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Lincoln in the Bardo’ Review: An Opera of Presidential Grief

Missy Mazzoli and Royce Vavrek’s adaptation of the George Saunders novel, which had its premiere this week at the Metropolitan Opera, affectingly captures the phantasmagorical spirit of its source.

Heidi Waleson

Oct. 21, 2026 at 5:05 pm ET

Peter Mattei (center) in ‘Lincoln in the Bardo.’ KAREN ALMOND / MET OPERA

A major challenge of adaptation is to capture the spirit of the source material without being a copy of it. “Lincoln in the Bardo” by Missy Mazzoliand Royce Vavrek, which had its world premiere at the Metropolitan Opera on Monday, has done that and more, distilling the phantasmagorical world of George Saunders’s 2017 novel into an affecting, immediate theater piece that explores its serious themes without losing its fantasy or comedy.

The book has over a hundred narrators, relying on the reader to sift and construct. Mr. Vavrek’s elegant libretto, which deftly repurposes Mr. Saunders’s evocative period language, narrows that huge cast of characters to a handful. It is 1862, and Washington’s Oak Hill Cemetery is inhabited by ghosts who are trapped in limbo—or, in Tibetan Buddhist terms, the bardo—most refusing to believe that they are dead. They are joined by Abraham Lincoln’s 11-year-old son, Willie (Everett Sobers on opening night), who has died of typhoid. Lincoln (Peter Mattei), the opera’s only living character, visits the graveyard alone at night, mourning his child. The principal ghost narrators—Vollman (Ryan McKinny), Bevins (Jonah Hoskins) and the Reverend (Christine Goerke)—are determined to get Willie to move on to the next phase of existence, since the bardo is a bad place for children.

Solo and ensemble moments are skillfully balanced to create character and atmosphere while advancing the story. We get the backstories of the ghosts, who obsessively relive their tragicomic ends. Relieved of the need for realism, Ms. Mazzoli has had fun with these, and the singers are game for the adventure. As Miss Elise Traynor, a 14-year-old girl who died of a fever on the cusp of her sexual awakening, countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzolets fly with a swooping, shrieking baroque-tinged aria while being transformed into a furnace, a giant mouth, and a herd of pigs. As another gender-swapped character, Ms. Goerke is the pious Reverend, the only bardo inhabitant who understands that he is dead. His tale of being found “Unworthy” on the Day of Judgment, recounted at the top of Act 2, is a grand scena for dramatic soprano, complete with off-stage choral thundering and a monumental orchestral nod to Bartók’s “Bluebeard’s Castle.” Each choral section has a different style and focus; all are theatrically integrated. Early in the opera, otherworldly figures arrive to urge the ghosts to cross over, with multiple copies of each one’s tempter. Bevins is besieged by a sextet of Gilberts, the lover for whom he slit his wrists; Willie is pursued by five copies of his mother—but “they don’t smell like her.”

The serious heart of the opera is Lincoln and his crushing grief, limned in four striking arias evenly spaced out through just over two hours of music. Mr. Mattei’s velvety baritone brings rawness, lyricism, and even a bit of falsetto to the unfolding of Lincoln’s pain. The sorrow is intimate as he recalls tender moments with his child and expansive as he grieves for the dead of the Civil War and ponders his responsibility for all of it. Yet rather than being maudlin or depressing, the opera’s central thread is about taking responsibility, and the determined ghosts use their power to enter Lincoln, hear his thoughts, and push him—and Willie—forward into resolution.

The superb cast also includes Janai Brugger as the enslaved Mrs. Francis Hodge, perched on a tree branch, who demands revenge on the man who stole her children in a furious high soprano. (This is one instance in which the opera softens the original—in the novel, she graphically recounts the multiple rapes of another enslaved woman, the mute, traumatized Litzie.) Stephanie Blythe and Craig Colclough have a hilarious comic turn as a drunken couple, run over by a carriage while copulating in the road, who offer a laissez-faire portrait of child-rearing (as opposed to Lincoln’s). The necessary amplification of the young Mr. Sobers’s treble is slightly disconcerting, but his pure sound adds an extra dimension, and Willie’s final joyous aria when he understands that he is dead and “All is allowed” is an ebullient apotheosis. Tenor Joshua Blue brings sympathetic gravity to Thomas Havens, a man worked to death in slavery, who finds his purpose at the end—he enters Lincoln to bring him to an understanding of the suffering of the enslaved.

