Metropolitan Opera Archives

Translation by Ruth and Thomas Martin
Die Zauberflöte received seven performances this season.

Review 1:

Review of John Alan Haughton in the Musical America of December 10, 1942

Mozart's 'The Magic Flute' had its first hearing of the season on the evening of Nov. 27, with several changes in the cast from last season's revival. Josephine Antoine appeared as The Queen of the Night for the first time, Ezio Pinza sang his first Sarastro and Lillian Raymondi made her debut with the company as Papagena. Norman Cordon replaced Friedrich Schorr as the High Priest. The remaining roles were as last year: Charles Kullman, Tamino; John Dudley and Louis D'Angelo as the two priests; Jarmila Novotna, Pamina; Eleanor Steber, Maxine Stellman and Anna Kaskas as the three ladies; John Brownlee as Papageno; Karl Laufkoetter, Monostatos; Marita Farell, Mona Paulee and Helen Olheim as the three boys; and Emery Darcy and John Gurney as the two men in armor. Bruno Walter conducted.

In spite of having to dodge the high F in the first aria, and to sing the second aria transposed down a tone, Miss Antoine's Queen of the Night was well done. Mr. Pinza, though somewhat ill at ease with the English dialogue, sang effectively and his very low tones were sonorous and well placed. Miss Raymondi created something of a sensation in the soubrette role and showed vivid personality as well as acting ability. She seems a real addition to the company. Mr. Kullman sang especially well throughout and Mme. Novotna was a charming Pamina. Her best singing was in 'Ach Ich Fühl's', the English words of which escape memory. Mr. Brownlee was the only member of the cast whose words were invariably understandable. In spite of a trifle of over-vivacity, his work was excellent throughout the opera.

Review 2:

Review of Virgil Thomson in the Herald Tribune

Pleasantly Provincial

The "Magic Flute," as given last night at the Metropolitan Opera House, was all of a piece because the singing was uniformly second-rate. It had none of the jarring quality of a performance in which some will sing like birds and others like barnyard fowl. Its vocal insufficiencies being uniform were stable, comfortable, home-like. Bruno Walter's tempos and balances in the orchestra pit were comfortable too and sound. The whole thing reminded me of a performance of the same opera I once heard at the Municipal Casino in the Place Messina in Nice. There was no virtuosity worth remembering, but there was a direct rendering, within the means at the disposal of the artists, of Mozart's lovely music.

None of the artists last night had quite the range of voice that his roles demanded. Miss Novotna sounded well only when she sang softly and not too high or too fast. Otherwise she bleated. Mr. Kullman bellowed above G, Mr. Pinza growled ineffectively in the low passages of his bass airs. Miss Antoine was weak and off pitch at both ends of her range, and so was Miss Raymondi. Mr. Harrell, as Papageno, gave the most confident performance of the evening and the most agreeable all round. Everybody else, including the Three Ladies and the Three Genii, seemed worried about his ability to fill out the Mozartean angles, curves, and rightly.

The English version of the text, though no masterpiece of musical resetting, was clearly articulated by all, the chorus, especially the men, sang agreeably. The scene changes were not too slow. And the stage decorations, a pastiche of those designed a year or so ago by Richard Rychtarik along with bits out of other operas in the repertory, were undistinguished but vaguely satisfactory. All the incidentals of the performance (I do not consider diction incidental, but the Metropolitan management seems to) were handled with competence, as was also the orchestra. The latter threw in just enough false notes and sloppy attacks to make us all feel at home.

Please believe that I am not poking fun at an august institution. The singing was really, if one holds to the august standard, pretty disgraceful. But I have rarely enjoyed "The Magic Flute" more, rarely been less shocked by vocal insufficiencies, once the first few scenes were over an it was clear that nobody was going to be singing very much more beautifully than anybody else. I once saw an amateur performance of "Hamlet" in Hartford, Conn., that left more of Shakespeare's play visible than many a Broadway production. Nobody was first-class, but once one had made up his mind to accept that fact, one could settle down to enjoy a fine play that been cleanly, if not brilliantly, directed.

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