Mark this as a dissent from the unbridled enthusiasm of most other critics to the new Falstaff productions at Covent Garden, La Scala and now the Met.

People of a certain age can remember when Falstaff was an uncommon opera and, as such, immune to the affliction that besets many stage classics.

Shakespeare's plays are performed so frequently that companies say "Why don't we try a Macbeth where he's not Scottish?" Or "Why not a Richard III where he doesn't have a hump?" Turning to oft-performed operas, why not set Tosca's Act I in an Iraqi mosque? I am sorry to say that, now, these major opera houses have banded together to update this chronicle of a medieval knight.

Robert Carsen, upon joint commission from the Metropolitan Opera, Covent Garden and La Scala, has directed a new version that brings Falstaff, who was a figure of Vice and Gluttony from medieval morality plays, into the 1950s.

Verdi revered Shakespeare and would turn over in his grave.

This is more harmful than a Rigoletto set in Las Vegas, because a traditional Mantua Rigoletto is always close by. Falstaff, on the other hand, is less-frequently seen and this consortium of the world's major opera houses have made it the standard for our time and, because of economics, for many years to come.

Of course, I understand the arguments that the work transcends time, having been set nearly two centuries before Shakespeare, and Verdi's music did not copy that of the Tudor era, nor of Shakespeare's. Yet you can't convince me that Verdi's bubbling brio represents life in the 1950s.

In Carsen's Falstaff, the Garter Inn has become a bedroom in a hotel where Sir John is attended by butlers and room-service waiters. The outdoor garden of the Ford family now is the interior of a large restaurant. And the room for the romantic assignation in Ford's house now is a kitchen with avocado-green cabinets and a Formica dinette set. Alice, in that scene, turns on a radio instead of playing a mandolin.

The worst jumble is the third act, which depends on the old knight's superstitious belief in the medieval legend of a horned hunter. This was completely irrelevant to the 1950s yet Carsen could not come up with a substitute for it. He also placed Falstaff drying out from his Thames-dunking in a barn, yet a waiter appeared therein to take Sir John's drink order. Preposterously, Carsen created a forest scene which included large tables with white linen cloths on a wooden floor.

The only sane way to approach this mismatch is to sit back and enjoy the music and acting, which I did. This Falstaff provides a pleasant alternative approach to the classic, fun to watch once or twice. It's good comedy with wonderful music. But it's not Shakespeare.

Within the Carsen conception are many clever moments, and the principals execute their intricate moves with precision. In the kitchen scene, Falstaff takes a turkey from the oven and slices it for sharing with Alice, serving himself a grotesquely large portion, which is genuinely funny. When Ford enters with his henchmen they empty all cabinets, tossing plates and utensils. It's illogical to suspect that Falstaff could be hiding within small overhead cabinets, but the action is crafted to elicit audience laughter, which it does. Consider it as a homage to the Marx Brothers overcrowded ship-cabin scene in their 1935 film A Night at the Opera.

Ambrogio Maestri is superb as Falstaff. Tall as well as stout, he dominates the proceedings, as he should. His facial expressions are apt, and they can really be appreciated when seeing the opera in close-up on a wide screen. For example, savor him peeling the foil from a wine bottle with his teeth, then inserting the corkscrew and popping the cork in perfect synchronization with Verdi's music. His voice is more lyrical than most Falstaffs yet has power when needed. In his first-act "Questo e il mio regno! Lo ingrandiro! (This is my kingdom and I will make it grow)," Maestri's voice blooms on a gorgeous high F on the word regno. He is sympathetic as a deluded fool and a vainglorious inept lover who still is capable of moments of grace and elegance.

Angela Meade is an attractively coquettish Alice Ford, displaying superb comic skills and a playful sexiness which she has never revealed in previous roles. Her singing soars, and is capped off by a delightful trill in the outdoor scene just before Verdi's final fugue. Stephanie Blythe is a conniving Mistress Quickly with her richly booming voice.

Lisette Oropesa is an uncommonly fine Nanetta, singing with airy lyricism. She is appropriately adolescent in her early scenes and matures as the opera progresses. Her last-act aria climaxes with a nice high A. Baritone Franco Vassallo acts well and sings his big monologue with a ringing top, but his bottom three notes fade out weakly. Vassallo's Master Ford is presented as a smarmy mobster in costume and posturing, which doesn't fit with the classiness of his wife.

This opera requires ten solo singers with acting ability, and all the remaining parts were decently cast, although Paolo Fanale's Fenton lacked the caressing pianissimi which other tenors have brought to the role.

James Levine is back on the podium after two years of spinal problems. His face is beaming and his gestures strong although he remains seated in a mechanical chair. His mastery of, and his love for this score is as robust as ever. This orchestral score is a masterpiece, with Verdi using French horns more than in his earlier operas, as an indication of Ford's fear of cuckolding during his monologue, then again in the prelude to Act 3. The chorus, trained by Donald Palumbo, is a major factor in the beauty of the final act.