Of all of Wagner's noted works, "Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg" might be one of the least popular works.

In many ways, it is the outlier. Unlike his other canonical operas, it is the only one that does not end tragically (at least not with any protagonists dying or getting killed off that is). It's his only opera that manages to balance comedy with underlying tragic notes. It's also performed infrequently because of some parts being the longest of Wagner's works (the final act alone clocks in at over two hours).

It has been seven years since the Met Opera showcased the work, and the company's decision to re-stage the work during the 2014-15 season has been a tremendous blessing. The performance on Friday, Dec. 6, was particularly riveting.

The Otto Schenk production from 1993 continues to hold up well despite the passing of the times. Many traditional productions in the same vein have often faded in recent times without more vigorous directing. In some cases, such as is with "La Boheme," repetition has led to routine and only the arrival of transcendent artists has helped the production obtain a feeling of refreshment. The infrequent performances of "Meistersinger" (only 29 since the 1993 premiere) might continue the feeling of discovery, but there are other factors at work here.

There are four sets throughout this production, and each brims with a brown-beige color palette that feels timeless. The color choice is bold yet restrained enough to center on the actors, as is often the case with Schenk productions. The first is set in St. Katherine's Church with a doorway upstage allowing the viewer and Walter to peer in at the congregation. In the middle is Eva, placing her as the central figure of the entire narrative.

A massive table is set up to denote the mastersingers and their initially centrality to the plot and their larger-than-life qualities. Again, the set is articulate and spare, allowing for a nice sense of space and enough freedom for the actors.

The second act set, a street scene with houses running parallel on the stage right and left, drew tremendous applause. The set places Pogner and Han Sach's homes on opposite sides of the street, underlining their dichotomous relationship. On one hand, Han Sachs is intimate with the family, and yet he's chosen to give up his affections for Eva. The lighting in this scene moves seamlessly from day to night. The only major issue with this scene is the uninteresting choreography of the battle in the streets. This is often described as pandemonium, but in this case it's little more than a few choreographed battles with others standing around. More bustle and chaos would certainly aid the appeal of this frenzied scene.

The first scene of act three brings the viewer into Han Sachs' abode, which is divided into two spaces. This makes for a rather unique contrast in the act's first scene between David and Hans. While the apprentice flitters about joyfully, his master sits solemnly. The excitement of youth and the anguish of old age could not be more profoundly articulated. This set is made all the more dynamic by its juxtaposition of other characters with Sachs who remains in his space throughout. Others enter into his space, but oftentimes, they wind up on the other side.

Once this scene ends, the curtain comes down and rises on a massive field where the contest takes place. The scene is placed on stage right, a stark contrast to the opening act in which the mastersingers are front and center. In this case, they get relegated to the margins emphasizing unique story points. The opera has an interesting progression of moving from the public sphere of the church to the streets and then to the intimate home of Han Sachs and the personal and innermost desires. In fact, the third act showcases Han Sachs revealing his deepest suffering, Walter's dream and the union of love. This final scene is a combination of the personal and public with an emphasis on the personal. It also highlights Walter's eventual overcoming of the rules set by the mastersingers as his own innovative spirit comes to the fore. The green that pervades this scene represents the first time a set's not dominated by brown-beige, suggesting new growth is yet to come.

The terrific cast made the world of Nurnberg come to life. Leading the way is the legendary James Morris as Hans Sach. He represents the man willing to accept innovations, and yet he is caught up in his own suffering and desires. His opening scene of the third act showcases Wagner's admiration of Schopenhauer at its most powerful as the character abnegates his own will in hopes of making himself and those around him happier. Morris was at his best here, his voice finding nuance and contrast throughout. There was a sense of rapture and unbearable grief. He would explore his emotions with tremendous volume and fury as he contemplated the ongoing violence of the world but would move to his most delicate and mournful sounds, his voice thinning as he contemplated his future and love of Eva. In other scenes, Morris' Sachs was brimming with charisma and energy. He was a towering presence as he chided Walter for rejecting the masters, and his voice resounded. He also sang the Cobbler's song with relish. His introspective singing at the start of the second act was filled with lush legato phrasing and even revealed the romantic ardour of the character. The viewer saw the depth and passion of Sachs in a new light. It was an iconic portrayal by a true legend. 

