When the Met production was new, I found its cast representative of the vocal decline that had been setting in for a decade or so. That may not be apparent to operagoers much younger than I (almost everybody), and some of it has to do with the vocal conditions of particular singers—the puffing-up of Carreras’ midrange for roles beyond his comfortable reach was taking its toll, and for the Renata Scotto of 1982, Musetta was an undertaking that all concerned should have had the good judgment to avoid. Possibly the Marcellos illustrate the situation most clearly. The Met’s Richard Stilwell was a capable high baritone, best remembered as Pelléas and Billy Budd, and within his voice type he sings an entirely competent Marcello. But a few minutes’ exposure to the vocally potent and dramatically alert Rolando Panerai (Stilwell is sober to the point of stolidity) returns us to the time when the casting of a major baritone voice was expected in this part. I was also taken by the Musetta of Adriana Martino, once the flouncings of her entrance are past—a girl who loves being herself and making the effect she makes, and whose devout sincerity in the last scene is touching. Among the Met singers, only the Colline of James Morris, the Schaunard of Allan Monk, and the literally inimitable Benoit/Alcindoro of Italo Tajo can be said to be vocally equal or superior to their La Scala predecessors. In one of his latterday interviews, Zeffirelli, with a resigned shrug, makes note of the passing of the once reliably renewable Italian singing tradition. There is that, too. His La Scala cast was all-Italian.

On both these videos, the performers raise their games in the late going, and La Bohème makes its most crucial emotional effects despite all the video clumsiness. For me, the two taken together offer fitful reminders of the impact Zeffirelli made when he burst on the operatic world and was considered “revolutionary;” how much of that they can suggest to today’s viewers, I don’t know. But such viewers might find of interest the video of a late (2001) project of Zeffirelli’s. This is an Aïda staged in the tiny opera house of Verdi’s home town, Busseto. It’s  stripped down in some respects (a single Priestess in the Temple Scene is the sole ballet remnant), and is cast with young singers, most of whom would not be at home in a big-house production of this opera. But they are talented and receptive, and in their pursuit of dramatic credibility, in sets and costumes of considerable lavishness in spite of the space constraints, we can see the melding of evocative design with well-considered, thoroughly rehearsed Personenregie, the blending of matured Neorealismo with sensualist aesthetics, that Franco Zeffirelli’s extravagant talents promised, and at times achieved.

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NEXT TIME: Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades is with us again in repertory revival, bringing as its Lisa a new soprano we hope has not been oversold (we have learned to be curious but cautious in these matters), since she will be with us in major assignments in seasons to come. Most of the rest of the cast is new to their roles here, too, as is the conductor, Vassily Petrenko. That’s in three weeks, January 3, 2020. Meanwhile, Happy New Year!