How about taking the most meta-opera out there and making it even more self-referential? That’s the approach director Robert Carsen took when his vision of Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos unfurled in February at Deutsche Oper Berlin (seen Feb. 19). This fascinating, frustrating, genre-bending work never seems quite certain about itself: the DOB transplant of this production, originally seen last year at the Bavarian State Opera in Munich, boasted a cast that far outshone the staging.

Lithuanian soprano Violeta Urmana fit nicely into the shoes of the strutting diva of the title role. This is a role she has sung previously at the Met. At DOB, her performance was distinguished by crystalline clarity and effortless volume. Urmana’s bright-hued timbre gave way to darker shades as the evening progressed, making for a richer, more involved performance, a highlight of which was a full-throttle account of the gently ebbing “Es gibt ein Reich.”

Ruxandra Donose made an even stronger impression as the impetuous Composer, singing with undeniable ardor, an attractively thick texture and a velvety low range, as in her compelling account of “Sein wir wieder gut.” The Zerbinetta of Jane Archibald was alternately reverent and feisty, as in her quasi-love duet with the Composer. And even if the massive orchestral force occasionally drowned her out, she tore through her vocally punishing role with obvious relish and assurance, especially in the extensive coloratura writing. She nearly stole the show with her “Grossmächtige Prinzessin,” which was here elaborately choreographed with various paramours popping out of pianos that glided comically across the stage.

As in most Strauss, the men of Ariadne play a decidedly supporting role. That said, Roberto Saccà was indeed godlike as Bacchus, singing with Italianate grace (and a pinch of schmaltz) that made the opera’s close more fitting and dramatically convincing. Met veteran Lenus Carlson was in fine form as the levelheaded Music Teacher. And baritone Simon Pauly did solid work as Harlequin, particularly in the tuneful “Lieben, Hassen, Hoffen, Zagen.”

Carsen, one of Europe’s busiest directors, is probably best known to U.S. audiences for his striking Met production of Eugene Onegin. In this Ariadne, he tried so constantly to break through the fourth wall that most of his attempts at abstraction ended up seeming bland.

The house lights stayed on for the better part of the Prologue, and various characters walked through the audience to make their entrances. The production, which featured sets by Peter Pabst and costumes by Falk Bauer, switched awkwardly between elegance and absurdity, an obvious mirror of the tension in the score between opera seria and commedia dell’arte. The self-referential elements — the large mirrors that reflected the audience, the exposed lighting and the completely bare stage that the Composer walked onto at the end of the opera, to be greeted by the applause of the cast — quickly grew tiresome. One bright spot was Marco Santi’s smart and edgy choreography, which livened things immeasurably, especially in the otherwise static Act II.

The evening’s maestro, Jacques Lacombe, had difficulty giving shape to the sinewy, often manic Prologue, the backstage drama that occupies the work’s first half. The directorial shenanigans did much to reinforce an impression of general havoc onstage and in the pit. Lacombe took much firmer command of his musicians with the opera within an opera, starting with a delicate account of the tortuous G-minor overture and not letting up until the glittering apotheosis of the closing bars.

Richard Strauss’s Salome is an opera as emotionally unhinged as it is daringly modern. So one was interested to see what Achim Freyer, the controversial visionary behind Los Angeles Opera’s new production of the Ring cycle, would do to Strauss’s debauched heroine when Deutsche Oper Berlin revived his 2003 production in early February. The production images available on the company’s website promised that the evening would have its share of strangeness, and they probably had something to do with the poor attendance (seen Feb. 1).

I too had my reservations about what a Freyer Salome would look like, especially after seeing his recent Eugene Onegin at the Staatsoper Unter den Linden — a visually dazzling production that quickly ran out of ideas. With Salome, I was afraid that Freyer’s extreme distancing techniques would preclude genuine involvement in the relentless drama of the music. But it was precisely this quality about Salome that enabled Freyer’s spin to work. The high drama and breathless pace of a score tailored to suit a preexisting play were well served by this oddball, kooky production. With a staging concerned more with interpretation than with mere illustration, this Salome did not waste time over details of decor —the color of the heroine’s veils, the verisimilitude of the severed head — and thus spoke for itself.

