The Metropolitan Opera's 2015-16 season got off to a turbulent start with a new Bartlett Sher-directed production of Verdi's masterful "Otello."

Based on the famed Shakespeare play, the opera tells the story of Otello whose jealousy destroys his marriage and himself.

The big news heading into the big night was Sher's decision to get rid of the tradition of using blackface to depict the titular character. It was a progressive move that packs a big punch considering America's current cultural context.

It was also the only thing that Sher really had to offer in his interpretation of arguably the greatest Italian opera ever concocted.

Sher is a Metropolitan Opera vet that has shown his worth in some comedic operas such as "Le Comte Ory" and "Il Barbiere di Siviglia," but his output is a rather confused approach toward remaining "traditional" while adding sufficient minimalism in the mix to make it appear "modern." The result often winds up coming off redressing the set without ultimately altering the meaning or perspective on the work.

For some context just turn to Willy Decker's psychological "La Traviata" or Anthony Minghella's "Madama Butterfly" and its fantastical elements. Both of these works offer up new perspectives on timeless classics, allowing the viewers to see their protagonists in new light.

Sher is obviously not trying to reinvent the wheel with his productions, but his "Otello" hardly feels necessary at all. The elimination of blackface is vital to be sure, but once one gets over that aspect of the work, the "Otello" offers little in terms of perspective or even visual dynamism.

Opera has often gotten a bad rap in the past because of its lack of "theatricality (a rather dubious statement considering that opera is inherently theatrical regardless of how you approach it)." A lot of the vitriol is thrown at the "parking and barking" from older singers that fails to create any dramatic synergy.

While one would surely agree that too much standing around kills any tension and essentially turns an opera into a concert in costume, too much of the opposite also creates the same effect.

Take the third act duet between Otello and Desdemona under Sher's direction. This is the boiling point for the relationship with the titular character raging at his wife for what he believes to be infidelity. She is supposed to be defending herself from his attacks. There is a confrontation with two characters at ends with each other. And yet the best direction Sher gives his actors is to walk from one end of the stage to the other. The pattern of characters constantly turning away from each other to avoid the conflict kills the tension and thus loses its own impact as a dramatic device. The reality is that while parking and barking never builds momentum because of its inherent static nature, having singers walk around the set repeatedly to create a sense of "dynamism" (a cliché of many opera directors these days) is just as ineffective as the movements lose their meaning when they become repetitive and redundant. There are some moments of dramatic brilliance throughout the night, mainly Iago's vicious slap of Emilia in the Act 2 quartet and the duel scene in Act 1. Unfortunately the consistency is not there to really add up to all that much on a dramatic level and the direction lacks suspense. Some blocking seemed rather unnatural to performers with the constant kissing of Otello and Desdemona taking away from the impact of the romantic gesture and even Otello's robotic attempt on Iago's life in Act 2 standing out. The old adage of "less is more" in some of the blocking would have certainly helped Sher on his way.

When he is not having his singers move about without clear intent, he has them go to the other extreme of parking and barking. This is especially present in major choral set pieces at the very start of the opera and in the massive Act 3 finale. There is certainly little to do here with the onlookers, but this is not helped by the overall flat look of Sher's set.

Which is the elephant in the room. The set itself is a massive missed opportunity because everyone knows that a good visual can wipe away awkward or stiff blocking. And yet Sher stumbles here as well, providing audiences with a concept that works at times and gets in the way the rest of the time.

Sher stated in a recent interview that he was inspired by librettist Arrigo Boito's comments to Verdi about keeping Otello contained within the metaphorical "glass palace" that they had constructed dramatically. He took the concept to heart, creating four "glass" panels that supposedly encase the characters. They are allowed to move about to shape new corridors (as is evident in the "walk and talk" trio of Act 3) and at the end of the third act actually create a rather potent image when they "encase" Otello.

Aside from that their other purpose is to distract and make some noise. This seemed another case of Sher feeling that moving around the set as often as possible would create a feeling of energy and movement when the action "lagged" (this was also evident in Sir David McVicar's Met "Cavalleria Rusticana"), but what he does not see is how unnecessary all that shifting really is.

The "Fuoco di Gioia" scene suffers from the director completely disregarding the music and text and instead using it as a moment to transition between sets, rolling out tables while the chorus stands around and sings. He might as well have cut the musical number altogether rather than blatantly ignore it from a dramatic standpoint.

There are also video projections that constantly show the waves of the ocean, sometimes changing color to alter the mood or emphasize Otello's emotional state. The ocean could be seen as a symbol for the tumultuous state of affairs, the storm brewing in the eponymous characters mind and heart. It's a nice touch, but it too never evolves beyond its initial state, never giving the audience any sense that these images are progressing toward deeper meaning.

