Bing Pinged

"What is this? Constructivist staging or what?" cried New York Times Critic Olin Downes. The Herald Tribune's Virgil Thomson was equally dyspeptic; his evening at the Metropolitan Opera House reminded him of "the French chef who in serving a New England boiled dinner had carved the beets like roses and turned turnips into lilies . . ." The critics' ire and ulcers were aroused last week by the Met's new streamlined production of Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana and Leoncavallo's Pagliacci, the wonderful old pair of operatic favorites.

For his overhaul job, General Manager Rudolf Bing had turned to the Met's own staff of directors and set designers. Staff Director Hans Busch planned to give "Cav," a turbulent little tragedy of Sicilian chivalry, a thoroughly realistic treatment. He slipped up on some details. Sample: when cuckolded Alfio challenged swaggering Seducer Turiddu, Alfio stood well back, out of all possible harm's way, looking considerably more foolish than furious. But despite such incongruities, and the fussy set and cluttered stage that offended Critic Downes, the singing (notably by Tenor Richard Tucker and Soprano Zinka Milanov) almost turned Cavalleria into a triumph.

Pagliacci, the little play-within-a-play tragedy of strolling players, was a victim of cuteness, somewhat redeemed by the singing. Staff Director Max Leavitt, onetime director of Greenwich Village's informal little Lemonade Opera (TIME, June 20, 1949), tried some of his favorite tricks from the old days. He set up a small platform in the center of the huge main stage, kept the action confined to it. To the scandal of traditionalists, he even took away the tent that generations of Pagliaccis have clung to as they sobbed the clown's famous aria. Tenor Ramon Vinay did his sobbing in front of a dismal little curtain that was lowered behind him. As at the Lemonade Opera, perky choristers danced on from time to time with props and a snippet of scenery. All in all, what had been bright staging in Greenwich Village seemed pretty thin tinsel at the gilded Met.

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