New York, New York: Part 1 

Page 2 of 3

Then the game was on. Patricia Racette as Philip's Queen Elizabeth, Olga Borodina as the jealous Princess Eboli, and Dmitri Hvorostovsky as the wily fence-sitting Marquis of Posa took turns in far surpassing anything they had shown themselves capable of during the first three acts. Only tenor Johan Botha in the title role remained untouched by the fires of inspiration, wooden and stolid to the end. Further demonstrating just how strong and resilient this Verdi masterwork is.

I Puritani (***1/2) -- Bellini's operas feature endless fountains of delightful melodic invention, peppered with memorable coloratura showpieces. Visually, Puritani wasn't the ideal intro to the "Met Goes to the Movies" series, lacking the audacious design concepts that distinguish Taymor's Flute and Zhang Yimou's Emperor.

Enter Netrebko, who certainly delivered the diva goods on Elvira's Act 2 mad scene -- the chaste Puritan's second, if you're keeping count -- melting my heart with her simple sincerity while impressing me with her effortless vocal exploits. No doubt about it, she has beauty and personal magnetism in abundance, a natural haven for a camera. And the voice is surprisingly strong.

My only qualm was with Netrebko's acting. Elvira whirled with giddy delight when her uncle told her she could marry Arturo, the man of her dreams. She whirled with brokenhearted despair when Arturo fled from Plymouth with Queen Henrietta, leaving her stranded at the altar. And she whirled once more when she descended her castle's great staircase at the height of her madness. Enough with the whirling, OK?

Netrebko's supporting cast were mostly outstanding, particularly John Relyea as Elvira's benevolent uncle and Franco Vassallo as Riccardo, the lovelorn noble originally promised to E. As a last-minute replacement, Gregory Kunde seemed disoriented in this production, gesticulating wildly as Arturo when a more polished savior faire would have made a better impression. Close your eyes, however, and Kunde sounded quite fine -- until called upon to match Netrebko's vocal heroics in Act 3.

Watching Netrebko had to be easier at the Regal. From Row P at the Met, I had to bob my head to catch the supertitles on the seat in front of mine. When the words blanked out during repeats, I could train my opera glasses on the beauty for a closer view.

The Magic Flute (***1/4) -- Watching a family-friendly version of Taymor's Die Zauberflote, abridged to 110 minutes and translated into English, I confess to missing some of the excised arias and repeats. Pa-pa-pa-Papageno once again, please! Much more nettlesome were the sound dropouts.

We all knew there was a problem when Peter Gelb and Katie Couric's taped intros were delivered without audio. Outcries -- plus a swift emissary or two -- quickly reached an already-alarmed projection booth. By the time sound was restored, Levine & Co. had almost concluded the overture, beamed to us under a sprightly collage of singer credits and scenic backstage wonders.

That onset of sound was nothing to cheer about. The orchestra was potted so far up that the amassed strings overwhelmed the Regal's loudspeaker system. Once again underscoring the fact that breakthrough equipment and technology are as new to operators and technicians as they are to us.

When the singers took over, I was pleasantly surprised. Potting was perfect. The Renè Pape whom I'd heard as King Philip earlier in the week was clearly recognizable now -- Yul Brynner English and all -- as the mystical Sarastro. Not only was there richness in the vocals, there was an ambience I'd never heard in a broadcast before. No, it wasn't a replication of the Met's acoustic. It was the spontaneous sound of an operatic performance reverberating through the Regal.

Aside from the popcorn parade and the heretical bathroom breaks, I found the audience remarkably well-behaved. Zero whining, zero questioning and zero gratuitous commentary. Clearly the music, wedded to Taymor's imaginative flights, held the kiddies in thrall. Along with the eye candy and ear candy, baritone Nathan Gunn showered us with comedy candy as the birdman Papageno. His antics and vocals certainly earned him a shot at the full-length Zauberflote alongside Pape.

So did the very Slavic soprano Erika Miklosa as the Queen of the Night and the lovely Ying Huang as Pamina. As Tamino, however, Matthew Pollanzani could manage little more machismo than John Lovitz. The hair bun and the silky Chinese robe were insuperable obstacles.

The First Emperor (***) -- If you're already comfortable with Asian music, Tan Dun's newly unveiled score offers abundant delights. I couldn't help but be amazed at Placido Domingo's ability to master a role in such a foreign musical idiom -- and the voice remains astounding.

But the English? Not so good. Prepare to rely heavily on the handy supertitles when Emperor Qin speaks.