any of those elements degenerating into exaggeration, Michael Fabiano’s Don José was it. Fabiano constructed his character on an intelligent dramatic arc, from shy reluctance to budding infatuation to lovestruck tenderness blended with lust, punctuated by a predisposition to violence revealing itself gradually in physical gestures and ferocious fury. His Flower Song was a show-stopping moment, magnificently sculpted in polished legato and brimming with sweet ardor, melting into breathtaking pianissimi at the end, which then made his descent into jealousy and rage even more terrifying. In his menacing phrases to Carmen, especially “Je te tiens, fille damnée,” it felt as though his engulfing, exciting, ominous sound was redefining the essence of possessive obsession then and there. And the final duet redefined it some more, as Fabiano unleashed supreme emotional force and vocal prowess, continuing to prove why he is one of the most thrilling Don Josés of our time.
Ailyn Pérez was in fine form as Micaëla, displaying refined lyricism, a melted-caramel vocal middle, and silky sweetness overall, showcased in moving phrasing adorned with lovely pianissimi. “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante” glistened and flowed seamlessly, pleading and hopeful, ethereal and vulnerable. She infused her tones with a fierce yet still lovely steeliness in her final attempts to rescue Don José and bring him home. As Escamillo, Ryan Speedo Green exuded dashing movie star appeal. Arriving on stage in a red convertible, he delivered a bold, imaginative Toreador Song, and radiated confident charm when he flirted with Carmen.
The supporting cast was excellent, beginning with Benjamin Taylor as Morales, who, in his very few phrases, made an unforgettable impression thanks to the shining, abundant sonority of his voice. Wei Wu made for an imposing Zuniga. Sydney Mancasola and Briana Hunter brought freshness of voice, youthful playfulness, and compassion to Frasquita and Mercédès, respectively, while Michael Adams as Le Dancaïre and Frederick Ballentine as Le Remendado infused their characters with both virility and whimsy.
This production was written about extensively during its first run at the beginning of the year, which I missed. On a personal note, the night after seeing it, I had a nightmare of a truck with flashing lights chasing me. So, if the purpose of a production is to leave an imprint, this one certainly did. Dreams and subconscious triggers aside, I understand and appreciate the attempt to make opera speak to contemporary audiences and times. These transplants of the plot into modern-day U.S., as has been the trend here, often succeed in illuminating issues and raising thought-provoking questions. But for it to truly work, the transplant needs to happen at a deeper level. It can’t be only skin deep in its connection to the present by employing stereotypical tropes. Those act on the psyche like mindless scrolling through news or social media feeds without pulling the viewer in to the deeper layers and implications of the issues addressed. In this Carmen, it feels like Cracknell is trying to tackle major issues of our time, such as violence against women, labor conditions, smuggling of weapons, by offering random gestures and visuals, often drowning in tedious repetition. Ultimately, this staging felt like the result of scrapping together newspaper titles about hot issues of the day without giving us the full articles. And showing us that inescapable truck from various angles ad nauseam.
Another major point of contention for me was the dance scene. If a director is going to incorporate hip-hop or street dance elements in it, at least he or she could take the time to find out what those elements actually look like instead of throwing together some spastic movements that sometimes resemble seizures. Or was that choreography an accidental commentary on the potential-seizure-inducing flashing lights from the numerous lightsaber-like structures all around the stage background? I have nothing against using flashing-light effects. But when they persist for too long, as they do here, they end up a nuisance that undermines the entire experience.
Objections aside, I still recommend seeing this production for its consummate music-making. This cast is truly brilliant vocally and artistically, the conducting masterful, and the orchestra and chorus resplendent. After all, you can always close your eyes if you need to—as I’ve needed to at certain moments during this performance—and enjoy a purely musical blissful experience.
Carmen runs through May 25 at the Metropolitan Opera.
Top: Clémentine Margaine as Carmen and Michael Fabiano as Don José in Bizet’s Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera – Photo: Nina Wurtzel
