This review is for the performance on April 23.

In many ways, "Don Carlo" is Verdi's most complex opera. Following the story of five characters' private destinies and how they affect many nations, the work is often referred to as Shakespearean in scope.

"Don Carlo" is also Verdi's longest opera and without a strong cast and production to lead the way, the above statement loses a great deal of its power.

The Met's revival of Nicholas Hytner's production of the work featured the former, but not much of the latter.

The production premiered at the Met in 2010 and has accrued some changes along the way. The most obvious of these alterations comes in the famous Auto-da-fe scene in which the Inquisition burns heretics at the stake. In early iterations of the production, a man of the inquisition would speak to the sinners, a bold but distracting and awkward touch in the middle of an opera where singing never ceases. There are also banners featuring a portrait of King Philip and some with Christian symbols. Aside from that, the audience bears witness to one black set after another (with the exception of the Auto-da-fe scene which is consumed by gold and a piercing red), trees that look clumsy in how fake they look and no major insight into the opera's psychological and political ideas.

But there are some intriguing touches, most notably the ending, which follows Schiller's ending (the opera is adapted from the original work of the German scribe) as well as the titular character constantly finding himself outside of the curtain that closes every scene.

The best and most frustrating thing about the production comes in how little insight Hytner provides for his characters. It is frustrating because he adds little, but it is also a strong move because it relies heavily on the actors to bring the work to life. And when you have a strong cast, as was evident on Wednesday, there can be nothing better.

Don Carlo is the ultimate loser or failed hero in many ways. Everything he does goes wrong. He seeks out his betrothed Elisabeth in the first act only to find out that she is no longer his to be had. He broods about his lost love until his friend Rodrigo pushes him toward leading Flanders to freedom. He takes up this task (not without trying to force himself on Elisabeth in a climactic duet) but also meets with (SPOILER) failure. His secret love becomes public knowledge for a few major characters, thus pushing his beloved into dire straits. And when all is said and done, Don Carlo gets nowhere with his aspirations of heroism. In this production, he suffers a fate he rarely endures in other works.

Yonghoon Lee took up the mantle of Don Carlo with great pride, showcasing him as a man trying to break out of the shell around him. This becomes most apparent in the auto-da-fe scene, which Don Carlo unsheathes his blade and looks to take down his own father. And when he repeated the same gesture in a latter act, there was greater conviction and a stronger sense of self-determination. Around these gestures, Lee plays up Don Carlo's immobility allowing for a stark contrast with more active personages in the drama.

Don Carlo's emotions are in a constant state of emotional instability and Verdi's tempestuous vocal writing highlights the eponymous character's plight. And in this regard, Lee was Don Carlo. No passage seemed to difficult and his singing was filled with tremendous energy and passion. Don Carlo's tessitura is actually higher than many of Verdi's tenor roles of that stage in his career (he rises to a B natural on numerous occasions while most other roles max out at a B flat with fewer ascensions into higher note; he also drops quite deep in the range), and Lee's voice never faltered in any respect with every high and low executed marvelously. Structurally, Don Carlo gets two duets with Elisabeth that highlight his growth. The opening duet showcases his romantic qualities and tenderness while the latter duet showcases him as a serene hero ready for his destiny. In these moments, Lee's voice, while maintaining its natural virility and brightness, was dolce, giving the listener a true portrait of Don Carlo's calmer nature. We also heard this in the repeat of the main melody in the famous "Dio che nell'alma infondere," showing Don Carlo's finding momentary peace in his best friend's arms.

As Elisabeth, Barbara Frittoli delivered a more measured approach. The singing-actress had a regal presence throughout the evening, looking the part of a respectable queen, almost as if she were systematically trying to reign in her inner turmoil. Vocally, she also provided similar resolve, singing rather gently and quietly throughout the evening and only bursting with sound at major climaxes. This was particularly evident in her final aria "Tu que la vanita," which Elisabeth finally makes the decision of helping Carlo find his destiny, something she had not committed to throughout the rest of the work. The aria empowers her while also highlighting just how trapped she has been by her prior circumstances. And in this moment, Frittoli showcased her vocal virtuosity to its fullest, delivering jaw-dropping high notes with aplomb and showcasing a glorious swell on "Francia" that came from nothing, rose to a painful climax and then withered away back into the nothingness; Elisabeth's desire for her missed homeland, the nostalgia for a lost life of previous joy, could not be more profoundly express than in this particularly moment.

The roles of Rodrigo and Eboli provide interesting foils for Carlo and Elisabeth. Where Carlo is undecided, Rodrigo has no qualms about taking political risks. While Carlo and his father share no relationship (except a contentious one), Rodrigo is the King's most trusted man. Meanwhile, Eboli is also the opposite of Elisabeth in regards to her relationships with the King and Carlo. She is rejected by the latter and turns toward vengeance, something the more passive Elisabeth would never consider (until the end of the opera when she takes resolute action in many respects).

