'Hansel and Gretel': Grand and Gross

On Christmas Eve day, the Metropolitan Opera offered Engelbert Humperdinck's "Hansel and Gretel," in a production by the Englishman Richard Jones. "Hansel and Gretel" is not just for Christmas; in fact, you will strain to find Christmas in it. But it has long been a seasonal favorite, not unlike "The Nutcracker."

Last year, the Met offered an abbreviated, English-language version of Mozart's "The Magic Flute" at Christmastime. Like that "Flute," this "Hansel" is in English, and you have to applaud the text: David Pountney has done a clever, skillful, rhyming job. It remains true, however, that Humperdinck's music is better with the original German — and that, on Monday afternoon, you could understand almost none of the words anyway. Never were the Met's "seatback" titles more necessary.

Conducting the opera was Vladimir Jurowski, the Russian with the Polish last name and prolific hair. Indeed, he may have the best hair in conducting (which is not unimportant, you will agree). Mr. Jurowski conducted the work with great dignity, but with perhaps too much dignity at times. Take, as Exhibit A, Humperdinck's marvelous overture: The tempo was slow, but workable. The music had all the appropriate swells. But, on balance, the overture was a little ponderous, and could have provided more thrill and uplift. In Act II, the children's prayer was far too slow, needing to be more breathable.

But the Met Orchestra played well, as usual, taking advantage of opportunities: In Act I, the low strings made wonderful witchly noises, giving a portent of horrors to come. Later, when night fell in the woods, there was some very good flute playing (which included top-notch, clear, alluring trilling).

The part of Gretel was taken by the German soprano Christine Schäfer, one of the best singers in the world. You would not have known it from this occasion, however. First, she was almost inaudible, perhaps under the weather; and second, when she was audible, she was not herself: hazardous of pitch, for one thing. The part seemed to lie too low for her. Then again, she is the rare soprano who sings Cherubino (in Mozart's "Marriage of Figaro") and she has no problem with that.

Thankfully, she was more herself in Act III, and, as Humperdinck's little girl, she was always adorable — adorability being one of Christine Schäfer's foremost qualities.

Our Hansel was the English mezzo-soprano Alice Coote, and she did well with this pants role — or rather, short-pants role. She sang and acted with purpose and ardor. I must say, though, that we were looking at an odd little family: Gretel had a German accent (and a pronounced one), and Hansel had a British accent. It was an advertisement for Multiculturalism in One Family.

Another British accent was sported by the Mother, Rosalind Plowright, who was once a soprano but now works as a mezzo. She was formidable, scalding, and if she was shrill, that was in character. One objection, however (and not Ms. Plowright's fault): In her modern garb, including short skirt, she looked a tad too sexy to be this story's mother.

The Father was the American baritone Alan Held, who sang richly, beautifully, boomingly, and virilely — if with some occasional flatness. Also, he was one of the few singers whose words you could understand. You could also understand — or pretty much understand — Philip Langridge, the English tenor portraying the Witch. Call this a dress role? Mr. Langridge looked a little like Mrs. Doubtfire, and he appeared to have a ball in this role, making the audience have a ball, too. And he sang ably (which is not incidental).

As the Sandman, Sasha Cooke, a mezzo, did not sing especially prettily, but still sang soothingly. And Lisette Oropesa, with her quick vibrato'd soprano, filled the bill as the Dew Fairy.

Richard Jones's production is grand and gross, with touches of surrealism. In Act I, the family's house looks Soviet-bloc, which is fitting, given their privation. But, curiously enough, the Father is a wife-beater. Should he be? Act II is not set in the woods, as prescribed, but in a large banquet hall, and when the kids fall asleep, they are not visited by 14 angels, but by 14 huge chefs: They look like Chef Boyardee on steroids or, alternatively, like figures in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Consider this, too: In switching from angels to chefs, this production switches the emphasis from the spiritual to the material.

In Act III, there is no gingerbread house, because that would be "too much like right," as an old Southern friend of mine used to say. A modern director would no more put a gingerbread house in "Hansel and Gretel" than he would a rainbow bridge in "Das Rheingold." They call them "clichés," you know. The Witch's domicile in this production reminded me of the Dyer's Hut in Herbert Wernicke's (splendid) production of Strauss's "Frau ohne Schatten." But, as witch's pads go, it is not ineffective.

And when ding, dong, the Witch is dead, the children do a vigorous, almost mad victory dance — reminding me a little of Elektra. Also, the kids eat the cooked Witch — maybe taking the theme of cannibalism too far, and warping whatever lessons the story has to offer? Mr. Jones has presided over an interesting, and interestingly gross, "Hansel and Gretel." But he has also deprived it of some of its magic. And the opera relies on a combination of fairy-tale beauty and attendant nightmares.

Good, of course, triumphs in the end, and the final notes and words are a hymn of praise to God. There is even resurrection, as the Witch's many victims spring back to life. Today's opera world is apt to have a tough time with all this; easier to do cannibalism.

What cannot be gainsaid is Humperdinck's score, once called "Wagner for tots." It is a marvelous, rich, sensuous, moving, and unforgettable thing. The composer's name may be risible, adopted by a Vegas singer and all. But this opera is to be cherished, at any time of year, and no matter — almost no matter — the production.

Until January 31 (Lincoln Center, 212-721-6500).