All this movement of the set and video projections keep the viewers' eyes and mind away from one major realization - Sher has no major ideas for "Otello." He can dress it up all he wants with a new crystal palace and videos, but it lacks any insightful point of view. If anyone was to ask what this "Otello" was about, the answers would likely hue toward the more traditional view of Otello. None of the other complex themes that layer this intricate work of art are explored with only the surface plot being engaged.

Let's make it clear that there is nothing wrong with remaining faithful to the source material. However, a new production is often expected to bring about a more insightful and profound experience with a familiar work. The old production by Elijah Moshinsky hit the same notes in less distracting ways.

At this point in the review, the reader might jump to the conclusion that there was no positive takeaway from the opening night except for the expulsion of "black face."

Fortunately the singers held up their end of the bargain. Dramatically speaking it was not the most cohesive team. The cast was essentially stranded at sea, both literally and figuratively.

In the title role Aleksandrs Antonenko was rather stiff on stage and often looked robotic in executing parts of the staging (his attempt on Iago's life in Act 2 comes to mind). This is in no way a shot at Antonenko's acting abilities as his performance of the same role in 2008 under Riccardo Muti was far more convincing dramatically. One could argue that his series of concert performances with Muti a few years later were more powerful than his work with Sher in this production. In those past productions, his Otello was far more feral, wildly unpredictable and yet preserved a sense of regal nobility.

On Monday he was emotionally charged, but the performance was rarely effective from a physical standpoint. It all came from his gorgeous voice. The role of the Otello, despite its reputation for loud singing, is actually written in the pianissimo dynamic throughout. Verdi knew that having the character singing in a softer timbre would thus make his increasing emotional explosions all the more effective. It added complexity to him, making a tame man that could suddenly turn into a violent warrior. In this respect Antonenko has the character down to a tee. His "Esultate" showed his vocal strength and confidence, the B flat grace note coming off with great ease, the hero showing that he could overcome any physical obstacle with minimal strife. Contrast that with the dolce singing in the "Dio Mi Potevi." The entire opening section of the "aria" has Otello utter his complaints on a repeated sequence of notes (A flat and E flat) on a single rhythm, allowing for him to sound exhausted and stuck in a harmonic limbo along with the repetitive strings. However the shift into the lyrical "Ma o pianto o duol" saw Antonenko turn his otherwise weighty voice into the slimmest of timbres, drawing the listener into this most intimate of moments. At the climactic "l'anima acqueta" Antonenko held the high G natural for a rather lengthy time, holding onto the moment and creating wrenching emotional tension. This allowed for a natural progression of Otello musically and emotionally letting go, reaching ever higher, the voice growing stronger until finally he exploded with intense rage, calling out God for his hypocrisy and climaxing on a portentous B flat. During the act three duet with Desdemona, Antonenko's exaggerated emphasis of a grace note in "eburnea mano" turned into a sarcastic subversion of Desdemona's more delicate treatment of the same figure moments earlier. This was layered throughout Antontenko's performance from a vocal standpoint and his well-place accents at some of Otello's most ferocious moments added to the unpredictability of the Lion of Venice.

His singing showcased beautiful legato in the love duet as well as the "E tu, tu que sei palida" in the final "Niun Mi Tema." In that final passage, his calls to Desdemona were hushed and had a fragile quality, emphasizing the character's emotional breaking point. A few moments later Otello commits suicide.

This is the kind of vocal depth Antonenko provided to his characterization and it was a shame that the blocking and seeming lack of direction on stage often detracted from his understanding of the role.

As Desdemona Sonya Yoncheva had a different mountain to climb. She was making her role debut as a character who, at least in this iteration, could be seen as a naïve if not tactically approached. Sher's approach was to amp up Desdemona's naivette, making her all the more frustrating. In the final scene, Otello comes into the bedroom ready to smother his wife. However, he relents momentarily and kisses her. Desdemona is awakened by the kiss and asks who it is before realizing it is Otello. In Sher's version, Otello kisses Desdemona three times and she is awake the entire time, making her questioning rather suspicious. She knows that Otello thinks her an adulteress and yet she dares to question whether it is anyone but her husband kissing her despite being wide awake?

Other dramatic instances had Desdemona constantly run away from confronting Otello despite trying to defend herself (the Act 3 duet again) though she did show some spunk right before getting pulled to the ground at the pezzo concertato.

Yoncheva did the best in her circumstances and spun one glorious vocal line after another. From the moment she started singing her very first lines in the love duet ("Quando narravi") it was clear that from a musical standpoint, she would leave everyone wanting more. And that she certainly did, Desdemona's purity and angelic nature coming through.

Yoncheva, who was tremendous last season in "La Traviata," was far from dramatically inert. There were points in the Act 3 confrontation, from a vocal standpoint, where the singers pushed their voices to the expressive limits, no longer sounding like they were singing but almost shouting at each other. When Desdemona uttered the, as Verdi called it, parola scenia "No son cio che esprime quela parola orrenda," her voice took on a harsh quality the content reflected in the form. Moments before, her voice poured out with tremendous vocal power as she related her first painful tears of marriage.