Luca Salsi delivered a strong counterpoint to Lee's Carlo with an aggressive Rodrigo, his singing filled with the unbridled emotion of the former and yet with a sense of restraint. During the imperious meeting with Philip at the end of Act 2, he did not shy away from a forceful approach. Every consonant was emphasized and he delivered "La Pace del sepolcro" with extra emphasis, holding every moment as long as he could. It added tremendous drama to one of the most powerful moments in the work. The ensuing passage in which he pleads with the King was just as direct and potent, making this scene a true battle of wills and pushing Rodrigo into truly dangerous territory.

When Rodrigo asks the King if he cannot control himself in the potent Act 4 quartet, there was an admonishing tone, furthered by the fact that Rodrigo was standing over the monarch; the dynamic of equals has rarely been more apparent. And then there was the tender death scene in which Rodrigo gets two heartfelt arias with which to say goodbye. In the former, "Per me giunto," the legato was sublime and every phrase was delicately sung. And in the latter aria, "O Carlo Ascolta," the phrasing was detached, the voice quiet, forcing the listener into this most intimate of moments.

Nadia Krasteva was a ferocious Eboli. Her upper range had a sharp edge to it while the lower notes oozed with depth and weight. During the trio in Act 3, she was the very "tigress" she claimed to be, her face snarling viciously at Carlo with a desire for vengeance. But one could see the transformation during the Act 4 quartet, as she looked over at her felled queen. And her moment of confession added to her sense of defeat and the roles clearly shifted in this scene from a fallen queen to a potent one and an empowered Eboli to a fallen one.

For all the complex characters that play major roles in this opera, Don Carlo comes down to one man -- Philip. The fallen monarch, who is the main antagonist in the work, is also one of the most complex creations of Verdi's oeuvre. The King is in control of the world, has the power of the inquisition by his side, and yet he is a lonely being who just wants to be loved at home. He trusts no one in his court. His son is a weak disappointment, his wife is in love with his son and when all is said and done he has to answer to the church. And of course he has a young and brash Rodrigo question his rule and plant that seed of doubt into his mind.

In the most powerful scene of the work (and one of the greatest in all of opera), the public and private merge in Philip's room. It starts with the famed "Ella giammai m'amo" in which the King laments his private life and his ultimate lack of power in his old age. Ferruccio Furlanetto, who has become the go-to Philip at the Met (and for good reason), was at his heart-breaking best. He started the aria quietly, his eyes closed as if the King were in a dream. He awakened during the second section of the aria, his voice slowly growing until the climax of the section as Philip laments not being able to see the thoughts of others. And then suddenly a pause before he retakes the opening theme, lamenting his wife's lack of love for him. And on the climactic phrase "Amore per me non ha," his voice wept, almost giving the sense that he was about to break into tears. He came to a slow conclusion here and held out the final note until it died away into nothingness.

In the ensuing scene, Philip faces off against the Inquisitor, here sung by James Morris with pointed dictation. Furlanetto was as his most violent temper in this duet, looking at many moments as if he wanted to beat down the Grand Inquisitor. This desire for strength and the resulting restraint highlighted the King's weakness in front of his own "father" thus highlighting the tragic nature of Philip's world. His powerlessness only falters in the ensuing scenes with his wife, Posa's death and eventually the climax where his own rule comes into question thanks to the appearance of the mysterious Deus Ex Machina. All the while, Furlanetto looks more and more frail, even looking decrepit with his cane in the final scene of the opera.

In the pit, Yannick Nezet-Seguin and the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra delivered an unforgettable account of the score. The conductor had no qualms about exploding with sound at the music's great climax; there was never such a powerful moment as the dissonance that follows Rodrigo's warning of "La Pace del sepolcro." Nezet-Seguin held the chords as long as was possible, stretching the severity of the words and its implications. The basses resounding ominously as the Inquisitor made his arrival, a stark counterpoint to the more rhapsodic opening to "Ella giammai m'amo" with the solo cello allowed greater freedom to execute its harrowing phrases. Throughout the aria, one could pick out the trilling woodwinds, a color often lost in lush orchestration that features the cello, signing violins and other wind instruments. While the tempi were swift throughout, he allowed singers the freedom in their big arias. In Carlo's "Io la vidi," Lee opted for a slower tempo in which he stretched every phrase to emphasize the character's clinging to his unknowingly fleeting joy; Nezet-Seguin was with him every step of the way.

This "Don Carlo" had tremendous star power to bring Verdi's wondrous drama to visceral life. Despite an often frustrating production, the singers and musicians were on a level that more than made up for its shortcomings.