The Metropolitan Opera rarely performs operetta on its stage with only a few exceptions getting a chance to reach a wider range of audiences.

Among the operettas to get those opportunities is Lehar's "The Merry Widow." The work was revived in a new production by Susan Stroman this past winter and has now gotten a chance at a second run.

The work is set in Paris and follows a group of politicians from the fictional Pontevedro as they look to marry off the wealthy widow Hanna Glawari to Count Danilo in attempts to save the fatherland. However, Danilo wants nothing to do with Hanna (or so he says) due to some problems the two lovers had in the past. The work takes place during the course of one evening and three different parties, offering directors many opportunities for tremendous dance numbers.

The work centers on two different couples moving in very different directions. While Hanna and Danilo are constantly flirting with one another beneath their outward disdain, Valencienna, the wife of the ambassador Baron Mirko Zeta, is trying to resist the charms of the Frenchman Camille de Rosillon. And it demands singing actors capable of driving these two narratives.

As Hanna, Susan Graham was an imposing figure both physically and vocally. The Mezzo-soprano paced elegantly about, always maintaining a sense of poise amid the proceedings. But she was also a fun and vulnerable Hanna, dancing about with relish at numerous moments. During her flirtations with Danilo, she would show thick skin, but her glances at him expressed her own burning desire. During the famed "Vilja" song, Graham's voice was its most lush and tender, her delicate phrasing delivering a powerful sense of nostalgia. Every reprise of the word "Vilja" was a caresses to a time passed and her mezza voce singing of the reprise was breathtaking, bringing the audience into a very intimate and far-off place. This was the emotional core of the performance, shedding the layers of strength that she had showcased the rest of the evening with her potent and fearless voice.

As Danilo, Rod Gilfry managed a similarly defensive performance with his character always seeming to look for ways to empower himself. He appeared drunk onstage in the opening scenes before falling asleep clumsily. Ensuing interactions with Hanna were filled with snarl and hostility, but from scene to scene, moment to moment, the relationship softened with the initial sarcasm giving way to more straight-forward flirtation. And each waltz between the two developed the romance. In each one of the iterations, the lovers seemed to find their "legs," the movements starting slowly and growing into a full-fledged dance. Vocally he was sonorous, the virility of his singing showcasing a man looking to assert himself despite knowing that he was in fact lying to himself about his feelings.

As Valencienne and Rosillon, Andriana Chuchman and Stephen Costello ramped up the sexuality, an excellent contrast to the more restrained romance between Danilo and Hanna. From the start Costello and Chuchman showed no physical restraint, holding each other closely and suggestively. It was all done in great taste, with Costello's Rosillon actually appearing timid in many respects. He burned with passion and yet looked conflicted about where to draw the line and how whether to cross it. Chuchman's Valencienne seemed just as uncomfortable in the flirtation, though clearly enjoying being the center of attention to the gallant Frenchman.

They suited one another vocally throughout, their voices meshing in their duets. Costello delivered arguably one of his finest Met performances with lush phrasing and explosive top notes. His declaration of love in the second act was ardent and forward pushing; one could feel the rush of passion coming forth and the eventual climax arriving on a resonant high note.

Chuchman meanwhile showed tremendous flexibility vocally and delivered a show-stopping moment when she joined in with the Grisettes for a vocal and dancing number.

The remainder of the cast was just as formidable in support with Alan Opie enjoying the silly and yet regal Baron Zeta. Zeta is one the character constantly ridiculed not only for his wife "cuckolding him," but for his unfailing trust in her. Opie relished the naiveté of the character and really let his childlike impulses come through. There was hardly a more hilarious moment than when the Baron peeps in on his wife and Rosillon in the summer house, without knowing that it is his wife. He jumped up with excitement at the prospect of eavesdropping and giggled at the idea of catching the Frenchman in the act. But then ensuing shout, after discovering his wife, punctuated the moment delightfully.

Carson Elrod distinguished himself as the inexperienced Njegus, looking to joining the other men in the act of love making, but always looking a step behind. Even in the famous ensemble for men in which they ponder the strangeness of women, he was always behind with the choreography, a joke that would permeate throughout the work. That he never gets his own redemption is a plot hole, but his journey is certainly one of the most entertaining around. Another highlight would be Njegus arriving on the scene shortly after the glorious Rosillon-Valencienne duet. As the audience applauded for the lovers, Elrod's Njegus entered the stage and took the applause for himself.

There were other memorable turns throughout, including Alexander Lewis and Jeff Mattsey as St. Brioche and Cascada, two Frenchman out to conquer the widow. Their high point was a duel that was robotic in nature and yet perfectly coordinated. It presented a true satire of the duel and its meaninglessness.

In the pit, Fabio Luisi did what he usually does -- put up a stellar performance. Throughout the overture, he managed to articulate rather clear pauses between the different sections without ever slowing the momentum. He maintained a sense of drive throughout, and even his freedom with tempi at times felt organic within the overall context of the music. The waltzes brimmed with energy and romance while the more upbeat dance numbers had an irresistible surge that had audience members noticeably tapping their feet and moving in their seats.

Stroman's production is nothing if not traditional. Lavish sets and costumes abound with the director taking any and every opportunity to showcase dances and other choreographed numbers. Painted backdrops dominate, particularly in the second act. The real show stopper is the set change from Hanna's home to Maxim's where the sets rise and fall around the Grisette's dance; the action is so well coordinate that the change feels like one fluid and organic motion. At one point, three Grisettes descend from the ceiling of the stage.

The pacing of the work is also quite delightful with no jokes feeling excessive and the narrative maintaining cohesion throughout. Some characters are left hanging, most notably Njegus and Valencienne, who for all of his importance to the narrative, feels like he is ignored in the final act of the work in order to fix the marriage of the Baron with Valencienne. It is a bit of unfinished plotting, that while frustrating, is not detrimental to this entertaining show.

All in all, "The Merry Widow" is not only for opera lovers, but also for those who might be interested in something lighter. With its dance numbers and spoken dialogue, the work could be a hit with Broadway lovers as well as those often daunted by the all-consuming power of the medium. The cast was stellar and the orchestra, led by the peerless Fabio Luisi, really connected with audiences on a visceral level.