Nobody sleeps. (CODA).(Il Critico)

Not long ago, I attended Il Trittico, Puccini's wonderful trio of one-act operas, at New York City Opera. The set of Il Tabarro, which takes place on a barge in the Seine River, was merely claustrophobic but could be accepted for its suggestion that the principal characters were trapped in their unhappy lives. Suor Angelica, rather than being set in a rural Tuscan convent long ago, was placed mid-twentieth century in a hospital for very ill children. In Gianni Schicchi--in which the language and setting of that opera are inextricably tied to early-Renaissance Florence, drawing inspiration from Dante--it was all black-and-white and set in the mid-twentieth century. The humor was more I Love Lucy than "I Love Florence."

I am hardly conservative when it comes to new ways to stage standard repertory operas. And I am second to no one in my admiration for City Opera. But even a great opera company can have a miscue. The problem with this Trittico is that Puccini, perhaps more than any other opera composer, had a very strong sense of place in fashioning his operas. Paris is a protagonist in La Boheme, Manon Lescaut and Il Tabarro; Japanese culture and flavor permeate Madama Butterfly; the American West is a stereotypical but still compelling presence in La Fanciulla del West; a distinct Chinoiserie perfumes Turandot; and, above all, Tosca would be unimaginable in any place other than Rome.

As I lay in bed after seeing Il Trittico, with the music of Puccini filling my ears, I drifted into a deep sleep. Suddenly, in my reverie, appeared the production to end all productions.

In my dream, Turandot has been moved from the Forbidden City in Beijing to a twenty-four-hour Chinese restaurant called the "Nobody Sleeps." Turandot is the demanding chef in the kitchen, and the old Emperor Altoum runs the cash register while seated on a high stool. Outside the kitchen is an enormous gong that is struck whenever the waiters, Ping, Pang and Pong, are late collecting the food issuing from the kitchen. Above her chopping board, the exacting Turandot has placed on skewers the heads of former sous-chefs whom she decapitated when they couldn't explain how to bone a duck properly.

Soon Calaf a food writer known as "Il Critico," arrives with his father, Timur, and Lib, an editorial assistant, who will serve as tasters. Calaf orders a grand feast and soon demands to meet the woman who prepared the exquisite moo shu pork. He rushes toward the kitchen as Ping, Pang and Pong attempt in vain to restrain him. Calaf bangs on the gong, and Turandot, furious at being disturbed, sees her kitchen catch fire as she burns a pu-pu platter; the curtain falls.

Act II begins with Ping, Pang and Pong folding pork dumplings while fretting over the forthcoming encounter between Calaf and Turandot. The writer says that he would go to any length to get her recipe, and the chef says she will yield it only if he answers three ...