Lucia di Lammermoor at the Berkshire Opera. About six years ago, I discovered the Berkshire Opera (just re-named the Berkshire Opera Festival), an innovative, clever, and thoroughly professional company that operates out of the restored 123-year-old Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. The charming theater seats 680; there is no orchestra pit. The opera was Donizetti’s Don Pasquale, and the 30-or-so musicians were in an upper corner of the stage, barely visible, but audibly well-balanced with the singers. The production was updated to the 20th century with no outrages: Norina, by the time she had taken over Pasquale’s household, was dressed as a dominatrix – not all that far from the text.

Faust. Piotr Beczała sang the title role with audible caution following a recent cold. At times, his voice sounded slightly congested and less free than usual. In the more dramatic passages, it lacked some of its customary brilliance. All the more impressive, therefore, was his performance of \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\”Salut! demeures chaste et pure,\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\” characterized by refined phrasing, stylistic elegance, and admirable restraint.

Turandot. I love traditional productions as much as the next fellow, but I take Regie productions one at a time. Claus Guth’s Freudian look at Salome was the most potent and disturbing iteration of that opera I’ve ever seen, while the Met’s Carrie Cracknell-conceived Carmen is absolute junk – no Spanish flavor, and a second act that takes place in a moving railroad boxcar! If the audience is puzzled or disgusted, you’re doing something wrong. Worse, even, was Simon Stone’s Lucia di Lammermoor, now taking place in a run-down town in the American rust belt, peopled by drug addicts and cameramen filming the action. Wretched.