Transcendent Genius. Those are among the best words to describe what transpired on the Metropolitan Opera stage of Friday, Feb. 28. From the stage production to the cast members, to the orchestra, to even the audience members, the performance of Massenet's masterpiece "Werther" was a communal experience of visceral intensity and immediacy.

The work has not had an auspicious career at the noted opera house. Friday's performance was just the 78th time the opera had been performed at the house; the last time the Met put up a performance of the work prior to this run was in 2003-04. The revival of the work required a new production and for this year's run, Met general manager Peter Gelb turned to director Richard Eyre to inject "Werther" with new life. Eyre previously directed the Met's current "Carmen" production; his take on the work is rather "conservative" by modern standards but is extremely focused on character development and includes some subtle metaphors and symbols to enrich the work. It is this approach that he takes for his "Werther" and the execution of the work is spot-on.

"Werther" is based on Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's famous epistolary novel "The Sorrows of Young Werther" about a manic-depressive young man who commits suicide over unrequited love.

The object of his obsession is Charlotte, a young lady who has become the main female presence in her home after the death of her mother. While Charlotte is in love with Werther, she promised her mother at her deathbed that she would marry Albert. While Charlotte's mother is often an afterthought in most productions, Eyre makes her presence not only a major plot point, but also emphasizes the psychological trauma in the family.

The opening of this production stages the mother's death during a Christmas celebration and also portrays images of death on a screen. The viewer sees ravens followed by a cemetery; behind the screen the viewer is shown the actual burial of Charlotte's mother. This staging not only foreshadows the tragedy that concludes the work, but also emphasizes its actual cause. Werther's suicide is not only the result of his own passionate desperation, but also a result of Charlotte's duty that is in turn linked to the death of her mother. The fact that Charlotte's mother's death also takes place during Christmas (as does Werther's, and in the production potentially Sophie's), emphasizes the dramatic irony and recurring motif of God and religion that dominates the libretto.

There are a few images during this sequence that come off as cliché (a tombstone that says "Mama"), but the overall impact is cinematic in scope. Once the work's prelude draws to a close, the opera moves from winter into spring and we hear Charlotte's young siblings engaging in a Christmas carol with their father, the bailiff. A snarky comment from Johann Schmidt questioning the Christmas carol performance a few moments later takes on new meaning and emphasizes the effect continued presence of the absent mother has on the whole family. An image of her tomb sitting stage right further emphasizes this idea. The rest of the stage is a series of frames with a screen all the way upstage that constantly alters its imagery to set the tone of the piece. The frames themselves not only create the sense of being inside a cinematic screen, but also emphasize the claustrophobic world of the Charlotte and Werther; a prison that will reach its apex in the work's final act.

Credit: Ken Howard

This staging moves seamlessly from one scene to another, enriching the cinematic experience tremendously. After the initial scene, the staging shifts to the ball that Werther and Charlotte have attended together and for a moment the viewer is transported to a dream-like sequence between the two. The music coupled with Eyre's vision allows the two characters to bond in a rather brief, but powerfully compelling moment. If anyone has doubts about how either character could have fallen in love so quickly, Eyre dispels those notions with this staging. Werther and Charlotte exit the ball and the stage recreates the first setting flawlessly and swiftly; there is no abruptness to the transition whatsoever.

The prelude to the second act features images of nature transitioning from spring and summer to fall, emphasizing the theme of nature that comes to dominate Werther's first aria "O Nature" and recurs in many of his passionate pleas. In the opening act, Eyre hints at Werther's isolation, but in this scene he emphasizes it beautifully. On stage right, a group of servants are prepping a table for a Sunday afternoon meal. On stage left is a bench that is rather beautifully employed throughout. In the center of the stage left is a tree that separates a group of people from the front of the stage; the viewer cannot see the people, but one gets the sense of a large gathering. When Charlotte and Albert enter as man and wife they take a seat on the bench; however, they sit on opposite ends, emphasizing their passionless marriage.

Later on Werther and Albert share a similar moment on the bench, emphasizing their own emotional disparity. As the act progresses, Werther uses the bench as his own refuge from the crowd. While more and more people crowd behind the tree, Werther becomes a solitary figure on that bench. The table on the opposite side of the stage is prepared throughout the act, and will eventually be occupied by the guests once Werther has left, emphasizing his isolation from the crowd. Another notable feature of this scene is that the frames upstage are actually a bit unbalanced, emphasizing the increasingly unbalanced emotional state of the work's title character.

