Voigt's Isolde Falls Flat

On Monday night, "Tristan und Isolde," Wagner's music-changing work from 1865, was revived at the Metropolitan Opera. There were several interesting things about this revival.

First, James Levine conducted. This is not unusual, but it is noteworthy: Mr. Levine is one of the great Wagner conductors, not only of our time, but of all time. This is not to be forgotten, or taken for granted.

Second, Ben Heppner, the leading Tristan of today, had to withdraw, a couple of days before the performance. He was suffering from a virus. He was replaced by a fellow Canadian tenor: John Mac Master. Mr. Mac Master made a latish Metropolitan Opera debut in 2005, as Canio in "Pagliacci." He was not elegant or polished. But he was very moving, giving it his all. The audience applauded like mad on that occasion.

Third, Deborah Voigt, the famed soprano, was singing her first Isolde at the Met, or, indeed, in this country. She had sung an excerpt in New York before — that was in 2002. With Kurt Masur and the New York Philharmonic, she sang Act 2 of the opera, plus the Liebestod (the transcendent piece that closes the work). This was some of the most beautiful, wondrous singing you could ever hope to hear.

About Monday night, I will not beat around the bush. Ms. Voigt sang many, many unfortunate notes. The voice was cutting, which is fine, but it also tended to be pinched, harsh, and generally un-Voigtian. Many high notes were low, or downright flat, to be blunter. But Ms. Voigt also sang some notes that were more like herself. And she is, of course, an exceptionally smart singer. She will always give you musical smarts, no matter what the condition of the voice.

And she did more acting than you often get from an Isolde — and it was good acting, too. In her red wig, Ms. Voigt looked just about like the Irish princess that the story has in mind.

When it came to the Liebestod, Ms. Voigt was basically herself, tonally — this was the most Voigtian singing she did all night. Except that flatness continued to plague her.

About Mr. Mac Master, let's not beat around the bush, either: He brought very little voice to the house on Monday night. It seemed he might not make it through the Love Duet. You were very nervous for him, in your seat. But he made it through the duet, and everything else. Some of his singing was beautiful and affecting — as when Tristan told King Mark that he was at a loss for words, about what was transpiring. And Mr. Mac Master exhibited dignity, manliness, and honor.

As in that initial "Pagliacci," he gave it his all. Only, this time, he had less to give.

In the part of Brangäne was Michelle DeYoung. She sang warmly and intelligently, and she has a real feel for the role. Brangäne was gracious and beneficent. This character is not so much a busybody as a concerned, faithful aide.

And Matti Salminen, the veteran Finnish bass, was King Mark, looking huge. He sang royally and authoritatively, as he can be expected to do. And he proved that René Pape is not the only King Mark in the world (much as it may seem that way sometimes).

Eike Wilm Schulte is a savvy, capable singer, always delivering — and so he did as Kurwenal. He was clarion, fresh, and sure-footed. Stephen Gaertner was a rich and convincing Melot. And Matthew Plenk did his job as a Sailor's Voice: He sang beautifully and alluringly.

Mr. Levine and the orchestra had a very good night — even a surpassing one. The conductor began the Prelude very, very slowly. Pauses were immense (and during them, we heard a variety of cell phones, plus the clucking reactions to them, which are always worse). The beginning of the Prelude was borderline static, and I wondered, "Will we make it out by midnight?" But Mr. Levine knew what he was doing: and he conducted a "Tristan" of tremendous expressive power.

As usual, his Wagner had some Beethoven touches, with no Romantic excess, with no wrongheaded languidness. But he never slighted any beauty or pathos; indeed, he enhanced them. Wagner's drama was completely alive through his baton. When the singers could not sing, Mr. Levine and the orchestra carried the opera. They were always something to fall back on. And even when the singers were in decent shape — the conductor and his band were the main event.

The orchestra played gloriously. They were hardly recognizable as an opera orchestra. Almost every solo was distinguished — and, as a group, they seemed to do whatever Mr. Levine asked.

One could cite no end of particulars, but allow me a single moment: the opening music to Act 3. It expressed all the anguish — gritty yet glowing — it can.

This production of "Tristan" is that of Dieter Dorn, from 1999. Either you like it or you don't. I like it well enough, although I have never been reconciled to the figurines strewn about in Act 3. And, when the principals swallow the potion in Act 1, forcing them into erotic love, the lights go Valentine's Day red. On Monday night, the audience laughed. I'm not sure that's the effect we're after.