(Photo: Karen Almond / Met Opera)

Puccini’s “La Bohème” is the Met’s warhorse. Since the inception of Franco Zeffirelli’s iconic production in 1981, it might very well be the emblem of grand opera in the world’s most epic 4,000-seat opera house. The audience still goes nuts when the curtain rises on Act two and the house tends to sell well regardless of who is on the stage.

That presents a double-edged sword, of course. I have seen this production more than any other, and as such, casts play a preponderant role in my deciding to take another trip to Zeffirelli’s interpretation of 19th-century Paris. Some casts manage to breathe new life into the production while others seem to go through the motions, hoping that Puccini’s music will suffice. It doesn’t always.

Fortunately, the Met Opera’s current cast, which opened the revival on Oct. 21, 2025, is the former and might just be the best I have seen in quite some time. That said, this performance was far from that.

Stars of the Night

At the core of this opera is the love story between Mimì and Rodolfo and the Met gifted audiences with two extremely talented artists. As Mimì, Juliana Grigoryan shone from the moment she graced the stage with her presence. Not only does she possess an incredible soprano, but her characterization of Mimì was alive with detail. Her initial flirtation with Rodolfo was subtle and didn’t give away much. Whereas other sopranos are clearly into the romance from the start, there was more hesitance on her part and only a subtle locking of eyes before her “Buona notte” gave way to her making the decision, as she approached the doorway, to blow out the candle. There was a timidness in this interpretation of Mimì that would continue throughout a major part of the scene. The search for the key turned into a cat-and-mouse flirtation between them, with Grigoryan’s Mimì suddenly losing herself in Rodolfo’s eyes, only for her “Cerchi” to interrupt the moment. When De Tommaso’s Rodolfo touched her hand, she played up an audible gasp, emphasizing the tension between the two. When Rodolfo asks Mimì to talk about herself, she looked away, but eventually, upon his reassurance and another locking of eyes, motivated the ensuing aria. As she progressed through that famed “Si. Mi chiamano Mimì,” Grigoryan’s Mimì shifted into a more comfortable exchange. Her singing in these initial phrases was gentle, the lines soft. There’s a fresh evenness in her soprano throughout her register that is both potent and delicate all the same. This was best exemplified during the “ma quando vien lo sgelo,” the most glorious melody in the entire aria. Battling against an over-indulgent orchestra (more later), Grigoryan managed to soar her lines over it all, showing off her soprano’s fullness. From here, her Mimì engaged in continued flirtation with De Tommaso’s Rodolfo. The two artists were clearly comfortable with one another and the chemistry throughout was palpable.

Her most spell-binding moments came in the final two acts. Her physicality as Mimì emphasized her frailty, making her plea to Marcello and the contrasting vocal strength she emitted all the more potent. “O buon Marcello, aiuto! Aiuto!” was full of desperation, the soprano full-blooded throughout, the highs vibrant and the lows similarly robust. The buildup from “Mi grida ad ogni istante” to “non fai per me. Ahimè!” had a tormented intensity and her reprisal of the main melody of this section, “Dite bene. Lasciarci conviene,” was more forceful in its plea, the highs this time around were even more visceral. As Rodolfo opens up to Marcello about his pain, she dragged herself back down the hill near the inn, collapsing into a coughing fit, furthering the effect of her Mimì’s struggles with her physical frailty and emotional fortitude. Her “D’onde lieta usci al tuo grido” was one of the most tender I have heard recently, the soprano delivering the aria with honeyed tones, almost as if the line were on the thinnest of threads. Even though Grigoryan’s soprano soared up on the climactic “Se vuoi…serbarla a ricordo d’amor…,” her singing retained the softest of character, perfectly expressing the gentlest of goodbyes.

During the final quartet, her singing blended gloriously with De Tomasso. The two were a perfect match for one another throughout, especially on their two duets, “O soave fanciulla” and, most impressively, “Sono andati?” In the former, the two surfed over the overpowering orchestra in the duet’s initial moments, then allowed themselves ample opportunity to flirt and play off one another throughout the rest of the duet. But the second duet, during the opera’s climax, was a true moment of sublime beauty. After collapsing onto the scene halfway through Act four, the soprano’s rendition of the initial passage of the duet featured what had now become her emblematic suave legato lines and polished tone. “Sei il mio amor…e tutta la mia vita” was so heart-wrenching in its intensity, that from this point on, Grigoryan would slowly and subtly pull back on her singing, emphasizing Mimì’s gradual capitulation. It felt like having said what she needed to say to Rodolfo, her Mimì had come to a place of acceptance. From here, her sound was far softer and created the effect of a person losing strength, but without having to resort to airiness or other manner of vocal affects. It was a sublime performance from an artist whom I look forward to seeing again and again.