Freyer’s Salome left the music exposed and pure, placing more demands than usual on the soprano who dares to take on this killer role. For this revival, the ravishing Manuela Uhl took up the challenge. Uhl — who obviously had no intention of being erased by the abstract, cartoonish sensibilities of this revival — created a Salome who was raw, energetic and passionate. She has an exciting, powerful voice and enough stamina to make it to the end of this punishing role. Her singing was fresh and convincing, if not always the picture of accuracy. Uhl ducked some high notes and decided to forgo some of the coloratura ornamentation, but her biggest problems were a weak low range — she often resorted to speaking — and exposed passaggio. She also pounced on her lines with an eagerness that, though not always in synch with the music, made for thrilling drama. Despite the shortcomings of her performance, the bulk of Strauss’s searing music sounded wondrous and convincing in her mouth, and aside from rough patches, her voice rang out with incredible volume and clarity from start to finish.

Uhl was supported by highly capable colleagues. Foremost among them was American baritone Alan Titus, the intense, booming Jochanaan. Chris Merritt, a lyric tenor with a background in Rossini operas, made an unexpectedly great Herodes, bringing out his character’s buffoonery and perversion with occasional Italianate embellishments. As his cutthroat wife Herodias, Hanna Schwarz sang like an avenging fury. Clemens Bieber — a DOB ensemble member — was a sympathetic and convincing Narraboth, declaiming his soaring, urgent lines with both finesse and an appealing ruggedness. The remaining roles were perfectly cast, from the Page of Julia Benzinger on down to the two Nazarenes.

The staging was as baffling as it was entrancing. The set appeared to have materialized out of a David Lynch dream sequence and resembled some kind of industrial carnival funhouse, with its numbered yellow factory doors and circus-like stage area. Much of the acting consisted of heightened, repeated gestures that took on a ritualistic aspect. This was complemented by the extremely clownish Expressionist makeup. The costumes were likewise irreverent and colorful, consisting of hand-drawn pinstriped suits and incorporating a childish variety of props, such as balloons for breasts, funnels and sand buckets for hats. One of the best touches was to number each of the Jews “1″ through “5.” All this added a magical, nursery-like feel to the narrative. The one misstep was an underwhelming dance of the seven veils, which was so confused and pedestrian that one wondered whether Freyer meant it as a comment on the evidently weaker quality of that music in comparison to the rest of the score.

At the helm of the massive orchestral force was Ulf Schirmer, whose account of the score mounted steadily in intensity, from the opening clarinet scale to the bone-crushing chords that describe Salome’s execution. In between, he was sensitive to the profusion of motifs and the score’s shimmering, exotic detail.

With an extensive Strauss celebration underway at Deutsche Oper Berlin, Staatsoper unter den Linden got in on the action in February with a sumptuously sung revival of Nicolas Brieger’s production of Der Rosenkavalier, conducted by Asher Fisch (seen Feb. 21).

The most compelling reason to see this revival was the role debut of Magdalena Kožená as Octavian. This is a character that fits the Czech mezzo like a glove: her performance was an all-around revelation. She delivered her opening lines, “Wie du warst, wie du bist!” in soft, luminous notes of heartbreaking beauty. She matched the impassioned horns effortlessly, which is no small feat. Her richly textured voice communicated a dramatic range from ardor to impetuousness to despair and devotion. Every phrase was carefully thought out, with an exciting deployment of rubato providing added force to the fluency of her singing, which was free of any breaks or gasps for air. This revival also capitalized on the androgynous aspect of Kožená’s beauty, which only added to the completeness of the incarnation.

