Francesco Cilea’s opera isn’t a top-tier work, but the David McVicar production at the Met elevates it to new levels.

Piotr Beczala as Maurizio and Anna Netrebko in the title role of Francesco Cilea’s ‘Adriana Lecouvreur’ Photo: Ken Howard/Met Opera By Heidi Waleson Jan. 3, 2019 3:02 p.m. ET

New York

Francesco Cilea’s “Adriana Lecouvreur” (1902) isn’t a top tier opera title; it is a rip-roaring, old-fashioned diva show, which over the years has given star vocalists like Renata Tebaldi and Renata Scotto a chance to strut their stuff. The new David McVicar production that opened at the Metropolitan Opera on New Year’s Eve took that legacy seriously and then some: It boasted a stellar quartet of principal singers, a sensitive conductor, and a staging that tried valiantly to infuse the creaky plot with some depth.

“Adriana” is based on the true story of a famous actress of the Comédie-Française who died under mysterious circumstances in 1730. Librettist Arturo Colautti adapted the 1849 play (by Eugène Scribe and Ernest Legouvé) on the subject; in the opera, the complicated political and social intrigues of both the history and the play are whittled down, sometimes confusingly, to a romantic triangle. Adriana is in love with Maurizio, whom she believes to be an officer in the service of the Count of Saxony, though he is actually the count himself, in disguise; the Princess of Bouillon is also in love with the Count. The actress takes revenge on the aristocrat with a recitation from “Phédre,” but the princess gets the win with a bunch of poisoned violets. Bits of 18th-century flavor remain in the brief comic scenes of gossip and scheming that surround the big showpiece arias, and Cilea’s masterly orchestration, with its hints of Wagner, ties the whole thing together.

The Met cast was top-notch. Soprano Anna Netrebko had some pitch issues in “Io son l’umile ancella,” Adriana’s opening manifesto about being the humble servant of art, but she soon settled down and delivered a vocally resplendent performance, milking the role’s wide range, especially the astonishing low notes of “Poveri fiori,” the aria about those violets, for all it was worth. Her acting wasn’t subtle—you could almost see the teeth marks in the set during Adriana’s despair, delirium and death in Act IV—but she sounded great.

She had a worthy foil in the remarkable Anita Rachvelishvili, who deployed her rock-solid, voluptuous mezzo with focused intensity as the manipulative Princess of Bouillon. Their duet in darkness in Act II, in which neither knows the other’s identity, was a high point of the evening. Piotr Beczala’s handsome, burnished tenor reflected Maurizio’s soldierly aggression, but had enough lyricism to make him persuasive as a lover. Baritone Ambrogio Maestri was immensely touching as Michonnet, the old stage manager who hopelessly loves Adriana and tries to protect her, and his textual clarity in the conversational passages was exemplary. Maurizio Muraro and Carlo Bosi were enjoyable as the primary intriguers, the Prince of Bouillon and his sidekick, the Abbé of Chazeuil. In the pit, Gianandrea Noseda led a flowing, expressive performance, with the solo violin and harp that accompany the lovers rising ethereally from the orchestration’s alluring, multi-hued texture.

Carlo Bosi and Anita Rachvelishvili Photo: Ken Howard/Met Opera

Mr. McVicar’s production, first done at London’s Royal Opera House in 2010, plays with the idea of artifice: Charles Edwards’s ingenious and attractive set features a replica of a baroque theater, which is seen from a different perspective in each act. The point seems to be that only Adriana, the actress, is actually sincere, but that concept warred a bit with Ms. Netrebko’s stagey manner. Still, the production detail was wonderful. I especially liked the baroque-style set changes and effects during the “Judgment of Paris” ballet in Act III, though Andrew George’s choreography of the ballet itself was overly goofy. Brigitte Reiffenstuel’s costumes were luxuriously period, as was Adam Silverman’s lighting, and Mr. McVicar’s keen sense of pacing and subtle direction of the supporting singers, creating the vivid atmosphere of an 18th-century theater troupe, made the evening more than just an opportunity for diva display.