Two French operas about goldsmiths in less than 24 hours - probably a world's record never to be broken. Benvenuto Cellini on Friday evening December 12 followed by La Juive the next afternoon. Sunday evening Anna Bolena in a concert performance at Carnegie Hall. Sorry about all these sentence fragments, but I'm still breathless from the Berlioz whirlwind.

 Dr Neil A. Kurtzman

One hundred and sixty five years after its premiere the Met has finally gotten around to one of opera's greatest masterpieces - Berlioz's sublime and unique depiction of two days in the life a "bandit of genius." Actually, the only episode from Cellini's autobiography that's in the opera is the casting of Perseus and that's moved from Florence to Rome. The hero of the work is really Berlioz; he and Cellini are indistinguishable. The plot is impossible to summarize. The best thing is to see the work on stage. If you know it from records you don't know it at all. Of all Berlioz's works this is the one least suited for a concert performance. If you want a feel for the piece imagine a Marx Brothers movie with great music, say by Berlioz, in which Harpo commits a murder.

The story moves back and forth from inspired silliness to passionate romance to dedication to art to murder. Who but Berlioz would write a hymn to metal workers? That's in the first act. In the second they go on strike for a short while. Musically the vocal line soars and moves in unexpected directions while the meters change in unprecedented directions requiring a virtuoso orchestra and conductor. Fieramosca's fencing aria (Ah, qui pourrait me resister?) goes from 7 to 6 to 5 beats to the bar. The only conductor in 1838 able to handle this work was Berlioz; unfortunately he did not conduct the premiere at the Opera. When the tenor Duprez withdrew from the title role after the third performance (apparently in a pique because some of the other performers received a little more applause than he) the work was doomed; there was no understudy. Alexis Dupont, the new Cellini, had to learn the part from scratch. It took months for the fourth performance to be mounted. There were a few more performances of Act 1 and then silence in Paris until 1972. There were performances in Weimer in 1852 instigated by Liszt in a revised and shortened three act version. The Met opted for the original 1838 version with a few lines of spoken dialogue thrown in from the opera's original 1834 opera comique incarnation. They also put the Pope back in the opera as Berlioz originally intended. Piety, in the Opera of all places, had forced his demotion to Cardinal in the work's first run.

Berlioz wrote at the time of the premiere, "The French have a mania for arguing about music, without having the first idea, or any feeling for it." Given the way his countrymen have treated their greatest musician I'd have to agree with him. They still act as if they haven't forgiven him for the insult.

The Met put on a super spectacular production of the opera that was as over the top and as deranged as the work itself. I expect Berlioz would have loved it. The production was by Andrei Serban, the set designer was George Tsypin, and the costumes were designed by Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili. What they wrought was a riot of color and motion. Carnival characters were everywhere in the first act. Fieramosca spied on Cellini and Theresa from behind a clothes rack which he moved ever closer to the lovers. The scene in the inn (the site of the hymn to metal workers and a long list of Italian wines) blended into the carnival finale with its Comedia Dell'Arte play in which a song is mimed. The players' mockery of Balducci (the soprano's father) ended in the general riot during which Cellini kills Pompeo. Fieramosca, as is usual during the whole opera, takes the blame and gets arrested for the murder. He's a friendlier version of Beckmesser. The second act is a little bit more subdued, but the Pope who appears in it is a corrupt art lover in a wheel chair pushed by a red devil complete with tail. Fieramosca concedes Cellini's genius and becomes his friend, the statue is cast (but just by the skin of Cellini's other art work which gets thrown into the furnace), Cellini gets the girl, and all ends happily.

The audience which initially seemed overwhelmed and a bit confused by gigantic scale of the production and the marvelous ingenuity of the score seemed to have fully caught up by the opera's end. The New York Times thought the production busy. I thought it almost perfect. The only false note was the flitting in and out of an androgynous red head in 19th century formal dress who was taking notes with a rose tipped pen. It was only in the last moments of the opera that I figured out he was supposed to be Berlioz (though now I wonder why I was so slow). Many in the audience never made the connection. We didn't need to have two Berliozes on stage; as I mentioned above, Cellini is Berlioz. The red head should be permanently banished to the prop room.

As a work for the theater, Benvenuto Cellini is far superior to Les Troyens. Similarly, Cellini is a much more taxing role than Enee. The part is long with two big arias - one in each act. It lies very high and its highest notes often come without a chance to prepare for them. Gilbert Duprez, generally regarded as the first tenore di forza, was the first Cellini. Berlioz thought him wonderful in the part. "Duprez-Cellini is superb; you have no idea of the energy and beauty of his singing." The role is much more demanding than Eleazar (see below) in La Juive. Marcello Giordani sang the part with power and beauty, though he was clearly tired by its end. He almost came to grief on one high note in the first act, but otherwise was on the mark. He voice resembles that of Carreras, though it is more focused and bright. He was appropriately swashbuckling and comic. I can't think of anyone around now who could have done better as Cellini, though I can't think of anyone who would be perfect for the part. The remaining roles while offering much to good artists are not that hard for a major house to cast.

Soprano Isabel Bayrakdarian sang Teresa with beauty and easily passed for a 17 year old experiencing love for the first time. Alan Opie was appropriately oafish as the bumbling Fieramosca. Kristine Jepson was handsome in voice and form as Ascanio, a role that looks forward to Nicklausse. John Del Carlo was fine as the pompous Balducci. Robert Lloyd still in great voice after more than three decades on the stage was impressive as the art loving and cynical Pope Clement VII. Anthony Laciura was an outstanding last minute replacement for Bernard Fitch in the small but juicy role of the Innkeeper.

James Levine conducted. As I've previously remarked he looks frail. He again conducted seated on a stool. He brought out all the works subtlety and whip-like intensity, but once again the orchestra did not make the big sound that a lot of the work requires. I was beginning to think that something untoward might have happened to the Met's acoustics, but the large sound that Marcello Viotti got from the band the next day showed that the orchestra was playing the way its maestro wanted.

In summary, this is a marvelous opera that needs a lot of exposure to be fully appreciated. It really deserves to be part of the standard repertoire, but I'm almost certain it never will be. There's enough material in it for 20 operas. Like its composer it's a sport – an isolated dot more than three standard deviations from the operatic mean. But it's a great sport. Verdi thought Berlioz was unbalanced. He meant artistically, not mentally unbalanced. In a sense he was right, but it was an imbalance tilted towards the side of genius. Berlioz is an artist unlike anyone before or since. And Benvenuto Cellini is this most original of composers most original work. If you get a chance to see it in the theater don't miss it.