Facelifts at the Met and the Phil 

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Stage director Bartlett Sher does a fine job of clarifying the Muse of Poetry's role as an ally of Hoffman's various nemeses -- all for the sake providing the writer with a store of heartbreaks he can transform into immortal art. But he allows another key element of the evening's framework to go slack, namely Hoffman's obsession with glamorous opera diva Stella and the devilish machinations of the debonair Lindorf to thwart the writer one last time.

Yet even though Rolando Villazon had given up the title role due to illness, and the formidable Rene Pape was no longer playing Lindorf and the other three villains, the performances were wondrous. Joseph Calleja brought an apt nerdiness to the writer and, unlike Ramon Vargas, whom I'd seen as Hoffman in 2004, Calleja seemed to have a working knowledge of what drunkenness is. He sang purely and passionately, exactly the opposite of Alan Held, who was always chilling and melodramatically devilish as Lindorf & Co.

Most of the women were nearly ideal. Kate Lindsay has the right mezzo stuff for both the Muse and the pants role of Hoffman's chum, Nicklausse, and we were happy to see Anna Netrebko in the dual roles of Stella and Antonia. Even the pleasure of seeing Netrebko perishing decorously as Antonia, singing herself to death from heart disease, wasn't enough for me. I was wishing that we could see her as all the heroines, as Offenbach originally intended. That wish became especially keen when Ekaterina Gubanova sang the Venetian courtesan Giulietta, failing to float my gondola with either her voice or her charm. Better to toss away the transposition to the mezzo voice and allow a soprano of Netrebko's caliber to restore Giulietta's allure.

I had no such longings when Rachele Gilmore, subbing at the last minute for Kathleen Kim, sang Olympia in Act 1. Gilmore was the surprise sensation of the evening as the robot Hoffman falls in love with, thanks to optometrist Coppellius' magical glasses. Not only did Gilmore act out the "Doll Song," and all its comical stops for rewinding, with the right mix of robotic rigidity and doll-like limpness, her voice soared up to a counter-soprano stratosphere, hitting high notes far above the staff that left high C at least four full steps below. Jaws were dropping all over the house.

Leif Ove Andsnes with the NY Philharmonic (***1/2) -- Andsnes is one of those favored few pianists who has the ability to unearth new beauties in familiar music. That gift was quickly put to the test in the opening allegro of Mozart's Piano Concerto #23, well-trodden ground. Sure enough, there was a fluidity to Andsnes' first entrance that was distinctively his, dainty filigree alternating with lyrical strength. The whole movement had a dramatic shape, culminating in a cadenza, delivered with a broad range of tempos and dynamics, that expressed unique pathos.

Gilbert and the Phil weren't merely noodling in the background. From the outset, they were active partners with the guest virtuoso. If the woodwinds sounded a little tubby at Avery Fisher Hall, the violins had a nice zip to them, subtly adding character to the orchestral intro with felicitous swells in tempo and dynamics. To the sudden solemnity of Andsnes' eloquent intro in the middle adagio movement, the Phil was sweet and nostalgic in response. Only in the opening bars of the merry closing movement did Andsnes and Gilbert opt for the tried-and-true. Yet the jollity of the Phil proved to be genuine, contrasting effectively with the darker shadings Andsnes wove into his zesty assault on the most intense passages.

In selecting two pieces by Anton Webern, one from the formative stage of his career and another from the midpoint where he was already a 12-tone master, Gilbert was able to preface the abrupt episodes and jagged shifts of the Symphony with the palpable orchestral and melodic gifts manifest in Im Sommerwind. Certainly, there was a kinship with the sound paintings of Debussy and Strauss in this tone poem, a mini concerto for orchestra that showcased the concertmaster, the harpist, two or three percussionists, and most of the principal woodwind players. They're all damn good, and the piece is a likeable entree into Webern.

Despite his insistence on a very strict tempo, Gilbert was able to get the first part of the Symphony flowing lightly at its prescribed "Calmly striding" pace, with French horn, clarinet, and bass clarinet very much in the mix with harp and strings. The second theme-and-variations part, lurching along like a nervous first-time driver, wasn't as cohesive. All the more satisfying, then, that Gilbert ended with Schumann's Symphony #2, where stringing together the varying musical incidents as a cohesive sequence is the key to unlocking the excitement of the opening movement. Quiet until this point of the evening, the brass probably were excited to be participating, lending some mighty power to the outer movements. In the third of the four movements, an adagio espressivo, the woodwinds showed most beguilingly what Gilbert called the "feminine ideal" of Schumann's confessional, both as a choir and in individual solos from the oboe, clarinet, and flute.