Since over a year ago when the Metropolitan Opera announced the 2014-15 season, there was one set of performances that was on everyone's calendar -- the "Carmen" performances featuring Jonas Kaufmann and Elina Garanca in early March.

The other casts for the production were extraordinary, but there was something to be said for the two shows featuring two superstars that were supposed to sing together in another hotly anticipated "Werther" during 2013-14. That dream "Werther" cast never came to fruition because Garanca stepped out of the performance months earlier and this hotly anticipated "Carmen" was not able to see the light because Kaufmann was ill and wound up missing both performances.

In his absence, the Met called in South Korean tenor Yonghoon Lee, who had been making a name for himself at the opera in such roles as "Don Carlo" and "Carmen" in a previous season. But he always had some big shoes to fill, considering that by many accounts, Kaufmann is the highest profile tenor in the modern opera world.

But there could be no doubt, after this set of performances, that anyone who did not know Lee surely knew him now. And one can be sure that his upcoming performances in "Don Carlo," "Il Trovatore" and "Cavalleria Rusticana" at the Met will be obtaining larger audiences that might have been previously anticipated.

To say that Lee has it all is an understatement. The tenor has a slim figure, which has led to people misperceiving the potency of his voice. And what potency it has. A squillo sound that harkens back to the golden age Italian tenors such as Franco Corelli (who Lee quotes as one of his favorites), Carlo Bergonzi or Mario del Monaco. The top is secure and powerful, but Lee knows how to lighten his voice until it is feathery and delicate. Alongside soprano Ailyn Perez, he delivered a suave rendition of the Act 1 Duet "Parle-moi de ma mere!" that highlighted Jose as a sensitive man. In fact, one could feel the force of his voice growing throughout the performance, almost delineating Jose increasingly aggressive turn into madness. Prior to the famed "La fleur que tu m'avais jetee!" his voice rang with fury as he told Carmen to sit and listen. But throughout the notable aria, his voice was a tender thread of sound, exposing his very soul and weakness. Even though he sang the climactic B flat full-voiced, it diminuendoed at the end before his final declaration of love was delivered with a show-stopping swell.

But in the final acts, Lee's Jose, who had a rigidity in stature throughout the opening acts, was far more unsettled in his physical behaviors. In the third act, he was animalistic in his assaults on Escamillo and especially Carmen where he threw her down with wild abandon. His voice throughout this latter passage, in which he told Carmen that he would never leave her, had the effect of a long and developing crescendo of intensity and anger.

But it was the final act which really lifted his performance above all others. Carmen is undoubtedly the heroine of the story, but it is Jose that undergoes the most noticeable character development. In many instances, it is easy to look at his character and cringe at the obsession. Many Joses, despite their pleads and intensity, might actually alienate the audience because Carmen's free-thinking ways are far more palatable. But in Lee's hands, Jose is the most pitiable of men. He comes in calm and collected, grasping a cross around his neck as if to keep his emotions in check. His voice harkened back to the opening of the opera with its delicate touches. But slowly and surely, the anger mounted, the voice's brightness increased and he almost sounded like he was sobbing as he implored Carmen to take him back ("Carmen, il est temps encore"). And in the final act of that wondrous duet, he became not the matador, but the bull trying to take down Carmen at any cost. The cross was tossed away vehemently and his B flat on "Demon," his final threat toward her, was held out for an insurmountable length with every possible resource of his voice on display. And when he finally stabbed her to death, it was a moment of unwatchable violent, with even Garanca's Carmen looking overwhelmed and shocked by the swiftness of the blow. In those final moments, Lee's "Ma Carmen Adoree" became the most piercing of laments, making the viewer feel the desperation, angst and pain of the tragedy on hand. It was not only Carmen's loss, but most certainly Don Jose's as well.

As the titular character, Garanca was a dominating presence that belittled everyone around her. Her voice, with its massive volume and ever-fascinating flexibility aligned wonderfully with her interpretation of this woman as not only irresistible but truly hard to pin down. She wants freedom and she acts on it in any way possible. She is undoubtedly manipulative and deceptive, but yet always frank and sincere. She understands the world around her as one of men objectifying and using women, but she uses that to her advantage. In her opening "Habanera," Garanca took a shirt and washed in a bucket, her every action increasingly phallic and sexual. At the climax of the solo, she seduced Richard Bernstein's Zuniga with a rose, every motion increasingly suggestive until she arrived on "je t'aime" in the most suggestive and subversive of positions. She ramped up the sexuality in her seduction of Don Jose, her voice blossoming into an unwritten high note at the climax of the Seguidille; this high note itself was filled with sexual flourish. She danced about during the big number at the start of Act 2, at one point throwing off coloratura runs while suspended in the air on her back.

And yet there was vulnerability in this portrayal. While Lee was undoubtedly the center of attention during his flower song, one look at Garanca made it a tough choice for the viewer to decide on where to direct his or her attention. Garanca's face was filled with a mix between remorse and confusion. She could not bear to look at him, the intensity of his feelings almost too much for her. And there was also a tinge of guilt as she looked around her, almost for an outlet to escape. She knew it was her fault that he felt this way and now she was conflicted on whether she went too far. It was a masterclass in nuance and acting, and she did not even utter a sound. That sense of failing strength was furthered during her famous "Card" aria in Act 3 when Carmen discovers that death is on the horizon for her. Garanca's weight low voice filled with dread; there was also a delicacy in the sound that furthered the sense of this woman's fear in the face of death.

