This review is for the performance on Jan. 19, 2015.

Latvian soprano Kristine Opolais made history on April 5 when she opted for singing the title role of Mimi in Puccini's "La Boheme" less than 24 hours after singing her first "Madama Butterfly" at the venerate opera house. As Opolais noted back in April, she had originally declined to take on the role when she was called by Met general manager Peter Gelb because she had not been able to get much sleep after singing "Butterfly." But on second thought, she went through with the performance, which was immortalized on the Met's Live in HD series.

Eight months later, the soprano has returned to the role, albeit in different circumstances. She was supposed to sing Mimi in November, but an opportunity to sing "Manon Lescaut" in Munich alongside star tenor Jonas Kaufmann meant that she would not appear in the role until January. And now Met audiences have finally gotten a chance to see Opolais in the tragic role.

And in her voice and body, there can be no doubt that Mimi is a tragic figure right from the start. Her Mimi walks slowly, struggles in the effort and grows ever more lethargic as the evening unfolds. At the end of Act 2, when everyone on stage is enjoying lavish parades, Opolais' Mimi struggles with her persistent cough, the lone dark spot on stage and a terrific dramatic gesture that reminds the viewer of the impending tragedy. In the third act, her Mimi struggles with descending some stairs and by the time we get to Act 4, her Mimi puts on the most heartbreaking of physical struggles as she tries to climb out of bed, with great futility, to embrace her beloved Rodolfo in the moments leading up to the glorious "Sono andati." And then there was the death scene. Watching Opolais' eyes open up by the second, almost straining to stay open, was the ultimate final struggle, making Mimi's death a refreshing moment of pure tragedy. Many other renditions overlook these final moments and simply let Mimi wither away, but in those widening eyes, the viewer gets to appreciate a Mimi who really desperately clings to life.

And the singing only enhanced the performance. In a rather interesting twist, Opolais, who is one of the most intensely passionate singers around, actually gives a reserved vocal performance when compared to her Butterfly or Manon. But why wouldn't she?

Unlike those other heroines who are full of youth and vibrant life, Mimi is the personification of death. She is literally doomed from the start and the work is only a presentation of her inevitable decline. And so Opolais sang the role with a more delicate tone that seemed to grow thinner and thinner as the night wore on.

By the fourth act, it was most fragile of aural threads, a woman on the precipice. Her choices not only created a more intimate portrayal of the role (it is, after all, easy to forget that Mimi is not one of the larger-than-life operatic roles one is accustomed to listening to) but one that pulled the listener in. And adding to this tremendous nuance was her use of rubati, particularly in the opening acts, giving the sense of a Mimi clinging to every single moment as if it could be the last. That isn't to say that Opolais was not willing to utilize her full vocal resources to their fullest capacity. One only needed to witness the unbridled passion of her Act 3 duet with Marcello, her voice rising over the orchestra in cries of wounded desperation. The "Donde Lieta," sung with that delicate quality, was arguably the most intimate moment of the night. Opolais' vocalization of her instructions to her beloved Rodolfo filled with tremendous nostalgia, allowing the viewer almost to embrace just how important her little "cerchietto d'or," "Libro di preghiere" and "la cuffietta rosa" was to not just her, but both of them.

Starring as her lover, Rodolfo was tenor Jean-Francois Borras. The Frenchman has a sweet tone that actually contrasted beautifully with Opolais' more rugged color. He was shaky with some top notes in the opening act, but grew in vocal confidence as the night wore on. He was particularly effective during the duet with Marcello that commences Act 4, "O Mimi, tu piu non torni," with the voice full of warmth and gentility. It was an interesting psychological display in this regard as well. While Rodolfo and Marcello are both expressing their emotions openly, the choice by Borras to keep his voice somewhat withdrawn and piano throughout also expressed his own attempts to maintain composure in such a trying time. His chemistry with everyone around him was fascinating, truly creating a diverse dynamic among the great friends. Facing Opolais' physical portrayal of Mimi, his Rodolfo was a steady anchor, holding her and embracing her passionately. He also had a passion, or should we say contentious relationship, with Mariusz Kwiecien's Marcello, creating one of the most unique portrayals of the best friend relationships. While most would have these guys toying with one another, Borras and Kwiecien really embraced the love but also the competitive streak between these two men. They were literally pummeling each other in the snow during Act 3 and their banter to initiate Act 4 was filled with a mean streak that made the ensuing "Laboriam," more of an escaping mechanism than the joke it often becomes.

