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One is a profound and moving portrait of neighborhood pummeled by deprivation, racism, and hurricanes.
And, in its first revival in a generation, the Met does the score proud.
Even thoughPorgys been gone from the house since 1990, the company treated it as utterly familiar territory.
David Robertson has the Mets orchestra whipping up Verdian gales and caressing Puccini-esque arias.
Bass-baritone Eric Owens lends hard-earned Wagnerian majesty to the title role.
Gershwin conceivedPorgy and Bessin part as a stepping-stone for struggling black singers.
He would have been gratified to see this production reap the benefits of so many rich careers.
All those musical superpowers on the Mets stage makePorgyas easy to love as it is hard to swallow.
Director James Robinson makes no excuses for the written-out patois.
( Thems the same cock-eyed bones what clean the game out last Saturday night.
If they rolls in this game, I rolls out.)
This is not aPorgyfor the Black Lives Matter or #MeToo eras.
Its the same old troubled triumph, flaunting the same old faults and doing so magnificently.
Opera audiences will tolerate a lot of cliches in exchange for some mighty singing.
Give it points for trying.
In the meantime, thisPorgydepends on a cast whose members not only sing superbly but sing to each other.
Frederick Ballentine does more than strut and ooze as Sportin Life; he understands Bess enough to manipulate her.
Owens sings with urgent reticence, letting his big voice roll through the lines like deep waves.
Blue, too, finds a way to dose tenderness and vulnerability into an almost three-dimensional Bess.
But its the fusion of her and Owenss dark timbres and emotional currents that bears the operas tragic load.
