This Pelléas et Mélisande is the best performance of the opera I've ever experienced.

For the record, the first Pelléas I saw was way back in the 1950s with Theodor Uppman, Nadine Conner, Martial Singher and Jerome Hines, conducted by Pierre Monteux.

Those names would seem hard to equal, so let me explain.

Pelléas et Mélisande is a nebulous story about a mysterious girl and a young man, who act like children, written by the Flemish mystic Maurice Maeterlinck and set to impressionistic music by Claude Debussy in 1902. It is considered to be a literary and musical masterpiece, but it's never been a popular favorite.

Shall we be blunt? Many attendees hate the opera, and some walk out. Not because it's shocking, as occurred at the premiere of Stravinsky's Le sacre du printemps, but because Pelléas is hard to understand and it has "no tunes." Even at this performance - and keep in mind that people who attend the AVA are above the average in erudition - one person at intermission said he didn't understand it and his well-meaning friend advised: "Don't try to understand; just go with the flow."

He was on the right track, and I'd like to expand. Maeterlinck practiced the aesthetic of symbolism, as opposed to realism, where one observed slivers of life and tried to assemble them to reach understanding. His style was lean and spare, suggesting more than what was actually said. His writing included word play and concern for the musical qualities of language.

Debussy was the perfect man to set Maeterlinck's ideas in music. His style was wispy and impressionistic, often avoiding specific keys. His harmonies have sensual color, as they float and transport listeners into another world. In Pelléas, he was intent on setting the words and sustaining a mood rather than writing arias. There definitely are melodies, although they are intentionally fragmentary.

The opera has been criticized as bizarre and enigmatic. Accept those words, which were meant to be wounding, as compliments. Those qualities add excitement to the watching of the piece.

Prince Golaud, a widower, finds a mysterious young woman, Mélisande, lost in a forest. She is afraid to tell him of her past, her age, or what she fears. He brings her back to his castle and marries her. Mélisande becomes increasingly attached to Golaud's much younger half-brother Pelléas, arousing Golaud's jealousy. Golaud becomes obsessed with discovering the details of Pelléas and Mélisande's relationship, even forcing his own child, Yniold, to spy on them.

Pelléas decides to leave the country but meets Mélisande one last time. Golaud, eavesdropping, attacks and kills Pelléas. Mélisande dies shortly afterwards, having given birth to a daughter while Golaud still wants to know "the truth."

John Viscardi, who was Pelléas on opening night, is in his mid-twenties and looks even younger, which is perfect for the role. His singing was soft and yearning. This was better than the expert singing of Uppman (and others since then) who were high baritones; first, because Viscardi's voice conveys youth and, second, because it presents contrast with the baritone of Pelléas's older brother.

To be fair, I've heard the part done expertly by other tenors, but none had Viscardi's innocent sound nor his attention to the words.

Mélisande was described at the Met's 1925 premiere as "the shadowy, inarticulate, enigmatic little Princess, that haunted creature, so quiet, so timid, so silent." Chloe Moore captured these qualities and sang with a sweet, pure voice.

Zachary Nelson was Golaud, a brooding man with unspecified insecurities that lead him to dark actions. Singher, in comparison, was one of the all-time great Golauds but he purveyed elegance while Nelson revealed the instability that's inherent in his character. While still singing beautifully, he displayed the ravages of doubt and suspicion.

Patrick Guetti as Pelléas and Golaud's grandfather, Arkel, evoked memories of Jerome Hines; both being over 6 feet 6 in height and having similar dark bass voices.

Margaret Mezzacappa was excellent in her brief mezzo role as the mother of Pelléas and Golaud (a role I've enjoyed in the past most notably by Regina Resnik and Marilyn Horne).

While a boy soprano would have appeared more realistic, Maria Aleida looked fine and sang sweetly as the child Yniold.

Luke Housner prepared these performances and accompanied them single-handedly on the piano - joined in the final scene by chimes. His playing was masterful. Debussy's best-known composition is a piano solo, Clair de lune. So it seems fitting to hear the opera with piano rather than large orchestra. After all, a orchestra containing four French horns, three each of trumpets and trombones plus a tuba sometimes covers the words. Debussy's scoring is hard for singers to penetrate and the almost constant presence of wind instruments, especially of oboe and bassoon, competes with the human voice. Housner had his cast sing the French text cleanly, without the percussive attacks that some opera singers bring.

Debussy admired the innovations that Wagner brought to music drama, so it's not surprising to hear echoes of Wagner's Parsifal in the music that introduced the grandfather. On the other hand, one wonders if there was any intentional borrowing when we hear exotic chords like those that Verdi wrote to introduce the Nile scene in Aida. These are fascinating moments, but the whole of Pelléas et Mélisande is highly original.

K. James McDowell directed clearly and simply amidst the castle walls, towers and grottoes of the mythical kingdom. The most magical scene was where Mélisande, at her window, let her hair down and Pelléas kissed it. The ambiance of a small auditorium helped, as every attendee could see facial expressions.

In sum, this production accented the subtlety and intimacy of the opera.