Now: is this a thrilling, emotionally gripping Tristan? Not except insofar as a sturdy, reliable rendition of the music, a good feel for the lyrical phrase, and rational solutions to potential problems will carry him. This shortfall (of our fondest wishes) is not due solely to the relatively modest size of his voice. It’s due also to its restricted color span, uninformed by tenorial ring in its lower two-thirds, and a reluctance to broaden out into a more open vowel formation that might be a bit riskier, but would also bring more life to the tone and a greater variety of inflectional choice. This is certainly technical, but I suspect is to some degree temperamental, as well (the two are always in intimate congress). Even though he’s photogenic and unencumbered by off-putting facial or bodily stresses, Kaufmann as an actor comes off  better in the theatre than on camera. Just as no extremes of emotion—ecstasy, agony—are to be heard in his voice, so do they not reflect on his face or in his mimetic energy. In addition (as he has spoken of in the past), despite being a modern tenor, he’s perfectly aware of the dramatically preposterous predicaments he’s being led into by the auteurs, predicaments that are not solvable by acting instinct or craft. His admirably sensible solution is to circle the wagons and get the job done while protecting his dignity and his voice. There is no way this side of schizophrenia to separate belief in oneself as an actor from confidence in one’s singing. At an age when most tenors—even greatvoiced ones with solid technique—have shown unmistakeable signs of unraveling, Jonas Kaufmann can sing an uncut Tristan and stay in good form. He is the only principal in this group to consistently display steady tone on a well-guided line.

I didn’t see the Tristan that Stuart Skelton sang at the Met a while back, but this performance is a major improvement on my previous experiences of his work (see Goerne, Van Zweden, “Walküre,” 2/23/18, and Devlin in the Details; Singing THE MOOR While White, 1/18/19), and stay aware, as I try to do, that we’ve gone from audio recording to live performance to video). And this is the place to note that Stone works well with his actors, and has an impact on them. The acting he elicits from them is of a kind that suits his overwritten narrative, an insightful portrayal of modern everyday life. Thus, the behavior at the Act 1 party is entirely credible, as is the miming of the interjected couples in Act 2, and of all the denizens of the Métro in Act 3. In passages of close exchange between principals, there is often the feel of genuine contact and deep but constrained emotion—both Skelton and Stemme establish this after the drinking of the Liebestrank in Act 1, for instance, and Stemme is eloquent in her contemplation of the dying Tristan after her entrance in Act 3, though the spell is broken when she begins to sing. Tristan’s efforts to explain his journey to the uncomprehending Kurwenal, and then his dismissal of him as incapable of understanding (“Dass kannst du nicht leiden”), are made specific and strong, and thus persuasive. Skelton even keeps a straight face and fierce concentration when made to sing “dieses Licht!” while staring into one of the lamps atop a table in Act 2. (Suggestion, though: until he sheds some poundage, it’s a bad move to remove the jacket, and a worse one to hitch up the pants from the rear. Male bellies hanging out over belts are features of the anti-idealistic schlubbiness in both these productions.) Skelton’s physical acting in Act 3 is most impressive. Here, the illusion of the subway car on a seemingly endless journey marked by temporary destinations of “Land und Leute” (the ship sighted at the Belleville stop; “O, diese Sonne!” at Goncourt, “Kurwenal, ein zweites Schiff!” at République, etc.) does capture some of the feel of Tristan’s final journey. Throughout, Skelton had me actually believing in Tristan’s physical state.