Later this season, the Metropolitan Opera will present the repertoire's standard double bill of "Pagliacci" and "Cavalleria Rusticana." And while that paragon of Italian verismo will surely bring audiences to the theater, it is questionable whether even those two passionate operas can bring the same level of insight as the Mer's other double bill. That bill features Tchaikovsky's "Iolanta" followed by the haunting Bela Bartok opera "Bluebeard's Castle."

Director Mariusz Trelinski's production of the two operas actually unites two works that, on the surface, could not be further unrelated. Tchaikovsky's lyrical style is emblematic of 19 century romanticism, while Bartok's music is far less melodic and more ambient-driven. While "Iolanta" is a fairytale with a "happy ending," "Bluebeard" is an existential tragedy also based on the legend of the eponymous character. And yet Trelinski's production highlights the two opera's greatest thematic connection: vision.

"Iolanta" tells the story of a blind girl who has been sheltered from the world by her father the King. Eventually she encounters a knight who makes her realize her state (she was not informed of light or sight) and learns to desire sight. She of course finds a spiritual richness in her own blindness through nature's sound and feeling. In "Bluebeard's Castle," the title character's new wife Judith comes to her new abode. She complains of its darkness and wishes to open a series of locked doors to bring more light into the space. But her sight ultimately leads to her doom and return to darkness.

Black and white form the main color schemes of both productions, particularly in "Iolanta" where only the heroine's blue dress in the middle of the work and a few roses form the visual counterpoint. In "Bluebeard," Judith wears a vibrant green dress (reminds the viewer of the one Keira Knightley wore in Joe Wright's film "Atonement"), and there are instances where red comes to the fore as an indication of the blood the heroine finds in Bluebeard's castle.

Video projections are used amply throughout the production, especially in "Bluebeard" where the viewer is constantly disoriented by abstract imagery that comes over the main curtain. "Iolanta" arguably has the most potent visual image of the evening. As the opera begins a visual projection of a deer appears on the curtain. As the winds grow more and more chaotic, the deer starts to run, as if escaping. Meanwhile on stage the viewer sees Iolanta seeking some sort of way out of her "cage." At the climax of the prelude, Iolanta is captured and the deer is killed. The corpse makes an appearance onstage a little later in the act, thus linking the two images together potently.

Unfortunately, "Iolanta" offers little else visually throughout the evening. At the core of the production is a rotating box that acts as Iolanta's cell. Initially she is stuck and confined within this space. She eventually breaks out of it, thus expressing her increasing freedom. However, the use of the space is not consistent, and the audience is asked to suspend disbelief even when it makes no sense. Vaudemont can look in, but in other instances characters cannot. The box rotates at times with the intention of opening space up for some action, but at others (especially the beginning) the rotation really does little to add to the proceedings other than rotating for the sake of visual contrast. That said, there is an effective visual beat when Vaudemont realizes that Iolanta is blind. At this point, the stage goes completely black, and the viewer participates in her eternal darkness. But even that moment registers a bit hollow emotionally because the viewer has seen Vaudemont toy with Iolanta's visual impairment and his sudden realization feels like it has come a few beats too late.

The frustration with the production grows when one sees how greatly it pales with what Trelinski cooked up for "Bluebeard," a production with endless set changes that keep the viewer on edge. Obviously Bartok's work is far more involved intellectually than Tchaikovsky's, but the use of space in the latter work makes the viewer feel that there could have been more effort put into the former, at least in this regard. Video and prerecorded sound comes in and out at both expected and unexpected moments, driving this theme of unrest. This most notable in the opening prerecorded narration with its own questioning of reality and its subversion of the fairytale.

If there is one other complaint about the double bill, it's the order. "Bluebeard's" bravura staging and the chronology of the compositions certainly makes for a compelling argument to keep the Bartok work as the second on the program. But there is no denying that it is a draining work with its ever intense descent into existential darkness. Meanwhile "Iolanta," despite the shortcomings of its production, is an uplifting work. "Iolanta" comes in at over an hour-and-a-half, and "Bluebeard" tops little more than an hour. And yet, the latter feels longer than the former because of the contrast in styles and subject matter. An audience enduring the lengthy "Iolanta" might be drained by the time "Bluebeard" comes around. And there is no way that "Bluebeard" is going to lift spirits. Meanwhile, "Iolanta" is more than capable of creating surging momentum after the traumatic experience of Bartok's opera.

Fortunately the casts assembled for both works are exemplary in every way possible. Anna Netrebko has made headlines over the years for her rendition of "Iolanta," and the long-anticipated run at the Met is nothing short of brilliant. In order to make viewers believe that she is in fact a young child, the Russian soprano sweetened her voice for the initial acts. At times it was almost a mezza voce quality. Even in the opening Arioso's most passionate moments, her voice retained a conservative volume, hinting at her increasing passion but still retaining the youthful delicacy. But as the work developed and Iolanta came to know love through Vaudemont, the soprano let her voice grow in thickness, intensity and volume. She was full throttle during the powerful duet that represents the work's midpoint, her voice soaring into the theater with a force and strength that audiences heard to a different effect in "Macbeth" earlier this year. If her lightness at the start of the work exhibited the young and inhibited girl, these intense vocal outbursts expressed the passion of an empowered and increasingly free woman.

