The sum effect of production and staging: a clearly intentional removal from the mythic, the numinous, the classic, the traversal of the human epoch. And an avoidance of drama, an emotional safe zone. A flagrant contradiction of the work’s essence. When a significant artwork is treated this way, the outcome is worse than nothingness—it’s an actual deduction, a subtraction from the world supply of artistic value and humanistic resource. The specific artwork in question is sent back into concealment, dormancy. It’s a kind of flippant vandalism. And sent out to take it on the chin are:

The principals:

Orfeo: In this role (I hope it is unrepresentative), Jamie Barton’s singing bore no resemblance to what I’d been led to expect. The part lies low, venturing only to G on the high end, and only to F in sustained tone; I wasn’t sure what tuning was being used. Her low notes had some room in them, but no intensity. The top ones showed a nice, rounded quality, and sufficient amplitude for this music. But in between, where most of the singing lies, her voice was clear but shallow, wanting in density and unable to fill out the phrases. From the use of straight tone on some attacks and the thinness of her midrange declamation, I had a feeling that she’d been led astray in search of Baroquey style. Physically, she was not a prepossessing presence. But the “direction” put her in such a straitjacket that I couldn’t tell if something in the way of passion and animation might not lie beneath.

Euridice: In the course of an honorable career, Hei-Kyung Hong has done some lovely lyric soprano singing. But that time is past. Although she sang the notes and connected the line, the tone was dry and hollow, the engagement ever-careful, her physical characterization reserved and ladylike.

Amore (Hera Hyesang Park): The sole principal whose singing was a reasonable match for the part. Unfortunately, an unendurable conception of the role, enthusiastically embraced.

There are multiple complete recordings of Orfeo, in all its possible versions and to suit every musical and vocal taste. (Wikipedia has an extensive discography, copiously annotated.) By way of correctives to recent experience, I might call attention to two partial recordings from the pre-performance practice days, which apart from their ponderable virtues give some idea of what can play in a big opera house. One is the very first recording of extended excerpts from the opera (Pathé, Paris,1936). It is in French, takes in most of the solo vocal music, and follows the performance tradition created by Berlioz for contralto Pauline Viardot-Garcia in 1859, which brought Orphée back into the repertory after long quiescence. If your Orpheus ears have been conditioned by recent practice, they will prick up, or perhaps curl, at the vibes given off by these old discs—at the instrumentation, which is analogous to the favors done by Sir Thomas Beecham for Handel (and even mine recoil at the dumpy cymbal clashes in The Dance of the Furies), and at the predominantly gradual tempi adopted by composer/conductor Henri Tomasi and his forces (the Alexei Vlasoff Choir and Symphony Orchestra), further filled out with measured ritardandi as numbers approach their destinations. The reading is very much from the monumental/elegiac school of Gluck interpretation. It must be said, though, that these tempi, though slow, are not slack; that the ritardandi believe in themselves and accomplish their missions; and that the livelier numbers stay in proportion and have some vigor. A world of sound and time is established, and is consistent with itself. It might draw you in.