This marked the first revival of the Bartlett Sher/Es Devlin-designed Otello that was first seen on opening night 2015. Mr Sher’s updating the action to the late 19th century certainly does no harm, and is otherwise non-interventionist. The Met’s decision to do away with blackface for Otello immediately removes his sense of aloneness and otherness but was done in all good faith in the name of political correctness. Considering race plays such a great part in this story it makes little sense, however, and no cause for Otello’s hypersensitivity and fragility has been offered to take its place. Certainly Iago’s scheming could bring out the jealousy in most men, but Otello’s wild outbursts and his inability to handle thoughts of betrayal need more cause. Nor is he portrayed as particularly older than Desdemona. The core of the character is missing.
Es Devlin’s giant sets, remain a mysterious choice. Four or five rolling, plexiglass walls slide in and out to imply settings. They’re relatively ugly, but their real problem is that they suggest neither place nor time. The only piece of furniture is the marriage bed, which inexplicably slides into place after the scene in which the locals serenade Desdemona – walls get quietly rearranged, and there we are – in a bedroom, not having moved an inch. And the grand, third act scene in which the Venetian delegation arrives at the castle, lacked grandeur entirely within its transparent room dividers. Incomprehensible at best, truly annoying at worst, one must wonder what was on Devlin and Sher’s minds.
The singing varied in quality. Stuart Skelton was the Otello. Having cancelled the opening night due to illness, Skelton, who has offered a very fine Tristan and an excellent Siegmund at the Met, was eagerly awaited. “Valiant” is probably the best word for his performance. After a good “Esultate!,” always a terror for any tenor, Skelton was fine, if cautious, in the love duet, but by the second act, real vocal trouble implied a continued imposition. Cracking on held high notes, missing pitches above the staff and awkward phrasing made the audience, if not the tenor, anxious. Before the third act, we were told that despite an indisposition, Mr Skelton would continue. Vocally, he threw caution to the wind and sang out mostly splendidly, particularly fine in “Niun mi tema”. One might argue with his physicality, but Mr Sher has given his Otello little to do to express his rage and emotional deterioration.
Željko Lučić seems to be the Met’s go-to baritone, and while he rarely thrills, he’s always dependably good. His Iago is a nasty piece of business, the “Credo” taken at face value with no inner torment. His baritone is rock solid and has the fine pianissimo touches needed for “Era la notte”, but there is a sameness to his singing which belies the character’s duplicity. Anyone who has ever heard Tito Gobbi’s wicked, underhand portrayal will understand how the role can practically take over the opera.