As her lover Vaudemont, Piotr Beczala was as secure as one has ever heard him. The tenor was brilliant as Lensky in "Eugene Onegin" last year, and he was arguably better here as the knight of Burgundy. His voice possessed a delicacy that contrasted beautifully with the more rugged tones of the darker baritones and basses. But when he was called upon to tackle Tchaikovsky's scathing passages (especially in his aria), his voice rose to the occasion with strength and assurance. He added a glorious high note at the conclusion of the aria, sung in an ethereal pianissimo. During the passionate love duet, he matched Netrebko's intensity phrase for phrase, creating for a riveting experience that received well-deserved eruptive applause.

Aleksei Markov's Duke Robert gets little to do in this work, but the baritone sang his lone aria wild abandon that really suited his virile tone quality. It actually presented a frenzied and sexual contrast to Bezcala's delicate handling of his aria, thus highlighting the differences between these two heroes.

In the crucial bass role of King Rene, Ilya Bannick struck a tragic role. His voice is not massive or imposing, but its delicacy and elegant phrasing made him a more vulnerable character. It made the character remarkably likeable, thus making the viewer question while Trelinski punish him in the opera's otherwise joyous conclusion. He is consistently blamed for Iolanta's plight, and he himself admits that he can no longer care for her. But there is nothing in the libretto and much less in Bannick's performance that indicated that this character deserved to be denied the communal celebration at the happy ending.

The remainder of the cast, which featured Elchin Azizov as Ibn-Hakia, Mzia Nioradze as Marta, Katherine Whyte as Brigitte, Cassandra Zoe Velasco as Laura, Matt Boehler as Bertrand and Keith Jameson as Almeric, were all excellent in filling out this nuanced drama and score.

"Bluebeard's Castle" only features two singers and thus exposes them more readily. As Judith, Nadja Michael was a scene stealer with her tremendous physicality and equally explosive voice. On this night, her singing was at its very best, her enunciation of every consonant filled with bite and increasing aggressiveness. One could sense her becoming ever violent with desperation through her singing and her willingness to throw her body around at every moment. She even went nude for a haunting bath scene and at times looked like she, not Bluebeard, was more capable of committing murder.

Opposite her Mikhail Petrenko, who, despite playing the murderous Bluebeard, actually came off as more sympathetic. As he uttered, "Judith! Judith!" to reject her pleas to open the doors, one could hear him pleading with her. A sense of desperation and pain was generated around each passing plea, giving him a sense of conscientiousness. Unlike Michael's frenzied turn, Petrenko had a more stoic stage presence, and it was his voice and facial expressions that expressed his increasingly unhinged emotional state.

Now comes the disappointment. Valery Gergiev is one of the most fascinating musicians in the world. He can take on almost any piece of music and lavish it with tremendous intensity and intellectual dynamism. His performance on Saturday was a tale of two operas.

"Iolanta" actually got off to a gorgeous start with the wind prelude and its otherworldly qualities leading into the sublime string passage. Throughout the work, Tchaikovsky introduces new colors successively with such directness that the entire structure becomes quite clear for the listener. The winds are alone in the prelude before the strings take over on their own. Then the female voices arrive and when it is time for the masculine voices to appear, the brass section makes its entrance. Gergiev managed each transition beautifully, but he seemed to lose that sense of polish in the second half of the work where Tchaikovsky's rhythmic and orchestral complexity grows evermore. Nowhere was this more present than in the love duet where the climactic section was muddled at best. At worst, the orchestra was hesitant, missed entrances and essentially left the singers stranded for a few seconds at a time. This moment is undoubtedly the most riveting in the work, but listening to the performance, this listener was afraid that the singers would be forced to stop at any minute and restart to give their conductor a second chance. Fortunately both Beczala and Netrebko pulled through and made everyone forget the disarray in the pit.

"Bluebeard" was another story altogether. There was an assurance in every single phrase that really propelled this drama seamlessly. During one passage where Bluebeard describes his lands and offers them to Judith, the orchestra rang with tremendous brilliance on sustained chords. Every color, even a distant organ, was clear and could be picked out individually by the listener.

This double bill of "Iolanta" and "Bluebeard's Castle" certainly puts audiences through distinct journeys and emotional levels. When he took over the Met Opera, general manager Peter Gelb expressed a desire to make opera a richer experience that satisfied audiences seeking multifaceted experiences. This production, despite its shortcomings, certainly fulfills that desire and represents a great success for the company.