Ms. Mazzoli’s orchestration skillfully creates multiple sound worlds with the aid of some specialty percussion and keyboards, such as celesta, vibraphone and organ; she is careful to cushion and complement the vocal lines without overpowering them. Conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin brings out the score’s color and propulsion, and the excellent Met Opera chorus creates the seething world of the dead, occasionally playing kazoos.

The story involves a lot of supernatural behavior, including shape-shifting, and director Lileana Blain-Cruz’s production builds a ghost world that, like the opera, retains its underlying humanity. Adam Rigg’s cemetery set—trees, graves, a crypt—is enhanced by the purples and greens of lighting co-designers Yi Zhao and Stacey Derosier. Montana Levi Blanco’s splendid—and distressed—period costumes supply context and detail (Bevins, who died by suicide, had red strings hanging from his sleeves). Especially brilliant are the contributions of puppet designer James Ortiz, particularly the menacing tendrils that encase Willie. Puppeteers also operate Miss Traynor’s pig heads and the giant phallus—deployed once—that reminds the unfortunate Vollman of his unconsummated marriage to his much younger wife. Jeremy A. Chernick devised special effects like the pyrotechnics for the ghosts’ transition to another plane (called “matterlightblooming”); Raja Feather Kelly choreographed the unobtrusive dancing, and Hannah Wasileski and Hana S. Kim designed the subtle projections.

The production’s surprises are eye-catching, yet there is something homemade and friendly about them. How to show that a ghost has entered Lincoln? His white shirtfront lights up. Even the comedy ultimately turns gentle, as Bevins, Vollman and Miss Traynor sing a wistful trio, “The things of the world are with me still,” before transcending, and the angry Mrs. Hodge realizes that she is tired of her thirst for vengeance. With the final image—a Lincoln double riding a horse across the back of the stage—we understand that Havens is inside the President, spurring him forward toward the Emancipation Proclamation. It is the ghosts’ humanity that counts in the end.

‘Ofrenda’ Review: A Musical Meeting With Death at Austin Opera

The Texas company’s first commissioned opera, with a score by Jorge Sosa and a libretto by John de los Santos, is a Mexican-infused take on a fairy tale.

Heidi Waleson

Oct. 5, 2026 at 5:07 pm ET

Victoria Vargas ERICH SCHLEGEL

Austin, Texas

Austin Opera, the $5 million company in the Texas state capital—much smaller than the better-known outfits of Dallas and Houston—is having some firsts this season. Its brand-new headquarters, a converted warehouse in an industrial park south of downtown, includes a 200-seat black box theater, where last week the company offered the premiere of its first-ever commissioned opera, Jorge Sosa’s “Ofrenda.” The 80-minute chamber piece, running through Oct. 11, is part of a new endowed initiative that supports Spanish-language programming.

“Ofrenda” (the title refers to the altar constructed for the Mexican holiday Day of the Dead), set in Southern California in 1988, is an updated Mexican-infused take on a Brothers Grimm fairy tale, “Godfather Death,” by way of “Macario,” a 1950 adaptation by B. Traven and a 1960 film of the same name by Roberto Gavaldón. In John de los Santos’s jam-packed libretto, Macaria, who works as a hospital custodian, meets the mysterious Señora, who is actually Death, on a bus. The Señora offers Macaria a gift—a bottle containing her tears, which can revive the dying. Macaria uses the tears on her beloved daughter Pina (who has undiagnosed stomach cancer) and then surreptitiously saves the hospital’s dying patients. A second plot involves the clandestine relationship of Carla, the hospital administrator, with Gary, a hot young male nurse, and their unplanned, very sick, premature baby. The two threads come together as Macaria, who has run out of magic tears, makes a final, fatal bargain with the Señora in order to save the baby and secure Pina’s future.

Mr. De los Santos’s dense text, which alternates between Spanish and English, is constructed to convey a lot of information, which often leaves Mr. Sosa’s pleasantly tonal score in a subordinate position. The Macaria-Pina relationship is musically persuasive—their mutual love, accompanied by some uptempo Latin rhythms, survives the inevitable clashes of worried mother and adolescent daughter (who dates a useless guy and delays applying for a scholarship). The Carla-Gary plot feels more forced, with Carla’s cougar energy, Gary’s resentment and their noisy, overlapping arguments. A few arias punctuate the narrative, most notably the Señora offering her gift of tears and, later, Macaria’s troubled musing about how it has burdened her; they are structured with Puccini-esque swoops and climaxes.

