When I asked recently for feedback from readers, frequent commenter Bob Kamman, Esq., facetiously suggested “(M)ore opera reviews. Every Tax Court case is the same, but every Met production is different.” While not quite so obliging as Judge David Gustafson, I am willing to try.

It’s been years since I last saw Eugene Onegin at the Met, but happy memories persist, so I looked forward to last night’s (April 23) performance. There was plenty to like, but a perfect performance is not yet.

In an almost all-Slavic cast, Frenchman Stanislas de Barbeyrac was a stand-out Lenski, great power and presence, and made you believe he was a poet. He dominated the second act, which is quite a feat, as Maria Barakova’s Olga was one to remember. Barakova, who must stand close to two (count ’em, two) meters tall with voice to match (classic Russian iron-throat mezzo), looked ready to beat up both tenor and bass-baritone singlehanded, despite being twice floored during a hyperathletic struggle with her jealous lover.

Lithuania contributed Asmik Grigorian, for which many thanks. An incandescent Tatiana in the badly-staged letter scene, she turned it up in the third act. Likerwise, I do not grasp why Deborah Warner has Iurii Samoilov stagger about the stage in the third act as if he were playing the Flying Dutchman in a full gale.

Speaking of Samoilov, he has a serviceable voice wanting a certain darkening quality for Onegin. He seemed entirely too genial for the role, which needs a Byronesque brooder. For me, Sherrill Milnes had the darkness and brood the role demands, plus of course the voice. It may be the staging; an ultra-physical Onegin isn’t true to the text.

Speaking of staging, using a single set for first and second acts may be easy on the stagehands and the budget, but playing the letter scene other than in Tatiana’s bedroom (as was done in the 1977 production I remember) is like watching from the bleachers a skilled gemcutter at work on the pitcher’s mound in Yankee Stadium. The smallness of the bedroom enlarges the passion and tension of the scene. Tatiana must be trapped in the moment emotionally and physically. Grigorian had to do it all with her voice and body; she could have done with help from the stage setting.

I know the current fashion in operatic staging is to have the singers doing basic infantry training PT while belting away; I find it impressive, really I do, but it might be well to rein it in a wee bit. Tenors and bassos flinging sopranos around takes some of the magic away.

Tony Stevenson was a magical Monsieur Triquet, and the minor roles are well-served. Good to see Richard Bernstein again, even briefly as Zaretski.

Cannot finish with a loud “bravo” to conductor Timur Zangiev. He reached the ultimate degree of what G. B. Shaw described as the goal of an operatic conductor. He got the Met orchestra to play so as to cause concussion of the brain.