Past Production Reviews
10To stage a successful production of Strauss’ “Elektra” is a monumental feat all its own, but to do it with such sophistication and finesse as the Metropolitan Opera’s Friday night performance is herculean." The complexity of the libretto and score are second to none in the operatic repertory. It was the first of several famed collaborations between Austrian librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal, one of the founders of the Salzburg Festival, and one of the great champions of late romanticism and early modernism, Richard Strauss. The demands on the singers are staggering as they attempt to navigate the extremities of their instruments while both soaring above and piercing through one of opera’s most intricate and robust orchestral compositions
in this revival, you could home in even closer to just its two sisters, antipodal soprano roles sung by Nina Stemme and Lise Davidsen with floodlight luminosity and painfully human sensitivity. Chéreau’s staging, which premiered at the Aix-en-Provence Festival in 2013 before coming to the Met six years ago, doesn’t seem to have aged a day. And it’s difficult to imagine that happening soon with a placeless production that suits the timelessness Sophocles’ classic tragedy.
Amidst a grand public relations blitz, the a new production of Philip Glass’ 1984 Akhnaten has finally arrived at the Met, having been seen in London and Los Angeles. Reports from afar were glowing, and, indeed, it is a magnificent musical and dramatic spectacle. Director Phelim McDermott, conductor Karen Kamensek, the glorious, finely trained and tuned orchestra, Donald Palumbo's chorus and a quite miraculous cast have been gathered and offer a mesmerizing, deep, and vastly entertaining contemporary masterpiece. Complaints about Mr Glass’ repetitive, ritualistic music seem to have gone out the window – when I looked around, there were fewer audience members nodding off than during some of the company’s more basic repertory; indeed the enthusiasm was comparable only with the company’s earlier-in-the-season Porgy and Bess. The third in the composer’s “portrait” trilogy which includes Einstein on the Beach and Satyagraha, Akhnaten is the most accessible. The storytelling is direct – the old king, Amenhotep III dies and is buried, his son is crowned and renames himself Akhnaten. He banishes the concept of multiple gods in favor of monotheism in the form of "the sun's disc", he weds Nefertiti, he orders a new city to be built in praise of the new religion. The royal couple and their family lead insular lives to the consternation of the citizenry who storm the palace and kill Akhnaten; polytheism is restored and in a flash we are in the present, in a museum, where we learn that almost nothing is known of Akhnaten's 17 year reign. The orchestra is full and the orchestration brilliantly colored; it is scored without violins, giving the work a darkish timbre. The repetitive/variation-on-a-rhythm music clearly outlines the dramatic context, and is mimicked by Sean Gandini and his troupe of 12 jugglers, costumed alternately as hieroglyphics or in a type of camo. Tom Pye's tri-level set comes and goes and serves everyone well and Kevin Pollard's costumes, from the sheer white that originally wraps the naked Akhnaten to the matching bright red gowns for the royal couple in their love duet, to the almost Elizabethan gowns for our boy-king to the spooky look of the couple's six daughters, elicited gasps of approval. And Bruno Poet's lighting – oranges, yellows and soft pinks, the latter transmogrifying into astonishing reds – were often underscored by the exotic orchestration and the string of images. With the exception of some crowd scenes – the burial and the storming of the palace – movement is intensely slow and deliberate, more than a bit reminiscent of the work of Robert Wilson. It is sung in Egyptian, Hebrew and Akkadian which are not translated; the music and action tell us all we have to know. English is spoken by a strong-voiced narrator in the personification of Amenhotep III, and sung by Akhnaten in his "Hymn to the Sun" and in the royal couple's love duet. Anthony Roth Costanzo, whom I first encountered at the 2008 Glimmerglass Festival as Nireno in Giulio Cesare, has grown into a magnificent artist. Both he and his countertenor are lithe and focused, all in the service of the music. His concentration in the death-march movements is staggering and his sound is big and beautiful, if a smidge light at the bottom. I cannot imagine another singer coming close to his compelling performance. J'nai Bridges as Nefertiti sounded warm and lush; Dísella Lárusdóttir's high, bright soprano as Queen Tye, Akhnaten's mother, blended hauntingly with the royal couple in their otherworldly trio. Zachary James, towering physically above the rest of the cast, spoke Amenhotep's narration with grand authority and sang with an impressive, dark tone and Aaron Blake and Richard Bernstein impressed in their smaller roles. Karen Kamensek led with a sure hand, with a blip only in Act 1's more frantic moments. She clearly understands the ritual aspect of the score but put great energy into the drama as well, leading so successfully that the audience easily heard the variation as well as the repetition in Mr Glass's spectacular score.
