• Cendrillon (Met Live)

6/3/18 (Sun), Tokyo

Massenet’s utterly charming 1899 French take on the Cinderella story, making an overdue debut at the Met in a production by Laurent Pelly. While not as memorable musically as Rossini’s Cinderella opera Cenerentola, it is more whimsical, magical and fun. I had higher hopes for the score after the supremely melodic ballet version of Manon at the ROH just several weeks earlier, but that was a piece created long after Massenet’s death and stitched together from various of his works, presumably taking all the good parts. The only truly impressive musical moments this time were the second-half love duet and the fairy godmother’s vocal acrobatics. Even so, the virtues of the show came through in spades, especially in this light-hearted production. It’s strange that it took so long for the Met to get to this gem, especially as this is a ready-made production that has been around since 2006 with the same Cinderella; it shouldn’t have taken 12 years to decide on this, much less nearly 120 years.

In this version, Cinderella’s father is still around, having married an overbearing countess following his first wife’s death in hopes of improving his social standing. Unfortunately he is totally cowed by his domineering wife, who has little interest other than the marriage prospects of her own sniffy daughters. She treats her stepdaughter, known here as Lucette, with over-the-top disdain. The story basically follows the classic tale thereafter with a comic touch – the magic, the ball, the glass slipper, etc. – until the romantic second act, where Lucette and the Prince, lured by the fairy godmother into a forest, sing longingly for the other, each unaware of the other’s presence. In the end, as all the women troop to the palace to be fitted for the shoe, Lucette appears triumphantly in her ball gown, and all ends happily. A few slip-ups aside – like what happened to the glass slipper that Lucette has so carefully set aside – the text is witty and to-the-point, with a healthy sense of fun. I wish more operas were like this. (An aside: one character, boasting of the foreign representatives at the ball, mentioned Japan alongside France’s then-colonies Cambodia and Lebanon, a reminder of the Japonisme boom that was at its height at the time of its writing.)

Joyce DiDonato is endearingly innocent, a perfect Cinderella. I can see why she championed the show, which fits her like that glass slipper. She evidently also sings Centenerola, and I’d love to see her in that as well. Alice Coote is good enough in the pants role of Prince Charming, but why did they need two mezzos? I would have appreciated some contrast; I guess a tenor is (sadly) impossible with this music, but at least they could have found a soprano. That’s the show’s biggest structural weakness musically. Laurent Naouri was the show’s best actor as the put-upon father in both his henpecked self and fleeting moment of courage, Stephanie Blythe was hilarious in a scene-chewing performance as the larger-than-life (in every way) wicked stepmother, and Kathleen Kim was a fantastic coloratura fairy godmother. The cast, also including the fantastically hourglass-shaped stepsisters, couldn’t be bettered. They all looked to be having fun with their roles, which was infectious.

The biggest star of the show, though, was the wild costumes, especially the uproarious concoctions for the female suitors, designed unusually by the director himself. One outlandish dress followed another, all in red: the chicken dress was my favorite, but there was plenty of competition for the Ru Paul Award — I can easily see a drag version of this scene. The procession at the ball as the women presented themselves to the prince was adeptly presented, and was cleverly repeated toward the end when the women each return to try on the glass slipper, hilariously bobbing up and down across the stage wearing one shoe. Cinderella’s more typical white dress was resplendent among the sea of red. The costumes alone were worth the price of admission.

The simple set was composed of huge walls of storybook pages with French text (presumably telling the Cinderella story) scrawled in huge lettering. The walls opened and closed when needed and also had smaller doors within serving for entrances and exits. Aside from the odd bit of scenery – Cinderella’s splendid horse-drawn fairy carriage was a particular joy – the presentation was beautifully minimalist, a surprise for an opera on this scale. The director filled the stage mainly with servants, suitors and other characters in non-stop madness. The only lapse was a weird presentation of rooftops in the second half in what should have been a forest – I didn’t even know what it was supposed to be until I looked it up later. Fortunately that scene also happened to have the show’s most attractive music, which made it tolerable.

I hardly came out singing the score, but the music worked in context, which is much more important. The witty plot was well constructed and the characters a delight. I wish the Met did more operas like this: sheer entertainment, no message, no avant garde interpretation, flawless cast. Bravissimo.