Tenor Freddie De Tommaso had a strong impact, in my opinion, during last year’s debut as Cavaradossi in “Tosca,” though I felt that he was in a difficult situation in which the overall musical direction of that production lacked vision and cohesion. More importantly, he lacked any semblance of chemistry, musical or dramatic, with his co-stars, leading to a frustrating overall performance despite a strong debut. For this “Bohème,” he had a far greater success, even if he had to work for it.

Things didn’t get off to the most gleaming of starts. He sounded uncomfortable with the tempo for “Nei cieli bigi” and his voice might have fumbled along a bit in this initial passage, but he slowly settled in. His diction was polished and clear throughout, which was particularly befitting the initial playful moments of this opera. But Rodolfo’s true moment to shine has to wait until his big scene with Mimì at the climax of the Act. De Tommaso shared instant chemistry with Grigoryan, and you could tell that his Rodolfo was hooked from the off, but struggling to figure out how to approach her. There was even hesitancy at reaching out and touching her before “Che gelida manina.” The tenor wasn’t quite settled during the aria as he seemed to favor a faster tempo and was in a constant tug of war with the conductor on what the tempo for the aria should be. The orchestra also tended to roar in forte sections, most of which required the tenor to reach into his upper register. In these sections, De Tomasso seemed to push a bit and some of these notes tended to be sharp, including the climactic high C on “La esperanza.” That said, the tenor displayed elegance in his line throughout and, perhaps more importantly, expressed the contrasts between Rodolfo’s goofiness and romantic nature all the same. He wasn’t just singing the aria, he was using the music to express character. And that’s what really stood out for most of the night. Even in less melodic exchanges, De Tommaso always served Rodolfo through his singing.

In Act three, as he expressed his disdain for Mimì, there was a bitterness in his initial complaints, the singing on “Mimì è una civetta” jagged and accented. But on “Ebbene, no. Non lo son,” he softened that edge and launched into a pained rendition of “Invan, invan nascondo,” unleashing his tenor gloriously. The high note squillos vibrated in the space. There was richness in the contrast between his softest singing on “Una terribil tosse” and his more effusive forte moments. You could feel the emotional toll on Rodolfo and his heightened approach contrasted perfectly with Grigoryan’s a few moments later in “D’onde lieta usci al tuo grido.”

His duet with Lucas Meachem at the opening of Act four was sublime, the tenor’s gentle legato blending with his companion’s. The two seemed to struggle a bit with the tempo, but they managed to coalesce vocally throughout. And, as noted, he and Grigoryan matched one another beautifully in their Act three quartet and Act four duet. As for the final, “Mimì,” I don’t think I’ve heard a more wrenching interpretation. Here’s where De Tommaso’s intensity paid off, the tenor’s rendition appropriately sob-like in their desperation. It’s a shame the orchestra nearly drowned them out. Thankfully, De Tommaso’s physical and vocal commitment allowed them to come through just enough to make their impact.

There was a lot of hype around the 31-year-old British-Italian tenor ahead of his debut last year, and while I think he certainly showed tremendous promise in that rendition, he more than delivered on it in this initial performance of “La Bohème.” He and Grigoryan will make for an impressive pair on the Live in HD presentation scheduled.

Illuminating Characterizations

Also likely to make an impression are this production’s Musetta and Marcello.

As Musetta, Heidi Stober had an incredible night. She played up the larger-than-life nature of the character in her initial entrance and it was clear from the get-go that she was not afraid to play up the racy nature of her relationship with Lucas Meachem’s Marcello. As she attempted to gain his attention, she slid over toward him and hung her shawl over his shoulder down to his groin. When the two eventually made up, she jumped into his arms and the two launched into an intense display of affection, threatening to throw off their clothes right then and there in the Café Momus. This visual language rhymed in their Act three fight during the famed quartet with the two throwing objects at one another, her enunciations of “Pittore da botega” and “Rospo” full of venom. In other sections of the quartet, her singing was sharply pointed, emphasizing her anger with her lover. In the final act, there was softness in her delivery and Stober was as vulnerable as she’d been all night, her singing mournful as she delivered the brief “Madonna benedetta.” In the opera’s final moments, she jumped into Meachem’s arms, seeking comfort. This staging always features this moment for these characters, to differing effects. Sometimes, performers set it up as a reconciliation of sorts. In this case, it felt like two people connecting genuinely, perhaps even for the first time, in a moment of shared pain. It was beautiful.

But, of course, Musetta’s most anticipated moment is “Quando m’en vo” and Stober delivered a tremendous portrayal. She stretched the lines elegantly, digging into Musetta’s enjoyment of the adulation her performance gave her. The voice connected fluidly across registers with the high Bs gleaming gracefully and seemingly effortlessly. All the while, she pranced about the stage, twirling in some moments, constantly flirting with the men around her in others. You couldn’t look away. When she pulls off her masterstroke to get rid of Alcindoro, Stober rode over the ensemble with bravura and brilliance. This was one of the most complete portrayals of Musetta I have seen in a long time.

