This post is music criticism, non-tax related, so readers looking for such can save their time now. For anyone else, the Metropolitan Opera has a reprise of the 2023 Ivo van Hove production. Briefly, last night showed unsatisfying sets and costumes, some truly fine performances, but ultimately disappointed me.

First, the good news. Ben Bliss’ Otttavio, less nerd-like characterization, great singing (an “Il Mio Tesoro” to remember); Federica Lombardi’s Donna Anna, acrobatic acting; Jannaï Brugger, a presenter at the Laffon Grands in March, a good advertisement for the Lindemann’s young artist program, a presence vocally despite a wardrobe failure of a costume. Hera Hyesang Park’s Zerlina deserves its own sentence; here’s a great star at the edge of enormous success. Big voice, great presence.

Now the bad news. I’ve been a fan of Ryan Speedo Green since 2015, when I saw him as Rochfort in Anna Bolena in Vienna. His last-season Carnegie Hall recital triumph in Mussorgsky’s Songs and Dances of Death reminded me of Sherrill Milnes’ Onegin. But last night he was a half-beat behind Nézet-Séguin, who was having his own issues with Mozart’s score (more about that infra). HIs voice seemed shrouded, his characterization seemed all bully (one wondered how he attracted even a fraction of the Spanish mille é tre). His Champagne Aria made me cringe: this is Giovanni’s moment to sparkle, but there was nothing there beyond the notes, smothered at that. Back to the woodshed. I’m also a Nézet-Séguin fan, but he lost me. The tradition is Mozart was a stickler for expression in his music, but N-S suppressed many of the finest points. He got right that Mozart wanted his allegros played swiftly. In short, too much Nézet-Séguin, not enough Mozart, in one of his most brilliant scores. The Met orchestra is world-class, and deserves better.

The OKs. Commendatore Adam Palka checked all the boxes, as did Leporello Adam Plachetka, whose slow start (a lackluster Catalogue Aria, more catalogue than aria) made me nervous, but finally came alive in Act II.

The sets looked like last season’s Romeo and Juliet recycled; why must the Met play a great scenic opportunity in what looks like a Robert Moses slum clearance housing project?

The staging was unworthy of comment: only the artistry of the performers saved it from the done-to-death film noir fogbank that has enveloped so much of contemporary operatic staging.

Contemporary costumes work for contemporary opera, but Don Giovanni is nothing if not a child of its time; poor Dannaï Brugger, who looks well in period costume, was wearing the sort of 1950s ladies’ suit that came out of a Lane Bryant (of infamous memory) clearance sale. The Giovanni-Leporello clothing swap loses all meaning when both are wearing dress suits. You cannot do grand opera when everyone looks like casual Friday.

The singers saved a disappointing evening.