Webster's Dictionary defines phantasmagoria as "a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined, as in 'drugs that ... can project the mind into a phantasmagoria lasting hours'," a quote from writer John Kobler. Phantasmagoria is a word that comes to mind in connection with Jacques Offenbach's "Les Contes d'Hoffmann" (The Tales of Hoffmann, 1881) and with Bartlett Sher's new production of it, which opened at the Metropolitan Opera on December 3 and which this reviewer heard on December 7.

A conductor gets a good deal of leeway as to how to arrange the order of the acts of "Hoffmann," which tells three separate, but related tales, and which was left unfinished at the time of Offenbach's death in 1880, and in what music to include or to omit to try to get closer to the composer's original intentions. James Levine, returning to the podium after a couple of months' illness, plays the acts, concerning E.T.A. Hoffmann's loves, as Olympia, Antonia, and then Giulietta, instead of reversing the last two, as in the version that was standard, and beloved, for decades and is now considered corrupt. One could dispense with the recitatives, written by the hack Ernest Guiraud, to replace spoken dialogue, yet they are included here, but one could scarcely do without such spurious additions to the Giulietta act as Dapertutto's "Scintille, diamant" (Sparkle, diamond) and the grand 'septet,' really a sextet with chorus, "Hélas! mon coeur s'égare encore!" (Alas, my heart strays again), the climax of the act, and they are here as well. Much of the unfamiliar music enhances the part of Nicklausse/the Muse of Poetry, who now has a solo in almost every scene, making her the leading lady, and it is indeed she who brings Levine out for his bow.

Joseph Calleja is the new Hoffmann and his tenor boasts the squillo (ring) that makes him ideal for much French and Italian repertory. His assignment as the poet who repeatedly loves unwisely-an automaton, a dying singer, and a courtesan in succession, with an opera diva due next-should make him a Met star. If there is no high B for the last note of the phrase "Dieu puissant," which Nicolai Gedda used to sing so triumphantly, after Olympia's aria, and no second verses of the romance to Olympia or the brindisi in the Giulietta act, there are plenty of other top notes and the role makes for a long, demanding sing even without the repetitions. One aria that is complete concerns the legend of the dwarf Kleinzach, with its odd detour into a love song, in the prologue, and first one, and then a host of Hoffmann's followers enact the role of the little person. Calleja sings another verse in the epilogue and, shattered by then, assumes the role of poor Kleinzach himself. In this production, updated to the 1920s; designed by Michael Yeargan (sets), Catherine Zuber (costumes), and James F. Ingalls (lighting); and choreographed by Dou Dou Huang, Hoffmann employs a typewriter, not a quill pen.

As Hoffmann's friend, Nicklausse/the Muse, Kate Lindsey sings a lilting melody about love and the function of the Muse early in the prologue; a cautionary Spanish-sounding song, ostensibly accompanied by Hoffmann on guitar, meant to dissuade him from pursuing Olympia, in lieu of the customary "Une poupée aux yeux d'émail;" and a lush "Vois sous l'archet frémissant," about the trembling strings of the violin, in the Antonia act; gets socked by Hoffmann in the epilogue for her pains; and repeats the last aria, with words about being the faithful Muse, and is joined, for a final repetition, by Hoffmann's three loves and the rest of the company, and Lindsey handles this responsibility with distinction. She also offers a mean impression of Olympia, when teasing Hoffmann about his failed love, in the subsequent, Antonia scene. She is, unusually, consistently shown to be in league with Hoffmann's diabolical, black leather-clad nemeses, imposingly portrayed by Alan Held, to militate against Hoffmann's fruitless, if entertaining, loves, so that he will get back to his work as writer and poet.

Beside being co-creator and co-owner of Olympia, the doll, Monsieur Spalanzani (Mark Schowalter) here is also proprietor of a circus sideshow of Moulin Rouge grandeur, which includes a bearded lady, clowns, women in top hats and bustiers or very little at all, and transvestites. There are a spiraling, whirling Chinese dragon and a sun and umbrellas decorated with eyes. Coppelius (Held) is shorn of his aria about eyes and mechanical gadgets, and a propulsive trio for him, Hoffmann and Nicklausse, covering the same material and Hoffmann's infatuation with Olympia, takes its place. If one singing Olympia is good, then five additional dancing Olympias are better, and what a fine Olympia we have in Kathleen Kim, scaling the stratospheric heights of an embellished "Les oiseaux dans la charmille" with ease, in a sure and pinging high coloratura soprano, which bodes well for her forthcoming Zerbinetta, in "Ariadne auf Naxos." Of course, Hoffmann's attention is elsewhere each time she runs out of steam and has to be rewound. Olympia also has to be restrained, by Spalazani and Cochenille (Alan Oke), from straying into the orchestra pit. Oke's request that "La Harpe" (harp) accompany Olympia's air is resonantly echoed, a couple of octaves down, by chorus bass David Asch.

In a room dominated by a piano, augmented by little more than fabric, sheet music, and some bare trees outside, Anna Netrebko, giving a strong lyric soprano performance as Antonia, stresses her character's defiant determination to sing, whatever its impact on her health, over her vulnerability. She also plays Stella, Hoffmann's last love, little more than a walk-on, who treads the boards, in the performance of Mozart's "Don Giovanni" that Hoffmann misses while recounting his tales, of what looks like the Old Met. Antonia's worried father, Crespel, who in vain forbids her to sing, is Dean Peterson, who doubles as Luther, the tavernier in whose establishment the prologue and epilogue are set. Dr. Miracle (Held) enters riding in a black carriage that, ominously, looks like it should be leading a funeral cortège. The spirit of Antonia's opera singer mother (Wendy White) does not emerge from a portrait, but, at Miracle's bidding, merely enters and situates herself beside the piano to sing her daughter to death. Frantz's awkward attempts to sing and dance are the comic culmination of Oke's worthy effort in the four servant roles.

Lanterns, towers, and then a gondola suggest Giulietta's Venice. As Lindsey and hoopskirted Ekaterina Gubanova-whose mezzo-soprano seems like a larger, Russian version of that of Rosalind Elias, a Giulietta past, and who seems more madam than courtesan-sing their barcarole, "Belle nuit, ô nuit d'amour," a bacchanal out of Wagner's Venusberg, in "Tannhäuser," ensues on the floor in front of them. Ladies of the evening, in black thongs and collars and pasties, first seen in the prologue, populate Giulietta's palace, as do the villain Dapertutto (Held); Giulietta's hapless and aptly named lover Schlémil (newcomer Michael Todd Simpson, who doubles as student and Hoffmann crony Hermann), and a commedia dell'arte Pitichinaccio (Oke). The Olympia dancers also put in an appearance at the party.

Rodell Rosel completes the cast as the student Nathanaël.

Remaining performances of "Hoffmann" are on December 11 and 16 at 8 p.m., 19 at 1 p.m., and 23, 26 and 30 and January 2 at 8 p.m. The cast remains constant, but John Keenan replaces Levine for the last three performances in December. For tickets, priced from $15 to 375, telephone 212/362-6000, visit www.metopera.org, or go the Met box office at Lincoln Center. Rush tickets, for $20, are available at the box office on the day of performance, from Monday through Thursday.