Every bit as assured was the Marschallin of Angela Denoke, whose tragically noble performance reminded us that Princess Marie Thérèse is the most complex character in the opera. Denoke was here both more aristocratic and more nuanced than in her 2005 Rosenkavalier appearances at the Met, which marked her debut with that company. A pitch-perfect companion to Kozená, Denoke wavered between the earthy and the ethereal, placing equal value on the mellifluous and dramatic aspects of her performance. Her full yet silky voice contained both laughter and repressed sorrow.

Bass Peter Rose, another Met veteran, was vocally persuasive and perversely charming as Baron Ochs. He switched effortlessly among the duets, waltzes and arioso that this difficult character is required to pull off. All in all, he was so rudely charming that he threatened to tip the opera in his favor.

Sylvia Schwartz suffered from a problem common to most Sophies — being upstaged by the titanic forces of her costars. Her light, pretty voice was far from slight, but it was still obscured in her Act II duet with Octavian and in the transcendent Act III trio.

The supporting roles were judiciously cast, with Paul O’Neill making a memorable impression as the Italian Tenor. Curiously, O’Neill came out in a wheelchair to sing “Di rigori armato” with requisite lyricism and fervor that won him peals of spontaneous applause.

The audience was less kind to conductor Asher Fisch, who took his bow amid persistent boos. Apparently, Berlin felt cheated by a performance that consciously sacrificed much of the work’s Viennese elegance for a courser, darker interpretation. From the weighty, muscular tempo of the opening bars and the lusty strings and winds somewhat obscured by the horns, it was clear that Fisch was intent on taking things in a different direction.

Brieger’s elegant production matched the refinement and taste on display in the singing. The direct, striking design brought to mind both Ruth Berghaus and Gilbert Defloe. The versatile horseshoe-shaped set morphed ingeniously from the decaying elegance of the Marschallin’s bedroom to the bourgeois trappings of the Faninal residence to the seedy inn of the closing act. The only false note the production struck was in the jumbled chaos of the Baron’s aborted seduction.

A. J. GOLDMANN

I am forever being told by veteran opera-lovers, “They don’t sing like they used to.” Perhaps this explains why certain works in the repertoire have lost their places of prominence or have been eliminated altogether: we simply no longer have the voices required to do them justice. Gounod’s Faust is hardly an obscure work, but the rate at which it is staged today is paltry when compared to the popularity it enjoyed before World War II. So it was thrilling (and transporting) to see a Faust at the Berlin Staatsoper unter den Linden so expertly sung that one understood the seductive spell it cast over audiences in the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries (seen Feb. 22).

For its new production, the Staatsoper enlisted the talents of superb singers whose bravura performances cut through the dimmer inspirations of director Karsten Wiegand’s uneven staging.

Before the curtain went up, an announcement was made that two cast members, Charles Castronovo, the Faust, and Roman Trekel, the Valentin, would be singing despite colds. If anything, this inauspicious news only made the ensuing three and a half hours more impressive and thrilling. Castronovo, a New York-born lyric tenor, was somewhat throaty in the opening scene, with hesitant low notes. He was a bit off in the reprise of “A moi les plaisirs” with the devil, but he warmed up quickly. Before long, he was singing with heroic and darkly lacquered tones. He gasped certain phrases out suspensefully and projected others with an otherworldly quiver.

The sublime Russian soprano Marina Poplavskaya, best known to New York audiences for her performance as Natasha in the 2007 Met revival of Prokofiev’s War and Peace, was cast in the punishing role of Marguerite: she sang with fierce determination and unrelenting brazenness. It was a sensational performance, but one also worried about the toll that singing like that might take on the young soprano’s voice. She delivered an expressive and bouncy “Il était un roi de Thule” in a clear, restrained manner, then made a fluid transition to a wildly coquettish “Je ris de me voir si belle,” with delicious coloratura technique and an abundance of expressive muscle. It was but one climax in a performance with too many to highlights to enumerate.