As Walter von Stolzing, Johan Botha brought a riveting tenor. His voice projects wonderfully throughout the theater but possesses a lightness that allows him to spin nuanced phrasing. His voice during both iterations of the prize song was delicate, adding warmth and a surreal beauty. The upper range and lower range bristled with confidence, and his crescendos in both of Walter's songs were riveting and propulsive. He portrayed Walter as a youthful and flirtatious man (evidenced by his strong chemistry with Annette Dasch's equally energetic Eva), but there was enough pomposity and stubbornness to add depth. It made his violent outburst more believable and added nuance to the dynamic between Hans Sachs and Walter.

Dasch's crisp and sweet soprano suited Eva's angelic character to perfection, particularly in the sublime duet that she dominates. In this incomparable section, her voice rose effortlessly. But there was enough coquettish charm to create a rounded human being. Most convincing of all was her Act two interaction with Hans Sachs. Dasch's Eva was so invested in convincing him to help her, it was easy to question the reasons behind her intentions. In some moments, it looked like she truly loved the elder. That obviously brought up questions regarding her love for Walter, but that obviously makes for an interesting dynamic between the two. It also highlighted the fact Eva is a young girl and she might not be so clear about her feelings early on. As plot developed, her behavior highlighted emotional evolution and her love for Walter moved from flirty to sincere emotion. This was particularly evident in her reaction to his prize song. At first, she stood stunned with her hands over face. Then she ran over and hugged him. This was the man of her dreams, and there could be no doubt. And yet, later interactions with Sachs expressed similar tenderness that showed a continued sense of devotion, albeit in a different sphere of emotions.

As Beckmesser, Johannes Martin Kranzle managed to combine the caricature normally associated with the antagonist with humanity. While he certainly exaggerated some movements (such as walking the street, impatiently waiting for Hans Sachs to shut up), it felt like this was an embedded quality of Beckmesser. Afterall, he's filled with a stately arrogance and entitlement and would do everything to express his greatness. In Kranzle's performance, that extended to every aspect of the character, even his desperate lute playing. During his famous song, Kranzle delivered with tenderness that actually came through the banal music Wagner wrote for him. Despite hating his actions, the viewer sympathized with his embarrassing behavior and consequences.

As Pogner, Hans-Peter Konig reminded audiences why he's a preeminent singer of his repertoire. His magnificent bass resounded through the theater, and his portrayal of Eva's father showed a man conflicted by his commitment to his art and guild and his love for his daughter.

Paul Appleby stole every scene as a phenomenal David. His voice sang with polish throughout his lesson to Walter, and his song at the lengthy section at the start of three was a mix of rhythm and suave legato. As Maddalene, Karen Cargill had perfect comic timing. The opening scene, in which she runs back in and out of the church, prepared the audience for what would be a night full of laughter. Matthew Rose also displayed his glorious voice as the Nightwatcher, and the remaining soloists who played the mastersingers all succeeded in their individual moments.

The chorus was at its best, and the passage that celebrates Hans Sachs threatened to bring down the theater with its thunder. It was as epic as it gets in the most intimate of Wagnerian operas.

And then there is James Levine. The Maestro, who is second to none in this repertoire, has certainly come a long way from his travails a few years ago. With the exception of "Wozzeck" last season, Levine's conducted one comic opera after another since his return. And each opera, he's shown a tremendous joie de vivre of a man enjoying his return. In "Meistersinger" he was arguably at his finest. The prelude was broad in its tempi but still retained a sense of propulsion. He drew some glorious sounds from the solo strings that arrive after the prelude. The prelude to the second act crackled with elusive energy, and the introduction to the third act was elastic in its tempi and aching in its feeling. This particular prelude was arguably the most powerful of moments, and this musical cousin of "Tristan und Isolde" was filled with the same painful despair of that most famous works. The finale of Act 2, with its chaos and rhythmic disparity, is a nightmare for conductors as it can easily get out of hand. But Levine managed to create the sense that the music was headed toward disaster while always maintaining complete control. The final scene was filled with tremendous musical fervor, highlighted by a terrifically choreography.

"Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg" is a tricky opera. While filled with comic touches, it's a lengthy work whose main character is tragic. But led by the legendary Levine and Morris, the other terrific cast members and Schenk's ever-fresh production, the work's balance comes to the fore in a manner that is enthralling, entertaining and emotionally transcendent.