Jonas Kaufmann and Sophie Koch in "Werther" Credit Ken Howard

The prelude to Act 3 is dominated by images of Werther's letters, all of them coalescing, suggesting the length of Werther's journey and his continued obsession; his writing is completely illegible, also suggesting his increasingly manic and unstable nature. Act 3 shifts to a rigid study room. Massive bookstands are situated on both sides of the stage while the center of the upstage area features two large doors that create a rather foreboding presence. On stage right is a furnace which Charlotte attempts to use to burn up Werther's letters; on stage left is a harpsichord and desk. In the center of the stage is a couch and right behind it is a table with Albert's pistols. The lighting here seems to be coming from a low angle throughout and the resulting large shadows add an ominous turbulence to the performances.

Sophie Koch and Jonas Kaufmann in the "Werther" Credit: Ken Howard

The transition between Act 3 and 4, which is through-written musically, features another cinematic transition. Charlotte gets ready to run to Werther while another minor stage (that also has a cinematic aspect ratio) slowly moves downstage, creating the effect of a gradual zoom. This room is excruciatingly claustrophobic and features rather barren walls with some posters, a desk on stage right and a bed on stage left. The lighting here initially seems rather bright but eventually transitions to more of a chiaroscuro feel after Werther shoots himself. The gunshot itself is rather spectacular in execution; blood splashes across the wall and the lights switch their angle abruptly. The ending of the work features Charlotte contemplating her own suicide; the lights go off abruptly and remain off for a few moments, allowing the powerful tragedy to linger a while in the viewer's consciousness.

The costumes are also subtle but filled with revelatory touches. Werther initially appears with a full dark coat covering the rest of his attire. As the performance unfolds, Werther becomes more and more unkempt and reveals more layers underneath; by the time we get to the final act, the coat is completely gone and Werther is shown only wearing a white shirt that will eventually be soaked in blood. Charlotte also undergoes a similar visual unraveling. She is first seen in a gallant ballroom dress; in Act 2 she wears a more conservative beige dress. In Act 3 she wears a robe, suggesting that she has not been out of the house in quite a while. She wears that same unkempt robe when she goes to meet Werther in his home in Act 4. Sophie starts off with a very light dress suggesting her innocent; in Act 3 she is wearing a dark dress, emphasizing her maturity and potentially the loss of her innocence.

The production, while filled with some truly brilliant touches, relies heavily on the work of its performers. And this cast delivers in stunning fashion.

Leading the way as the opera's eponymous character is German tenor Jonas Kaufmann, arguably the most well-known tenor in the world at the present moment (with the exception of Placido Domingo).

Kaufmann has given Met audiences a plethora of performances throughout the years always filled with supreme intelligence, intensity and superb technical precision; he is the consummate artist that not only sets the bar exceedingly high, but always reaches and surpasses it. His Werther might actually his most powerful performance yet at the renowned opera house as he manages to not only inject the character with the expected emotional intensity, but also gives Werther the nuance and subtlety to make him more than a raving lunatic.

In other hands, the character comes off as unsympathetic and borderline frustrating, even despite Massenet's gorgeous score. But Kaufmann allows us to see the emotional process that makes Werther move from a timid man to a tormented soul that has no other way out but suicide; there is not one single moment in which Kaufmann was not completely committed to the character. In many instances, the moments in which he remained quiet were as effective, or even more effective, that those when he was singing.

Jonas Kaufmann and Sophie Koch in "Werther" Credit: Ken Howard

Kaufmann's first appearance was an arresting one. Werther moved about the stage marveling at his surroundings, constantly searching in wonder. Kaufmann's singing in the gorgeous "O Nature" gave a rather unique psychological portrait of the character that he would develop throughout the remainder of the performance. He started off with reverential tenderness in his phrasing. The voice slowly climbed in intensity until it reached the apex at the word "Soleil" but almost immediately pulled back to a more hushed quality; a restrained phrasing that actually permeated much Kaufmann's performance of the work and suggested the intense battle within Werther. The refined and elegant singing during the "Mysterieux silence" passage ennobled Werther and the unbridled and heroic intensity of Kaufmann's execution of the climactic B flat established the character as a man of formidable strength and depth.