Kwiecien, being the incredible actor that he is, actually created one of the most memorable renditions of Marcello in recent Met history. This Marcello was frenzied, passionate and had violent potential. During the hilarious confrontation with Benoit, his Marcello took charge of the situation, calming Rodolfo down, rubbing his landlord's back, and delivering the final blow with tremendous relish. He flirted with the town girls in Act 2 with a ready appetite and his reconciliation with Musetta was a truly passionate affair. His scolding of Rodolfo in Act 3 was as furious as one would expect. The big argument with Musetta was a violent affair with him clutching her and even preparing to give her some blows. Their exchange here threatened to turn into a shouting match, their voices pushed to the edge. But the final Act, with death looming large, showed Marcello at his most endearing. Again, he was the calming presence. He was the one looking to conciliate his relationship with Musetta. He was the one to sit beside the bed and ever so gently and thoughtfully check on the dead Mimi and come to terms with the news. And unlike some renditions with show, Marcello immediately frightened by the realization, Kwiecien's Marcello took his time to process the news before delivering it in heartbreaking fashion to Musetta. It says a lot that in the work's final moments, with Rodolfo holding his dead Mimi in his arms, the viewer would be interested in one final glimpse at Musetta and Marcello, both looking on at one another with doubt and then choosing to embrace each other and provide a comfort that only they could to one another.

Marina Rebeka recently reminded Met audiences about her greatness in her captivating "La Traviata." She did that yet again as Musetta, albeit in different fashion. Musetta is a crowd pleaser and scene stealer and Rebeka reveled in this task. Her voice, with its brightness and strength, really shone above the rest during the big Act 2 ensemble and there was tremendous flexibility and suavity in her "Quando m'en vo." She embraced Musetta's intense sexuality, flirting with everyone on stage and then violently embracing Marcello in their moment of reunion. But during their third act argument, she proved her own aggression and strength, fighting back when he turned violent and then hurling her insults with venomous sound. As she walked off stage, she grabbed her new partner and kissed him violently, another scene-stealing moment that also did its damage to her hurt ex-lover. The final act is the moment where Musetta gets to round out her character and show the vulnerable human beneath the showy façade. She might like to show off and be in the limelight, but at heart she is a meek woman who knows of her own banality and prays for the sick and weak. Rebeka expressed this intimate Musetta beautifully, encapsulating a riveting character arc and making Boheme not only the story of Rodolfo and Mimi, but also Marcello and Musetta. As noted, the final moments in Rebeka and Kwiecien came to terms with one another really gave a beautiful emotional closure and contrast to the two stories. While Mimi and Rodolfo settled their differences in Act 3 as Musetta and Marcello destroyed their relationship, the two couples went in different directions by the close of Act 4 (albeit Mimi and Rodolfo do not destroy their love), adding a rarely felt bitter sweetness to the tragic ending.

David Soar was a warm Colline, a stark contrast from the more energetic Alessio Arduini as Schaunard. In this rendition, Arduini's lurking eyes hinted at a man in search of love and his looks at Musetta hinted that his desire was as misplaced as his roommates. It was a subtle nuance and gave depth to the quartet, but also strengthened their sense of unity and support. John Del Carlo was hilarious in the double bill of Benoit and Alcindoro, his frantic looks of disbelief as the latter making Musetta's waltz all the more hilarious.

Riccardo Frizza led a steady ready of the score, though he had the propensity for covering singers at the most incendiary climaxes. It made for riveting playing from the orchestra, but did not always match the more intimate portrayals of Opolais and Borras.

Puccini's "La Boheme" is a staple at the Met, but it is presented so often that it can come off as routine and uninteresting. But, the performers on display for the latest run have proven why this opera is so enduring and that it is possible to constantly to breathe new life into it.