She shows up, not in the best shape -- vocally quite sound but unprepared in the new cadenze that had been prepared for her by the leading musicologist in the field, because she couldn't be bothered, frankly. Her visual publicity material had to be carefully -- and discreetly -- retouched by the Met's hype-obsessed publicity department, given the unflattering appearance of the new mother -- who's very much human, thank goodness -- in many of her unretouched stills.
He shows up, a year after his comeback now, after a carefully orchestrated PR offensive meant to reassure everybody in the business that his shares are still a good investment, that Villazon Inc is ready to roll, again.
(On a sidenote: nevermind all the talk about stuff having been transposed down -- it happens with Lucia, and it's immaterial in this case. By the way, Donizetti wrote the mad scene in F major, for example, it was then sung down a full tone, and the first Ricordi edition has it in E major. The traditional crazy coloratura one is accustomed to, in recordings, would have sounded weird to the composer himself. Lucia is not a coloratura role anyway, but we're digressing now).
Then we saw (and heard) what happened on stage.
A performance (by him) that would have been literally booed off the stage of less forgiving houses; everybody and their sister was recording that night, and the cleaner the recording, the worse he sounds (it's often the opposite). Then it's off to two replacements, one of whom has had problems (of a lesser gravity) of his own but can pull the role off thanks to talent, understanding of the linea di canto, better health and sheer good old fashioned Southern Italian force of will.
She's not dazzling, she's OK. You can't photoshop her in a HD livecast but you can dress and light her more carefully than they did back in Russia last month, so she escapes from the ruins almost unscathed -- at least in a place like the Met, where you basically get an ovation for showing up.
Oh, and his second replacement -- we'll see how he goes, but he's certainly good, solid, and in health. He's not a major star. At his age, it's unlikely he'll ever become one, frankly. He's solid, though. Solid, unfortunately, is not the same as big star, solid does not give you "buzz", and "solid, healthy" is fine but it is not the right material to build hype with. And if your opera house's entire (expensive) game plan rests on massive foundations of hype, well, it pretty much sucks.
Speculation now runs rampant, leaks -- more or less accurate -- flow like watered-down cortisone from one side, "she's mad", "she feels cheated". "She hates him". Really? Breakups are always bad, after all (he does know that already, poor sweet kid).
And silence from the other side, after all his career is at stake now, not hers -- it's easier to lose the baby fat and stay away from the cocktails than to heal one's damaged vocal folds.
He then cancels more engagements. Their (dubbed) movie hasn't gone down that well either (after all, "buxom" and "consumptive" aren't usually written about the same performer in the same performance by critics; in this case, sadly, it happened).
Question: how do you go from a 2005 Traviata for the ages (despite what is at the very least lackluster conducting) to this? Only 40 months later?
Answer: nobody -- except the fans -- cares.
The people who should care, well, they're scouting opera houses and auditions in Eastern Europe and South America as we write, looking for the next next big thing -- thinner, hotter, healthier. The new new thing that will finally save opera from oblivion, that will magically attract that elusive new audience, as the old one grows increasingly older and crankier and inevitably more nostalgic.
Some of those kids out there have good voices, too, besides looking good. They do come awfully cheap, when you sign them.
What makes Opera Chic sad is that, at least, actual artists like Di Stefano and Ricciarelli enjoyed a good run, prior to their crashing into the brick wall of the end of their career.
It was certainly longer than 40 months.