Then came the final scene where Desdemona becomes the central figure of the drama. Alone in her bedroom, she remembers a sad willow song and then prays an Ave Maria as if preparing to meet her fate.

Yoncheva's Desdemona was seemingly in a trance in the Willow Song, almost possessed by the music, her delivery of the repetitive "Salce, Salce, Salce" quieting with each progression before the final utterance received the most subtle of swells and then died out. She sang so quietly and delicately that it was ghostlike at times. The Ave Maria was delivered with even more delicate timbre, so soft that she forced the audience to listen ever carefully. The Met never sounded quieter and it was rather wonderful to hear the sound of the Ave Maria die out with no applause to interrupt it; it made the ensuing harmonic shift from the foreboding basses all the more powerful.

At her death, Yoncheva ushered in one more section of vocal magic, her voice actually sounding a bit rough and coarse, providing a stark contrast to the silkiness of the singing throughout the rest of the night.

The final piece of the puzzle was Zeljko Lucic as the villainous Iago. In Verdi's opera, Iago is as bad as it gets, getting no moment to show any redeeming qualities or traits. He is a master manipulator out for vengeance. Lucic embraced the sinister nature of Iago yet his performance, and specifically his voice, added a new dimension to the character.

Often times Iago interpreters play up the "ugliness" in their voice to add a stark contrast to the purity of Desdemona's timbre. Lucic however has a naturally beautiful sound that is tough to hallow out or coarsen. That however did not stop him from making Iago work. Instead it helped it.

By singing with such refinement, he sounded the part of a manipulator and was able to revel in the sarcasm of imitating certain vocal patterns of other characters. He was almost hiding his horrid self behind an elegant vocal display. When he talks to Otello the first time about his suspicious regarding Cassio and Desdemona, he imitated Antonenko's phrasing exactly when answered with a question. It added to the sardonic nature of his response, making him all the more conniving. During the "dream aria" at the conclusion of Act 2, his gentle phrasing only added to the delicate musical tapestry around him, adding a wistfulness that counterpointed the painful realization for Otello. In essence, Lucic's pristine timbre moved against the grain dramatically, adding more friction to the situation.

Yet he could certainly play to expectations, bellowing violently during the famed "Credo" when Iago essentially reveals his depraved nature for the first time. The opening statements were declaimed with full volume and maximum emphasis on consonants, adding a viciousness to the wording. As the aria progressed, his voice got quieter and quieter until the final "La Morte e nulla" was a hushed whisper. That is dramatic singing at its finest.

Other supporting roles were effective with Dimitri Pittas' rugged tenor actually providing a nice doppelganger for Otello. They may be odds in Otello's mind, but they are, at heart, very much on the same side. Jennifer Johnson Cano was strong as Emilia, her characterization showing a woman unafraid of her husband, even if it means taking a slap from him. Gunther Groissbock presented a deliberate sounding bass as Ludovico and asked the question of why he wasn't getting bigger (and deserved) roles to showcase it in.

Then there was Yannick Nezet-Seguin, one of the most exciting conductors around. Every time the Met Orchestra plays under his baton, the ensemble seems to find a new gear, a new level. Scores come to life in ways they don't under other conductors. Details emerge that are often overlooked by other conductors. The brass section, which sometimes sounds disjointed under other batons, is in perfect synchronization, and on this night it took down the unenviable fanfare of Act 3 with no sign of difficulty at all. Just look at the opening storm, a musical feast for any conductor filled with such diversity of colors and some of Verdi's most powerful tonal painting. Nezet-Seguin maintained an even-keeled tempo to kick off the proceedings, yet there were hints of propulsion, a sense that things could move so quickly as to get out of control. And yet the conductor always reeled it in, keeping the tempi under control. It was the feeling of being swayed back and forth on a tumultuous ocean, yet like Otello, ultimately coming out of it safe and sound. For the time being at least.

The chamber music in the love duet was exquisite in every respect, the celli harmonizing so delicately that their sounds both suggested the beauty of the romantic moment as well as the ultimate frailty of this romance. It provided a bittersweet feeling to the entire setup of the scene, the only time we would see the couple completely reveling in the greatness of pure love.

The openings to Act 3 and 4 were other memorable moments. In the former, the relenting ostinato string passage (initiated on viola) permeated throughout, creating an uneasiness that often gets lost the moment the violins swell up and explode into lyricism. The melancholic Act 4 chorale had a free-flowing quality to it, feeling as if it were being built up and yet being torn down by the same successive gesture.

From a musical standpoint, this "Otello" delivered. Considering the opera and its endless musical rewards, that should be enough to warrant the experience. Unfortunately the new production offers nothing new and the new things that it does offer are often distracting and amount to little insightful or emotionally resonant.

If there is one big thing to take away however it is that opera at the Met is back and that is always a good thing.