As Méphistophélès, Réne Pape was — forgive the sacrilegious locution — absolutely godlike. He snickered and jeered though this wonderfully wicked role and let his character’s evil seep through most effectively in the quieter moments. His voice sounded effortlessly big, smoothly seductive and appropriately serpentine.

Despite his cold, Trekel struck the right tone as Valentin, his complex, robust voice communicating his character’s brotherly concern — as in his deeply felt “Avant de quitter ces lieux” — but also encompassing the rage and venom of Act IV. Silvia de la Muela sang Siébel with appropriate ardor and conviction.

Wiegand, a young German stage director who made his debut at the Staatsoper in 2006 with Maria Stuarda, provided an infuriatingly garish and amateurish Act I, setting the action at a raucous casino/house party. The noisy thrashing around brought to mind the rave that Calixto Bieito choreographed for his atrocious 2006 production of Wozzeck in Barcelona.

The casino set was moved away for Act II, which unfolded on a bare stage surrounded by silver-leafed walls — minimal yet all-around exquisite setting for this act that made the work uncommonly fluid by eliminating the need for clunky transitions between various set pieces. During Marguerite’s ascension, the walls lifted majestically to reveal the chorus seated at a heavenly banquet attired in tuxedos and cocktail dresses.

The stomach-churning touches of Wiegand’s production — Marguerite dashed her newborn’s brains against the wall and, in the end, slashed her own throat with a brooch — provided a jolting dose of realism to the otherwise abstract staging.

The version used for this production made the traditional cuts of the ballet and the Walpurgisnacht scene but included sporadic dialogue. Alain Altinoglu’s conducting was sweeping and sensitive. He made some daring decisions, slowing down to an almost dangerous level during the more introspective arias and favoring an all-around expansive approach that added an extra twenty minutes to the show’s running time. But then again, it’s hard to have too much of a good thing.

In all 51 institutions participated in the marathon-like event, presenting full and truncated programs that ranged from African drumming to Verdi and Mozart to cabaret to political satire to clubbing.

(Below: A map of participating venues and how to get there)

Tickets for the evening were a meager 15 Euros, which included transportation via a fleet of shuttle buses that zipped from north to south and east to west - and were consistantly packed all evening long.

I began my evening at the Staatsoper unter den Linden (see image below), where crowds a thousand strong were waiting to see a program of excerpts from the Magic Flute (Zauberflöte) that was performed on the hour. The crowds and queues I encountered at the Staatsoper were harbingers of things to come: the staggering turn-out made this particular “Long Night” a logistical nightmare.

By dint of pure luck, I managed to talk my way into the first tier of the theater, where I stood and enjoyed an obstructed view of the performance - though, in truth, I was more interested in observing the enthusiastic audience and the thunderous applause they gave to Papageno and the Queen of the Night.

Afterwards, I walked to the nearby Komische Oper, where that evening’s performance of Traviata was being projected outside for the benefit of a crowd fressing themselves with Bratwurst and pretzels in the soothing spring evening.

The mob in front of the KOB was even more impressive than at the Staatsoper. No one seemed to have much of an idea of what was in store for them. This turned out to be a selection of Verdi marches and arias performed in the foyer by a “Salon Orchestra” and KOB ensemble members.

The salon orchestra “Illusion” plays a light Verdi medley

Soprano Erika Roos sings “Merche diletta amiche”from I Vespri Siciliani

Meanwhile, in the baroque opera house itself, a baffling DJ set / lightshow was taking place. Most seemed as confused as I was by DJ Jürgen Grözinger, who was spinning opera LPs while drenched in a blue light.

After an ill-fated attempt at seeing a Bulgakov play at the Maxim-Gorki theater, I sallied forth to the Admiralspalast for a preview of the German version of Mel Brooks’ musical “The Producers,” which makes its début at that theater in mid-May.

It is forbidden by German law to display Nazi insignias anywhere outside of an educational or dramatic setting. Unfortunately, there’s no dispensation for satire, which means no swastika armbands or dancing in formation during the classic “Springtime for Hitler” number. In place of swastikas the actors wear red-black-and-white armbands with pretzels on them.