The same goes for Lucas Meachem’s Marcello, who delivered a layered performance of Marcello. Here was a man who could be exceedingly playful in one moment, and then bitter and even violent in others. He could be a man who knew what strings to pull with others – such as when he flirted with Mimì at the start of Act two, setting off De Tommaso’s Rodolfo – to being completely lacking in self-awareness during his Act three fight with Musetta. The latter characterization is right there in the libretto, but Meachem tended to play up Marcello’s contrasting nature, particularly as he interacted with Mimì and Rodolfo in this Act. This scene, in the heart of the opera, was one of his finest moments. He looked deeply conflicted as Mimì recounted her side of the story, providing her with comfort while constantly shifting his gaze back and forth between her and the hotel where Rodolfo was. His voice here was softer and smoother in its approach. Then when Rodolfo started his side of the story, he was similarly gentle vocally until he went off on his tirade, his “collerico, lunatico,” far more accented. It was perhaps the first time that I felt Marcello as being at the core of the drama, his character allowed a broad range of color as he interacted in differing manners with every major player of this opera in this Act.

Meachem’s stark contrasts were laid bare during the two major scenes of this act. He played up the falsetto on “Rispetti la modestia. La prego” and pranced about gleefully in this section. But when the scene shifted toward tragedy, Meachem became the leader of the group, comforting the others, his singing far sweeter.

Perhaps the most compelling moment of Meachem’s performance came in Act two as he struggled with his feelings for Musetta. Again, this is a moment that, in the midst of Rodolfo and Mimì flirting and Musetta’s show-stopping aria, can be taken for granted with a lot of Marcello interpretations. But Meachem stood out in these moments, singing with a darkened and edgier tone as he admonished the frailties of love. He played off Stober wonderfully, rebuking her advances with increased forcefulness until you could tell that it was too much effort for him. His “Gioventù mia, tu non sei morta,” was sung with a stentorian and heroic quality.

As Colline, Jongmin Park had a fantastic night, culminating in one of the most heartfelt renditions of “Vecchia zimarra senti” that I have heard on that stage. Park sang with breadth of line and delivered Puccini’s gentle aria with a soft, honeyed tone. There was extreme care in the sculpting of every phrase that allowed us to feel the preciousness of this moment for the character and his early mourning for the inevitable tragedy about to unfold.

Sean Michael Plumb was playful in the role of Schaunard, particularly in the Act four scenes “dance” and “fight” where he played up the antics. His baritone contrasted nicely with that of Meachum, providing a more relaxed and lighter color to the overall intense quartet.

Donald Maxwell was delightful in his double role as Benoit and Alcindoro, though he definitely made more of an impression in the former than the latter. As the pesky landlord, he played into the prickly nature of the character, particularly as he delivered his rebuke of his “complaining wife.”

The Big “But…”

In the pit was conductor Keri-Lynn Wilson, who never quite seemed fully in control of the proceedings. Ensembles fared fine, but in those cases, the singers MUST follow the conductor if they have any hopes of success. But in solo moments and arias, the conductor and soloist must engage in a dance and the two parties have to listen to one another. This is where Wilson was at her least successful, as it was noticeable how out of sync the soloists and the conductor were throughout the arias. This was best exemplified during “Che gelida manina,” where De Tommaso was constantly pushing the tempo, the orchestra pulling him back into a slower pace that was not to his comfort. Conversely, during “Quando m’en vo,” Stober wanted to expand her phrases, and Wilson seemed intent on pushing forward. The exception was Park’s rendition of “Vecchia zimarra senti,” where the singer and conductor delivered ample breadth to this famed passage.

Then there was the question of balance. The Met Opera Orchestra has played this opera countless times, and I am convinced that the ensemble could probably do a full run of this opera sans conductors. However, the point of a conductor at that juncture is to serve as a negotiator between the stage and pit, to balance the two to find dramatic and musical harmony. Countless times, the orchestra buried the singers. Sean Michael Plumb, by no means a small voice, was overpowered in his brief solo in Act one. De Tommaso was clearly not comfortable for sections of “Che gelida manina,” and even Grigoryan, who seemed to glide “effortlessly” over the orchestra consistently even at its most thunderous moments, was caved in a bit during “ma quando vien lo sgelo.” Anytime the music called for anything resembling a forte from the orchestra, you could count on it to tidal wave over the singers. Paired with the slow, even dirge-like tempi in most of the acts (Act two being the lone exception where the tempi were solid and propulsive), the orchestra came off as overly thick and heavy-handed, the light touches Puccini often calls for in this opera of stark contrasts being omniabsent.

Ultimately, despite my grievances with the conductor, the cast was top-notch. I would go so far as to say that it has been a while since I have seen this “Bohème” production and felt that the individual artists were not only perfectly cast for the roles, but perfectly cast as an ensemble.