Tschaikowsky, Yevgeny Onegin
I tried out a new opera house this evening – and the Stanislavsky has a better reputation than the Bolshoi these days. A moody production of Tschaikowsky‘s Yevgeni Onegin was especially appropriate, since Fall is in the process of giving way to Winter here in Moscow.
The young enthusiastic cast (good Onegin and Lensky) was supported by a good orchestra, with the conductor struck the right sound balance and reflected the moodiness of the work well. It’s a nice theater, too: I liked the space.
I enjoyed it… but why do people in Moscow opera houses talk so much during performances?