(Below: girls in the theater lobby in stereotypical German dress promote “The Producers”)

The program at the Admiralspalast kicked off with an effectively schmaltzy band that performed a “Berlin Revue” that included a suitably nostalgic and mushy performance of “Du gehst durch all meine Träume.”

1941’s “Du gehst durch all meine Träume”at the Admiralspalast

The principle cast members of “The Producers” were introduced and performed some scenes of dialogue and music from the show. Cornelius Obonya uncannily channeled Nathan Lane as Max Bialystock. Andreas Bieber made a less winning impression with his annoyingly whiny Leo Bloom. Herbert Steinböck made Franz Liebkin into a lovable (psychotic) dope and had the audience in stiches during some Chaplinesque double talk (Hear audio excerpt below). And Bettina Mönch was a delightful ditz as the Swedish bombshell Ulla.

Audio except of a scene from the Berlin production of”The Producers”

Ulla (Bettina Mönch) sings “When You’ve Got It, Flaunt It”

Max (Cornelius Obonya) and Leo (Andreas Bieber) sing “We Can Do It”

Next door to the Admiralspalast is the Kabaret Distel, which performs political satire (get those images of Joel Grey out of your head). On exiting the Producers preview, I somehow got swept into the Distel’s performance of “Jenseits von Angela” (a none-too-clever pun on the German title of Isaak Dinesen’s memoir), which - judging from the audience’s reactions - must have been wickedly funny, though I understood precious little aside from easy puns and slapstick.

(Below: The Distel Kabaret)

At the beginning of the evening, six hours had sounded to me far too short a time period to enjoy such a cultural smörgåsbord (those accent marks are courtesy of spell check, not me!). With the evening nearly at an end (it was close to one a.m.) I was starting to get exhausted. Still, I felt I should milk the evening for all it was worth and, so, found myself at 12:50 riding the last shuttle bus #5 into Tiergarten - Berlin’s central park - to the famed Tipi der Zelt. Tipi is a throwback to the good old days of Berlin nightclub culture. In a city that is very suspect of nostalgia, the roaring 20s is practically the only epoch of the 20th century that people continue to romanticize. (Is there really much else to be proud of?)

I arrived just in time to catch the final number in a colorful and campy drag show: an irreverent and batty conclusion to my very full evening.

(Below: drag show at Tipi der Zelt)

On April 10, Berlin’s two most distinguished conductors swapped orchestras for an evening to conduct works derived from Maurice Maeterlinck’s symbolist play Pelléas et Mélisande. Daniel Barenboim, conductor of the Berlin Staatskapelle (the resident orchestra of the Staatsoper unter den Linden) led the Berliner Philharmoniker in a program that included Schoenberg’s tone poem of Pelléas. At precisely the same hour, Simon Rattle, chief conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker, was making his Staatsoper debut conducting Debussy’s more famous operatic setting.

To make matters more intriguing, the evening’s Mélisande was the maestro’s partner, Czech mezzo Magdalena Kožená. Kožená, who was visibly pregnant, appeared opposite American tenor William Burden. Both singers were extraordinary, together and apart: each brought simple yet enigmatic matter-of-factness to this impossible love story. Kožená sang in a remarkably textured voice, by turns rough and lulling. There was something urgent yet defeatist about her soft murmurings and fluent declamations. Burden’s youthful-sounding performance was marked by agility and controlled lyricism. His gentle restraint was a worthy compliment to Kožena’s overt, aching desire.

Hanno Müller-Brachmann was a simple yet powerful Golaud. His richly fluid baritone expressed tenderness, pathos and violence. The fierce bass Robert Lloyd was somewhere between menacing and sympathetic as King Arkel. His sinister Act IV confrontation with Mélisande brimmed with repressed sexuality. Yniold, the child who unwittingly exposes the lovers to Golaud, was honey-voiced Andreas Mörwald, soloist of the Tölz Boys Choir.