Right after he ended the aria, Werther frantically pulled out his notebook and started writing. The moment that Charlotte entered the stage, Kaufmann's Werther ran to the corner of stage right and hid himself from view; the fear, anxiety and even awkwardness all came to the fore. There was innocence to the moment but there's certainly something off about Werther's decision to hide. His first interactions with Charlotte were dominated by awkwardness; at one moment the character nervously bowed before her and even failed to kiss her hand in the salutary manner that was expected. Throughout the remainder of this scene, Werther stared at Charlotte incessantly. The nervousness continued in the ensuing ball scene. As the other couples danced about, Charlotte and Werther stood still in the middle of the room. In this brief moment, Kaufmann expressed his tentative feelings and his own seeming lack of self-confidence.

In just a matter of seconds, the internal battle of the character asking himself "should I or shouldn't I" manifested itself in Kaufmann's stare at Charlotte until suddenly he stretched his hand out to dance with her. The ensuing dance seemed like it should have been awkward, but the elegance of execution between the two only revealed that Werther is far more refined that even he seemed to think.

The final scene of the act, which showcases Werther's confession of love, was one of the most powerfully executed of the night. Charlotte spends most of her time explaining to Werther how she came to take over the family while he marvels over her. In this production the two characters actually seem to be in their own worlds; Charlotte moved about the stage reflecting on her situation while Werther simply followed her around with his eyes; at times one wondered if he was actually listening to her and whether she was actually talking to him or to herself. These choices actually emphasized the lack of comfort the characters felt around one another and emphasized Werther's longing. When Werther finally declared his love, Kaufmann's voice burst out with unrelenting vigor and intensity.

Jonas Kaufmann and Sophie Koch in "Werther" Credit: Ken Howard

From his first entrance in Act 2 it was clear that the hero was no more. Kaufmann's face betrayed anguish and remorse; the craze that was to come was already starting to consume the character. His delivery of "J'aurais sur ma poitrine" started off softly, almost as if Werther were weeping meekly; however, as the music drew closer to the climax, the tenor made a gradual crescendo that eventually transformed into a pained cry as Werther stated "Tout mon corps en frissonne"; the voice rose above the ever-present orchestra effortlessly. Immediately after, Werther sat on the bench hunched over and covering his face; he did not budge.

During the ensuing scene with Albert, Kaufmann moved away from his rival, his face and body trying hard to hide his guilt. The singing remained restrained during this section, emphasizing the music's ebbs and flows that describe Werther's inner battle to temper his ever-explosive passions. One could sense the pain that reciting words of loyalty caused for Werther; the phrases melted gloriously one after another. As he sang the phrase "Mon Coeur ne souffre plus de son reve oubliee," he made a sublime diminuendo as his voice rose for the "souffre;" that word seemed to hang momentarily, emphasizing its importance to Werther. Kaufmann made similarly breathtaking gestures at the end of the passage on the words "ma part" et "Bonheur."

During the confrontation with Charlotte at the end of this scene, Kaufmann allowed Werther's passion to come to the fore and his delivery of his monologue "Lorsque l'enfant revient d'un voyage avant l'heure" was full of desperate longing. The opening lines of this monologue were sung almost sotto voce, reminsicent of the character's child-like innocence of Act 1. As the emotional storm built throughout the passage Kaufmann's voice seemed to find renewed strength, expressing Werther's coming to terms with the possibility of death. The climactic "Appelle-moi" mixed Werther's pain and desperation with a sense of assertion; the subsequent repetitions of "appelle-moi" were more like sobs. One final moment worthy of note came right at the end of the act when Sophie asks Werther whether he will return. He responds with "Non! Jamais! Adieu," the "adieu" delivered with a high note. Kaufmann delivered that punctuating note as if he were shouting at Sophie, confirming the character's continued descent into madness.

Werther's appearance in the middle of Act 3 was one of the most finely executed moments of the production. Werther burst through the doors upstage and stood there fixed, his faced completely pale. For a few moments there was tremendous tension as he stood there like a rock, almost the ominous image of death itself. Charlotte, who sat on the floor on stage right, looked over at him momentarily but immediately diverted her stare in fear. Kaufmann's Werther moved around stoically at the start of these scenes, but as it developed you could see that this man's passion had turned into madness.

The famous "Pourquoi me reveille" mirrored this development. The first stanza of the aria was sung with a rather hushed voice; the desperation only coming through on the climactic A sharp at the end. The final phrase of that first strophe was sung quietly and the word "printemps" melted away sublimely into nothingness. The second time this phrase came around, Kaufmann sang it forte and the "printemps" was held on a lengthy formata. The audience responded with well-deserved euphoric applause. During the ensuing scene with Charlotte, the madman completely took over. Werther threw himself at Charlotte, his repeated utterances of "Tu m'aime" becoming increasingly emphatic; the final one, delivered on a thrilling high note, was given a vicious accent that was followed by Werther literally leaping on Charlotte. The viewer could not help but wonder whether he was going to rape her or not. When she escaped his grasp, he ran after her and even pulled her to the coach and tried to force a kiss from her.

