So what do you get for your $23 ticket to The Met: Live in HD? Well, the food court at Tysons Corner Center doesn’t have the cachet of the plaza at Lincoln Center. Twenty-three bucks doesn’t get you a reserved seat in this almost-full medium-sized auditorium in the AMC Tysons Corner 16, and the program is a simple one-sheet affair. The subtitles are onscreen, not in the chair backs, and the AMC’s technical execution was only serviceable, not flawless (the image was not framed properly for a few minutes; sound and lights came up and down with peculiar timing). But you do get the opportunity to munch popcorn in your seat (a few of us indulged). And the proceedings are framed by backstage patter: it’s awful darn cool to get to hear the SM pass the “maestro to the pit, please” call.
What you do get is a good taste of something like the live experience, and in the case of this electrifying production about the first atomic bomb test at the Trinity site in New Mexico, under the scientific direction of J. Robert Oppenheimer, that’s something special.
Julian Crouch’s set makes the first impact. Projected on a scrim is the periodic table of the elements known at that time, quaintly missing Francium and Technetium and stopping at Plutonium. The scrim is pulled to reveal a three-level set for the chorus: the effect is of pigeonholes in a rolltop desk, or a warren of office cubicles. The stage is abuzz with activity as preparations for the bomb test are being made.
In the second scene, Sasha Cooke as Kitty Oppenheimer sings a lush, intimate “Am I in your light?” to her husband Robert. The act closes with a powerful “Batter my heart, three-person’d God” from Oppenheimer, sung by Gerald Finley of the piercing, haunted blue eyes.
John Adams is known for his choruses, and the second-act “At the sight of this, your Shape stupendous” is a stunner, as the atomic energy workers react to a vision of Vishnu in the skies. The put-upon meteorologist Frank Hubbard (Earle Patriarco) reports that weather conditions have finally cleared, and the test is on. The penultimate moments of the opera, as the atomic explosion ignites an era, perhaps carry more effect in the actual theater.
Generally, the multi-camera work is unobtrusive (the Met has been televising live performances effectively for years, of course) and follows the action, mixing long shots (a four-shot of Oppenheimer, Kitty, her shadow, and his gigantic one is well-framed) and extreme closeups—pans, zooms, and tilts up from the vantage point of the pit. Once in a while the lighting and exposure levels for Ms. Cooke wash her out.
Which leads me to the following question: do Met performers adjust their makeup when they’re being televised? What I saw looked natural in closeup, so I wonder how it plays in the upper reaches of the balconies.
And where can we score some of those great prop cigarettes? Oppenheimer and Kitty were rarely without one, and the cool thing about the prop is that you can take a drag from it and get a little puff of smoke.
- Doctor Atomic, composed by John Adams, libretto by Peter Sellars, conducted by Alan Gilbert, directed by Penny Woolcock, Metropolitan Opera, New York/HD Live