The 75 minutes of the complicated first act seemed to fly by, and even the later, musically uneven final acts maintained firmly arched structures. It’s not that Rattle’s tempos were hectic, but rather that he maintained propulsion even through slower, more reflective sections of the score. In this tale of intergenerational romance (a 17-year-old nobleman in an affair with a princess in her 30s), Rattle’s kinetic and kaleidoscopic use of the score clearly suggested the triumph of youth at the end of the day. The chief architect of this triumph is Simon Rattle, who demonstrates here the difference between conducting an opera and leading an opera: every element of the performance (even the visual ones) seemed to harmonize with his brilliantly energetic take on the score.
But I am overjoyed to say that on Friday night, the Met finally opened my eyes to the charm and power of Rosenkavalier in a revival that delivers intellectual rigor and emotional wallop in equally overwhelming measures. In fact, I had to go as far as Stuttgart to find a satisfyingly thoughtful take on this curious work, part sex farce, part midlife crisis dramedy, part meta-pondering on the transition between the Romantic and Modern eras.
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