The work was presented in Ruth Berghaus’s 1991 production, an Expressionist rendering that seemed equal parts Dr. Caligari and Dr. Seuss. Berghaus, who died in 1996, was best-known for her interpretations of Brecht. Her vision for Pelléas was a stage concept as abstract yet strangely affecting as the Debussy score. It featured a rotating metallic set, a sleek cave-like structure with jarring confrontations of curves and angles. Aside from providing a suitable visual complement to the music, the metallic sets resonated the onstage voices beautifully. Even Yniold rang out with a fullness and immediacy generally achieved only on recordings.

Rattle guided his singers gently through the tangled Impressionistic forest of the score. He highlighted the bass lines in the horns and contrabasses during the frequent orchestral interludes and took every opportunity to let loose at full force with the strings. The music remained wonderfully subdued, but Rattle frequently made it pulsate with drama and urgency. With expert singing, arresting visuals and a truly moving orchestral contribution, this was a Pélleas that never leaned too far in the direction of either sentimentality or cold abstraction.

A. J. GOLDMANN

Robert Dean Smith, who filled in for an ailing Ben Heppner in the Met’s HD transmission of Tristan und Isolde on March 22, appeared at Berlin’s Staatoper unter den Linden the following week in the German company’s revival of Harry Kupfer’s 1999 staging of Tannhäuser (seen March 30).

The American tenor was in fine voice, yet while his performance as Tannhäuser was pleasant enough, it was rarely overwhelming. He sang his entrance aria, “Dir töne Lob” in a gently lilting style: careful phrasing carried him through the evening. In his scenes with Venus, he chose not to adopt the usual devil-may-care attitude of arrogance and feistiness that most Tannhäusers sport, but his out-of-synch duet with the love goddess left much to be desired, as did his melodramatic acting, which greatly detracted from the dramatic impact of this production.

One thought at first that the heldentenor might be holding himself in reserve — Tannhäuser is a challenging assignment for any tenor — but when Smith failed to distinguish himself in the Act II singing contest, one was left with serious doubts. It seemed more than likely that Smith was simply exhausted. His exhaustion was nowhere more evident than alongside the domineering Christof Fischesser, the powerhouse bass who sang Hermann and commanded more attention than anyone else in the contest scene.

German baritone Roman Trekel gave a curiously understated performance as Wolfram, full of soft quivers and half-whispered words. He seemed to be “feeling” the music a little too much and drawing it out unnecessarily: for all its artful soulfulness, his performance seemed contrived.

Finnish soprano Camilla Nylund made a thrilling entrance as Elisabeth, with an accurate, energetic “Dich, teure Halle.” She changed dramatically for her grief-filled Act III appearance, when she sang with controlled hysteria and darker, tremulous hues: she made her character’s anguish totally convincing.

Michaela Schuster was a sultry, menacing Venus whose habit of launching her high notes with too much force worked against her seductive air, making her sound shrill. The Staatsoper’s recent discovery, Anna Prohaska, was dazzling in her small role as the young pilgrim, singing in a remarkably even, boyish voice.

In Harry Kupfer’s striking yet baffling production, the Venusberg looks like something out of Fellini Satyricon, with copious naked bodies posed statuesquely in a variety of lewd acts. The Act II singing contest was held in a recital hall with stadium seating for the spectators (one of the best-dressed choruses in recent memory). During Tannhäuser’s ode on the profane love of the Venusberg, Smith climbed onto a grand piano that was rooted in the middle of the stage, and which he later used as a shelter from the crowd’s wrath. The stage was curiously bare for Act III, save for a votive Madonna at which a scruffy band of pilgrims, suitcases in tow, stopped to sing their chorus.