During her final exchange with Escamillo, Garanca's voice was as gentle as it had been the entire night, allowing for a new perspective of Carmen and her deepened feelings. In that final confrontation with Jose however, there was no sign of weakness. She clearly felt for Jose's pain, but turned her back to him, refusing to acknowledge that pain. It almost felt as if she was afraid that she might give in just by a simple glance. But in the moment's most violent exchanges, she remained defiant. Her "Frappe-moi donc, u laisser moi passer (strike me now or let me go)!" was delivered in almost declamatory manner, emphasizing her growing impatience with him and showcasing no emotion toward his angry threats. And the final "Tiens!" when she threw him back a ring he had previously purchased for her was the culmination of his apathy, the disinterested delivery, expressing that Jose means nothing to her. It was a well-sculpted portrayal of a woman whose psyche was in constant evolutionary flux. It made Garanca's Carmen irresistible and suspenseful to watch.

As Michaela, the unfortunate third wheel in this love triangle, was Ailyn Perez who made her debut in this run last month. In Perez's hands, Michaela's arc is just as well-defined as her co-stars despite far less time on stage. Initially, Michaela is timid and filled with innocence. The audience knows that she loves Jose, or at least crushes on him, but she cannot even bear to allow him to give her a romantic kiss. There was an awkwardness in her interaction with Lee's Jose, both characters struggling to make sustained eye contact during their first exchange. When they finally did manage that strong connection, and the viewer anticipated the passionate kiss, all he could muster was a kiss on her forehead. There was another opportunity in the following moment to make up for that on her end, but she instead opted for a sisterly hug. The development of this emotional arc in this duet really expressed their history and the fact that this chaste relationship had no hopes of competing with the far more sexually charged dynamics between Jose and Carmen in the preceding scene. In this act, Perez's singing was filled with immense purity, every note wonderfully sculpted with her finessed sound. She blended beautifully with Lee in that opening duet, keeping that singing restrained but highlighting the idealism of their relationship.

By the third act, her Michaela was a different woman completely. Left alone in the hostility of the gypsy mountains, Perez sang her famed aria "Je dis que rien ne m'epouvante" with visceral abandon. Her voice climaxed with thrilling high notes at the numerous climaxes in the short number, while her softer passages really emphasized the dread that Michaela was feeling. At the piece's final note, Perez made the most glorious of crescendos before allowing her voice to slowly wither away into silence. It was moment of musical brilliance that sent the audience into a rapturous frenzy.

And even in her abbreviated confrontation with Jose and Carmen, Perez's Michaela stood her ground, even stealing the spotlight by standing on a perch at the center of the stage and letting her voice resound as she prepared to tell Jose about his mother's fate. She might have admitted to fear in her aria, but at the moment of duty and action, she was just as strong a woman as her rival and certainly more resolved. This notion was furthered by the act's finale where the viewer is forced to see a contrast between Michaela, leading Jose away through the mountains and Carmen, at her low point on the floor, being treated like a slave by her own fellow gypsies.

In the role of Escamillo, Gabor Bretz was in terrific form. He looked every bit the part of a dashing and athletic bull fighter and his slick voice only added to that idea. He sang every phrase of the celebrated "Votre toast!" with easy and relish. And in his big fight with Jose, he was the more controlled of the two men, highlighting the contrast between the insecure Jose and the seasoned and stronger Escamillo.

Bernstein was ravenous as Zuniga, almost allowing the viewer insight into the obsessive monster that Jose could and would become by the opera's end. The remainder of the supporting cast, which included Danielle Talamantes as Frasquita, Keith Jameson as Remendado, Ginger Costa-Jackson as Mercedes and Brian Montgomery as Le Dancaire, were all memorable in their individual moments. Credit must also be given to the wonderful pair of solo dancers Maria Kowroski and Martin Harvey, whose fluid showcases allowed for insight into the central relationship between Carmen and Jose. And of course the children's chorus, which has one of the most well-known numbers in the opera, provided fun energy in its big moment.

Conductor Louis Langree led a measured account of Bizet's wondrous score. He provided his singers with terrific support, particularly in the opera's final duet where the volume and intensity in the orchestra ratcheted up, but never drowned or overpowered the singers. He brought attention to some fine and elegant details, especially the gentle horn accompaniment in the Act 1 duet between Jose and Michaela.

Credit, of course, is always due to the wondrous production by director Sir Richard Eyre. He has always been brilliant at finding nuanced means to expressing character on the operatic stage and "Carmen" remains if not his finest work at the Met, certainly one of his best. Every set is circular, highlighting the bull fighting arena that is Spain during the Civil War. It establishes the central battle between Carmen and Jose as a bullfight with the identities of the contestants always in doubt. In some moments Carmen appears the fighter and Jose the bull, but in others it is a reverse. There is no doubt that this concept takes it cues from the iconic film adaptation of the opera by Francesco Rosi, which starts off with a bullfight and ends with one, thus emphasizing the circularity of this exchange and the inevitability of Jose killing Carmen. Of course, Carlos Saura's own film adaptation of "Carmen," which subverts the opera and sets it in the world of flamenco, is also visible influence on Eyre's production through the opening Act 2 number and the importance given to the numerous ballets placed strategically throughout the opera.

Every detail in this production is filled with meaning, including the connection between the opening curtain (with its black background and its central red line down the middle) and every set, which all replicate this design, and even Carmen's own dress which resembles it exactly. Even having the women ascend from the depths into the world of men, furthers the notion of the male gaze propagated throughout the opera.

"Carmen" is one of the best known operas in the entire cannon and when combined with a terrific cast and great production, it could easily be the best. There is no doubt that the cast assembled for the March 7 performance hit that benchmark in every possible way.