Among the singers trapped in this tacky funhouse, the most presentable performance was that of the Susanna, Lucy Crowe. Her voice is a modest one for the part, and is so arranged that while she does have some connection to the lower register, the greater part of her range partakes of that slightly vague, piping timbre we associate with the English version of a Barococo vocality. This means that while the sound is attractive, it has no tonal bite or linguistic spark, which renders the recitative sections ineffective and deprives the character of much in the way of wit or spunk. Still, she has good command of this technique and phrases musically, and when she came to the “Deh, vieni,” though still working at small gauge, she gave us the evening’s one example of pure line, some ornamentation that sounded as if it wove out from her vocal identity, and moments of genuine feeling. Her physical characterization was of the standard perky-soubrette sort, sensibly executed—which in this context provided blessed relief.

I will touch on the two extremes of this Figaro‘s miscasting (the others falling somewhere between them), and in doing so must in fairness note that two of the principal roles were taken by singers who, though not last-minute replacements, were not projected for their parts in the pre-season prospectus. That had promised the noted Lieder baritone Christian Gerharer as the Count and the mezzo Anna Stéphany (like Crowe, a singer of strong Early Opera background) as Cherubino. This doesn’t mean that pandemic limitations might not have affected some of the other casting choices, as well. But except for these two, the lineup was as originally announced. And in place of Gerharer, we had the Count of Adam Plachetka, a fair test of patience and forbearance for any devotee of Mozart and/or singing. He was the sole exception to the “undervoiced” condition of the principal singers—from time to time, in fact, hints of a capable, strong-voiced Count could be heard. But his singing was a sustained, brutal assault on the music, and his acting consisted of a petulant stomping about and flailing of arms. I’d suspect that he was taking this Fascist business too literally, except that the Fascists had nothing if not discipline. At the other extreme: Who in the Met administration can have thought it a good idea to cast Golda Schultz as the Countess? She has been reported on favorably as Sophie and as Clara (though Janai Brugger sang that at my performance), and her voice has a floaty loveliness toward the top. But of all the things the Countess’s music demands, a firm midrange and the ability to trace a well-supported line are paramount, and of the qualities we’d like to hear in the voice, a touch of melancholy and more than a touch of authority at key moments are highly desirable. Schultz’s singing takes in none of those, and to hear her eking her way faintly through “Porgi amor” or “Dove sono,” the voice slow to speak and her careful decoration of the A section repeat of the second aria sounding more like an avoidance of a clear, even line than an embroidery on it, was not edifying. In recitative, her weak lower range was even less up to the task than Crowe’s. She trouped on through and did her best to stand up to the ensemble finales, but it simply wasn’t enough.