(Photo: Elisa Haberer / Opéra national de Paris)

I sensed two ghosts on the stage of Opéra Bastille last night. Don’t worry—they were as nice as ghosts can be. In fact, they were so congenial that they enhanced the operatic experience, turning what would have been a merely jolly evening into a thought-provoking one. The problem is, no matter how good their intentions, ghosts are still ghosts—and they freak me out.

Let’s name these phantoms. The most ominous was the Zeitgeist of war in Europe and nearby conflicts—issues that, until recently, seemed distant from the continental mind. The second was the shadow of a different kind: the challenge for this revival to live up, musically and dramatically, to its acclaimed 2007 premiere.

Seen from the vantage of any point in history after the great wars, “La Fille du Régiment” is a beautiful yet unsettling opera. Its catchy, earworm-like tunes provoke questions about the legitimacy of war and how it changes lives. It’s not that “La Fille” is explicitly pro- or anti-militarism—arguments can be made for either side—but it is a comedy laced with a political undertone that’s hard to ignore. There are, however, certain moments and dialogues that even the most conservative opera-lovers might agree should be reconsidered.

That’s why it was such a relief when Laurent Pelly’s 2007 staging of the opera premiered with nuanced dialogue and updated political overtones. The excitement was so great that practically every serious opera house felt compelled to stage it in Pelly’s version. It helped that Natalie Dessay embraced the role of Marie with her full theatrical prowess. The production struck a delicate balance: traditional enough for purists, funny through its acting, and modern in its creative staging. It remains Pelly’s greatest triumph and a standout example of globalized opera production.

Now, in a time of ongoing continental wars and political upheaval, “La Fille’s” opening chorus feels far weightier than expected. The soldiers’ quiet crossing of the Alps during Napoleon’s campaigns—led by another charismatic, expansionist war figure—seems to warn us that, no matter our origins, even the privileged will suffer.

Evelino Pidò conducted the performance with elegance and a notable effort during much of the first act not to overpower the audience. This was more than an “efficient” reading; Pidò seemed to understand when the comedy’s dramatic moments demanded serious treatment. Few moments were as poignant as “Il Faut Partir,” performed tenderly, without irony—truly sorrowful. Even with Marie carrying a line of drying laundry, the scene was as melancholy as any bel canto mad scene.

Julie Fuchs must be hailed as the Marie of her generation. She possesses an undeniable stage charisma and vocal technique that seems utterly reliable—even when being dragged onto the stage or carried around, she sustained high notes with remarkable precision. Fuchs’s vocal qualities consistently serve the drama. In the infamous singing lesson trio (“Le Jour Naissait dans le Bocage”), she begins with an intentionally cringeworthy, out-of-tune voice that even Florence Foster Jenkins might envy, only to transform it into perfect intonation by the time she sings “Salut la France.” This clever progression creates a brilliant comedic effect while showcasing Fuchs’s extraordinary control—how many sopranos can navigate such extremes within seconds?

Fuchs’s voice, though light, always has a lyrical core that sets her apart from other French sopranos. For the first time, however, I sensed an echo of another singer: Natalie Dessay. There’s a difference between belonging to a similar school of singing and eerily resembling someone else. While the former is natural, the latter can feel uncanny. This resemblance brought to mind Gérard Corbiau’s “The Music Teacher,” in which a singer shares such identical training with another tenor that they seem to have the same voice. Of course, this is an illusion—voice is body, and no two bodies are identical. Still, it was peculiar to hear Fuchs suddenly sounding like Dessay. Whether this impression arose from the audience’s memory or was a natural effect of their performing similar roles, it added another layer to the experience—and I wasn’t alone in noticing it.

This observation doesn’t detract from Fuchs’s accomplishments. In fact, she may have surpassed any other Marie I’ve seen. The real question is whether, in a production so closely tied to Dessay’s legacy, opera lovers can ever fully separate the two. Does Pelly’s staging summon Dessay’s ghost as much as Fuchs’s own brilliance commands the stage? Whatever the case, Fuchs’s performance was phenomenal.

I left the opera house with two certainties: one day I will die, and Lawrence Brownlee will never miss a high note. Tonio is Brownlee’s playground, and his immense vocal security sometimes makes the character’s clumsiness—so integral to his charm—feel diminished. In other words, we don’t marvel at Tonio’s “miraculous” ability to sing high Cs; we hear in Brownlee’s voice a fortress of unshakable strength.

Despite a prolific career, Susan Graham has never been particularly associated with comedy. It’s the great tragic roles that cemented her place among the all-time greats. Yet, as the Marquise of Berkenfield, Graham doesn’t aim for sitcom-level humor, and somehow, it works. What she lacks in comedic timing, she compensates for with a deeply human portrayal of a character who evolves over the course of the opera, taking accountability for her past mistakes. In a story set during the Napoleonic wars, that message is powerful and rare. Would anyone else willingly own up to their errors when an easy escape is at hand?

Graham sang with weight and intention behind every word. Her voice, though less smooth than in her prime, remains distinct. She focused more on the text’s emotional impact than on creating long, lyrical lines—a fair choice in a score like Donizetti’s.

Lionel Lhote delivered a charming, smooth Sergeant Sulpice, particularly shining in the second act. He brought humor to a role that often teeters on the edge of political incorrectness. Florent Mbia was witty and engaging as Hortensius, while Felicity Lott’s mere presence as the Duchess of Crackentorp was a delight. Even though the role doesn’t showcase Lott’s legendary vocal talents, her stage presence was enough to captivate the audience.

Amid the ghosts of past performances and the phantoms within the opera itself, “La Fille du Régiment” remains an unforgettable experience. What was politically vibrant a decade ago feels shockingly fresh today, reminding us how laughter and reflection can coexist even in the darkest times.