Jonas Kaufmann h in "Werther" Credit Ken Howard

The entire interlude between Act 3 and 4 featured a rather lengthy internal monologue for Werther. Kaufmann readied the pistol and prepared to shoot himself in the head. However, he slowly resisted the idea and put the pistol down. He moved about the room, pondered on the subject and eventually, when he seemed to have gained the required strength, he grabbed the pistol and shot himself in the chest. This was one example of how some of Kaufmann's finest moments came from his physicality; you could see the internal conflict without the need for one utterance from the actor.

The final act was quite riveting as Kaufmann, mainly lying on the floor, managed to create a truly realistic and visceral portrayal of a dying man. His voice, almost sotto voce the entire time, had a disembodied quality to it that emphasized the character's state. In some moments, there was a delicate balance between singing and actually speaking, adding to the visceral realism of the moment. Near the end of the work, Werther seemingly comes back to life for a brief moment; Kaufmann slowly stood up and sang with potency and assuredness. The viewer could not be faulted for actually thinking that Werther might actually live after all. The ensuing loss of strength and slow death was truly painful to bear.

Hopefully that lengthy description communicates some sense of the nuance and intelligence Kaufmann brought to the iconic character, but words can't capture the full experience of taking in Kaufmann's genius in person.

Jonas Kaufmann in "Werther" Credit Ken Howard

And the same must be said of Sophie Koch as Charlotte.

The Mezzo Soprano gave Werther's object of desire overwhelming naunce and complexity. She was jovial and almost child-like as she twirled around with a cake in her hands in Act 1. She was also coquettish in her initial interactions with Werther, but seemed a bit nervous around him, especially during the ball. In the ensuing scene, Charlotte seemed to intuit Werther's emotions and seemingly used her narrative as a shield from his advances; her disconnect from him came off as a defensive mechanism from his desire and her own. As the scene reached its climax and Werther let loose his secret, the viewer could see the conflict in Koch's eyes; at one moment the two were about to kiss and it was clear that she wanted nothing more than for their lips to touch. However, at the final moment she pulled away.

Upon her first entrance in Act 2, the viewer immediately noticed that the character was no longer the jovial woman from earlier. She sat rigidly on the bench beside her husband; her responses to Albert's refined vocal lines were delivered with some disinterest, emphasizing that Charlotte's involvement in the marriage was for duty and not passion. During her brief scene with Werther in this act, Koch's Charlotte did her best to console the broken down Werther; her voice taking on a soothing quality. However, at the conclusion of the scene her request that he leave her was given with coolness that undoubtedly troubled her counterpart; Charlotte seemed to acknowledge that rejection was the only way to get Werther to move on. Upon seeing Werther's discouraged response, Koch's Charlotte returned to her soothing manner, almost reassuring him that everything would work out; at the same time, she expressed her own pain at having to see him leave.

The start of Act 3 is undoubtedly Sophie's scene and Massenet has her traverse a number of different emotions, almost mirroring Werther's own stormy passion. Koch's Charlotte seemed ready to burn his letters in the furnace at the start but immediately pulled away and threw the letters about in frustration. She then sat at the couch and started reading the letters, her emotions moving from pain at Werther's loneliness to joy at remembering him. Koch's reading of Werther's final letter was particularly chilling; her voice grew in intensity throughout with a sense of foreboding. Her delivery of the lines "Ne m'accuse pas, pleure moi" almost sounded like a desperate plea full of remorse and pain. In the famous aria "Va! Laisse couler les larmes," Koch started the "Va" softly and gave it an effective crescendo that seemed to showcase Charlotte allowing her emotions to come to the fore; the ensuing words "Laisse couler les larmes" sounded like weeping. Her rendition of the aria started quietly, almost mysteriously and gradually built into a rush of passion at the words "il est trop grand;" the soft singing in the final phrases emphasized Charlotte's frailty. Her subsequent plea to God "Seigneur Dieu!" and the ensuing monologue was filled with unbridled passion that was only rivaled by Kaufmann's similar moments.