In the pit, Philippe Jordan, the Staatsoper’s principal guest conductor, was a sensitive guide during the lengthy overture, which he scaled down to chamber-like dimensions before letting loose with full force the massive crescendos and luxuriant, achingly-slow glissando horn passages, the expressive strings and strong, march-like percussion. Throughout the evening, alas, the orchestra was often not entirely together with the singers. The Act II finale was particularly badly coordinated.

A. J. GOLDMANN

Why was the Don Giovanni unveiled in mid-December at Staatsoper Unter den Linden — conducted by Daniel Barenboim with the commanding René Pape in the title role — such a bore? An insipid, dull staging by the house’s artistic director, Peter Mussbach, shared the blame with Barenboim’s slow, ponderous conducting, which made for a fussy, airless performance (seen Dec. 15).

Mussbach’s abstract production, a coproduction with La Scala, was met with boos. While Mussbach’s uninspired visuals — a one-dimensional set consisting of two black partitions that opened, closed and rotated to facilitate entrances and exits — indicated a lack of ideas, Barenboim seemed to have far too many up his sleeve: he tried his damnedest to bring out different qualities in the music, aria by aria and ensemble by ensemble, at the expense of presenting the work as any kind of organic whole.

Things got off to a promising start with an expansive overture. The trouble started when the curtain rose on Leporello (Hanno Müller-Brachmann), who garbled words and even cracked a little in his “Notte e giorno faticar,” followed by a trio with audibly out-of-sync principals. Müller-Brachmann improved greatly in time for the catalogue aria. Luckily, given the languid pace of Barenboim’s conducting, the bass-baritone was prepared to meet the challenge of the long, slow crescendo that brought the number to a close.

René Pape sang majestically. His champagne aria was brazen, robust, dramatically and vocally assured. His effortlessly expansive voice, with its great tonal and expressive range, is reminiscent at moments of Fischer-Dieskau in its soft and creamy character. Even Pape’s whispers were musical. One of the best moments came when, under the cloak of night, master and servant swapped costumes. One of the opera’s most implausible episodes was here made believable, thanks to the marvelous impersonations Pape and Müller-Brachmann did of one another.

Even with the luxurious musical pacing, the Donna Anna of Anna Samuil was too legato and too weighty: all evening long, she channeled Wagnerian pomp into an otherwise technically accomplished performance. The Elvira of Annette Dasch came zipping in on a white Vespa, with a matching umbrella. With Barenboim’s slowed-down tempo, her lyrical “Ah! chi mi dice mai” was more suited to a weepy Puccini heroine than to a vengeful opera-seria character, although “Ah, fuggi il traditor” was marked by welcome refinement and crispness. In Act II, she sang an impassioned “Mi tradì” while completely prone. Her performance was earthy, visceral and riveting, though certainly not to all tastes.

Despite his vampire-ish costume, Pavol Breslik made a fiercely magnetic Ottavio. His controlled, rapturous “Dalla sua pace” was the highlight of a long Act I. The Masetto of Arttu Kataja was a spiky-haired kid who made his entrance playing air-guitar. During “Batti, batti,” he flirted with some bridesmaids. Sylvia Schwartz was a suitably petite and coquettish Zerlina. Her voice was supple if somewhat rough around the edges. While her singing was tentative in “Là ci darem la mano,” she made up for it later by skillfully ornamenting her “Vedrai, carino.” Christof Fischesser was a booming Commendatore, but the silver body-paint he was lacquered with made him look like the Tin Man — an unintended touch of comedy in a long, humorless evening.

A.J. GOLDMANN

Since September, I’ve been a Berlin correspondant for the New-York-based Opera News Magazine. My reviews of Hans Werner Henze’s Phaedra, Telemann’s Geduldige Sokrates and a double-header of Strauss’ Elektra and Gnecchi’s Cassandra are already on the website (www.operanews.com).

Stay tuned for evaluations of Don Giovanni and Ballo in Maschera at the Staatsoper, Der Ring des Nibelungen at the Deutsche Oper and the Komische’s Theseus.