Philip Glass has a solid trajectory at the Metropolitan Opera. Though few of his operas have had major representation at the hallowed house, their scant performances have tended to be major successes, often flanked by fantastically conceived productions that manage to get the utmost of his meditative masterworks. “Satyagraha” remains one of the great achievements in the Peter Gelb era, which is marked by productions often lacking in any sense of creative risk. “Akhnaten,” which had its world premiere back in 1984, continued this trend on Friday night in an immersive if somewhat draining production by Phelim McDermott that, when the dust settles on the 2019-20 season, will likely remain one of its greatest highlights (it is already, without any doubt, the best Met performance of the 2019 calendar year). “Akhnaten” follows the rise and fall of the legendary Egyptian Pharoah in his quest to institute a new religion for his kingdom. Of course, his mission ends in tragedy. The opera is unique among many of Glass’ operas as its narrative retains the focus on a singular narrative world instead of shifting its focus as it does between Columbus and a spacecraft in “The Voyage” or Tolstoy, Tagore, and Martin Luther King, Jr. in “Satyagraha.” Of course, like all of those, the opera tends toward more of a ceremonial nature that allows for the composer’s repetitive trance-like music to truly take its effect. Dramatic conflict is subdued in this work as it is in the other Glass operas, but McDermott managed to created a tremendous amount of visual tension throughout by employing well-placed motifs that become an essential part of the fabric of the story world. Juggling Act The main set is made up of three levels – the bottom where we see the pharaohs beings buried and later brought to power; the middle section often reserved for the people, though occupied by Akhnaten and his father Amenhotep III at several junctures; finally, the top section is often occupied by symbolic figures represented by either jugglers or the “Gods.” This division is first noticeable in the opera’s first major setpiece “The Funeral of Amenhotep III.” This section in particular brings us the first appearance of the visual motif of juggling that will weave itself throughout the work, aligning itself with the rule of Akhnaten. We see increasingly fascinating feats of juggling throughout his encounter with the priests in the temple and especially in the city where the balls being tossed about grow in size with a massive globe (representing the Sun God Aten) as the main backdrop for the set, suggesting the increased power of Akhnaten; even the ghost of Amenhotep gets in on the act at the start of “The City.” What is most impressive and symbolic about the choreography for these juggling acts is the interconnectedness between the different participants; they all form an intricate relationship with one another throughout, the complexity of their choreography growing and growing as they incorporate more and more people into the activity. This visual motif seems to symbolize the delicate and intricate balance of Akhnaten’s power. His actions are dangerous and one false move could collapse the entire structure he is building for his kingdom. We see these effects in “Attack and Fall” when the jugglers and choral members drop the balls numerous times before picking them up and repeating the cycle. The balls themselves, spread out across the front of the stage, seem to represent “The Ruins” of the opera’s final pages with the figures crawling across the stage pushing the balls to the other side in what can be interpreted as history sweeping aside the impact and memory of Akhnaten’s rule. This sense of tragedy of time and history’s passing is furthered by the opera’s ending, particularly in a scene featuring a professor trying to teach students about Egypt’s past. The students all line up where the “Gods” and jugglers of the opera’s opening once sat. But instead of a coordinated dance or cooperative juggling act, the students are taking balls of paper and heaving it at one another chaotically. A student throws a piece of paper at the professor as they all walk out; the professor looks on in horror and disappointment. Meanwhile, at the bottom level, Akhnaten is “brought back from the dead” and dressed up in his royal garbs from Act one. Next to him is a sign that reflects his years of rule and nothing more; he has become but a museum piece for no one to watch. This scene resonates potently as it operates in complete contrast to one of the most impressive moments of the opera’s opening. After the death of Amenhotep III, Akhnaten emerges completely naked from what looks like a robed cocoon; he descends slowly to the lower level, gets lifted up in Christ-like fashion before being dressed in the very golden robes that reappear at the close. Where the opening “Coronation of Akhnaten” is ceremonious spectacle to behold, the epilogue’s bookend is tragic in its emptiness. The opera thus ends on a note of somber melancholy; Glass’ arpeggiated music does not deviate from its perpetual rhythmic emphasis, but the emotions, as contextualized by the staging, allow for deep reflection on how society often lets the past die and even kills it if we need to.
Director Phelim McDermott stages a grand revival of the Philip Glass opera.
Anthony Roth Costanzo in a Standout Performance