Sophie Koch in "Werther" Credit Ken Howard

Koch's interaction with Kaufmann in the final act was unbelievable for a number of reasons. Koch's Charlotte seemed intent on reviving Werther and would constantly hold him close in a nurturing manner. At one point she took off her coat and covered him with it. In the final moments of the work she seemingly held all of his weight as he slowly fell to the ground. Any restraint that lingered in Charlotte's character in Act 3 was completely abandoned here as demonstrated by her painful pleas for Werther to remain alive. As the work drew to a close and Koch held the gun in her arms, the viewer could see the contemplation of suicide running rabid in her eyes.

Lisette Oropesa was delightful as Sophie. Initially, her interpretation of the character portrayed Sophie as little more than a child. She danced about, skipped with the children, and was all smiles. In Act 2, she persistently flirted with Werther and initially did not make much of his brooding. In fact, she almost shrugged it off while seeking Albert's advice. At his reassurance, Oropesa's Sophie returned to her happy-go-lucky manner. However, by the end of this act, Sophie moved quickly from a happy teen to a conflicted woman.

It was a rather quick transition to be sure, but Oropesa's reaction to Werther's aggressive and violent manner almost shocked the innocence out of her. For the remaining brief moments in the scene, the character cried on her sister's shoulder; but they were not the tears of a child but of a rejected woman. In Sophie's appearance in Act 3, Oropesa' movements were a bit more restrained; the frolicking was barely visible. There is still some playfulness, underlined by Sophie's "Ah! Le rire est beni," but it seemed more of a tactic aimed at making her sister feel better than simply Sophie's complete essence. Oropesa's delicate soprano fit perfectly with the character, particularly as a contrast to the darker vocal qualities of Kaufmann, Koch and baritone David Bizic. Her singing was effortless, particularly during "Le rire est beni" and the "Du gai soleil, plein de flame" of Act 2.

Sophie Koch (L) and Lisette Oropesa (R) in "Werther" Credit Ken Howard

Baritone David Bizic added interesting nuance to the character of Albert. He sang the Act 1 monologue "Elle m'aime" with tenderness and finesse; his singing refleceted the nobility and kindness that Sophie notes in Act 2. During his brief exchange with Charlotte in Act 2, he sang to her with warmth. He even imbued Albert's gentle and restrained lines with hints of passion that enriched his feelings for her; this was far from the one-dimensional angelic Albert that is often portrayed.

During the scenes with Werther, Bizic continued to portray Albert's graceful qualities, making him all the more relatable and sympathetic. However, upon realizing that Werther has continued to betray him, Bizic's interpretation took a rather abrupt turn; the relaxed facial expression turned to one of sternness. When Albert reappeared at the end of Act 3, he was no longer the kind, devoted husband, but a seeming tyrant. He shouted at Charlotte and was even aggressive in his behavior toward her. His decision to lend the pistols to Werther in this interpretation came off as one of vengeance, almost as if he knew exactly what Werther planned to do with them. This behavior actually justified Charlotte's own unhappiness and her seeming decision at the end of the work to kill herself.

David Bizic in "Werther" Credit: Ken Howard

The remainder of the cast, particularly the children's ensemble, delivered admirably throughout the evening. Jonathan Summers' bailiff came off as a broken man and one that remained haunted by the death of his wife. After watching the young couples run off to the ball, he sat down despondently and delivered the reoccurring refrain "Vivat Bacchus! Semper Vivat!" with a bitterness that revealed his continued pain and suffering.

Conductor Alain Altinoglu delivered a fearless and nuanced reading of the score. He stretched the rubati and also pushed the tempi at the opportune moments. He was also unafraid to let the orchestra explode with sound at the dramatic high points; this was particularly noticeable during the preludes to Act 1 and Act 3 and the interlude between Act 3 and 4 with its haunting horn parts. The interlude between Act 3 and 4 was particularly striking in its execution as it moved from passionate outbursts to more introspective turmoil. The incessant repeated figures in the strings not only seemed to depict the snow, but also a troubled longing. Another wondrous moment from the conductor came during ball sequence in Act 1. The delicate colors from the orchestra made this music feel otherworldly; it did not just describe the night and the stars, but the transcendent love that Werther and Charlotte were developing. The syncopations in this particular section also seemed to emphasize the hesitance of the two characters toward unleashing their respective emotions.

The Met Opera's new "Werther" is easily one of the most fulfilling artistic experiences I've ever attended. Every detail was delivered with utmost intelligence, polish and passion and it is impossible not to be utterly transfixed. The 2013-14 season has featured a plethora of operatic highlights, but the revival of Massenet's masterpiece may be the best of them all.