Mr. Sosa made able use of his small instrumental ensemble of string quartet, bass, percussion and keyboard to create mood, texture and propulsion. A hospital monitor’s flat-line drone dissolved into an orchestral beginning, suggesting a return to life; hand-drum rhythms injected Mexican flavor, while bells and mallet instruments supplied some otherworldly touches. Timothy Myers was the skillful conductor.

Maia Aramburú and Kelly Guerra. ERICH SCHLEGEL

Kelly Guerra was an affecting, complex Macaria, her luminous mezzo making an eloquent contrast with the high, bright soprano of Maia Aramburú as Pina; their duets were among the score’s best moments. Soprano Kristin Bilodeau (Carla) and baritone Kyle White (Gary) sounded loudly histrionic in the small theater. Mezzo Victoria Vargas conveyed the Señora’s off-putting mystery. Susan Branch Towne cleverly costumed her as a grubby bag lady, giving an extra charge to her surprise when Macaria sits next to her on the bus, offers her half a turkey sandwich and tells her a joke.

In the simple but effective production, designed by Daniel Chapman, three rear panels served as screens for Anthony Robles’s mostly black-and-white projections that situated us in Carla’s office, a hospital corridor, a bus, or Macaria’s living room. Other images were less place-centric—an MRI, a candle, a horde of monarch butterflies, the storm of the Señora’s tears. Basic black boxes became a desk, a sofa, or a hospital bed, with additional touches like Macaria’s ofrenda for her dead husband. The orchestra was behind the panels.

Mr. De los Santos directed with economy and precision, capturing the physical essence of these relationships—as when Macaria and Pina playfully acted out the extremes of telenovela emoting. The supertitles were awkwardly placed on screens at either side of the stage, making the sightlines difficult. For the opera’s bittersweet, 12-years-later ending, the projection backdrop of a cemetery was in full color, but it was Pina’s makeshift ofrenda at Macaria’s grave—and Mr. Sosa’s poignant conclusion—that conveyed the ongoing connection of the living and the dead.

‘Macbeth’ Review: A Ferocious Start to the Met Opera’s Season‘Macbeth’ Review: A Ferocious Start to the Met Opera’s Season

Quinn Kelsey and Lise Davidsen star in a potent production of Verdi’s classic.

Heidi Waleson

Sept. 24, 2026 at 4:29 pm ET

Lise Davidsen and Quinn Kelsey MARTY SOHL / MET OPERA

New York

Verdi’s “Macbeth” (1847, revised 1865) is a ferocious work, and the riveting new production by director Louisa Proske that opened the Metropolitan Opera season on Tuesday evening did not hold back. Jon Bausor’s set evoked the smoking ruins of a modern, war-ridden world. The proscenium frame was a giant hole blasted through a concrete wall with ends of rebar sticking out. Behind it, a revolving turntable exposed rubble-strewn outdoor expanses and the grim, stony interiors of Macbeth’s castle. Adam Silverman’s pitiless lighting accentuated the mood and brought the characters into strong focus.

The landscape was bleak even before Macbeth heard the fateful prophecy and embarked on his murderous adventure—Ms. Proske’s production suggests that the impulse toward tyranny never ends. The witches are thus visible manifestations of internal malevolent urges, and the 12 dancer witches who supplemented the large singing chorus of hags appeared throughout the evening—observing, slipping through walls, and egging the protagonists on. During the mourning chorus for the murdered King Duncan, for example, they robed the Macbeths in ermine and handed them crowns.

The turntable reflected the perpetual motion of the propulsive score, buoyantly conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin. The protagonists, unusually human for this pair, also seemed to be swept along. Quinn Kelsey’ssumptuous baritone brimmed with lyricism along with its power, expressing Macbeth’s ambition and terror at the same time. Soprano Lise Davidsen was a mercurial Lady Macbeth, pushing her husband into dark deeds yet with more sides to her than her steely, ringing high notes would suggest. In the cabaletta “Or tutti sorgete” she was almost playful as she invoked evil spirits to help commit murder; in “La luce langue,” after she and Macbeth decide to kill Banquo and his son Fleance, she seemed to be persuading herself that “the dead do not wish to reign.” In her final sleepwalking scene, you could hear her iron resolve gradually falling away, leaving only a plaintive sigh, “A letto, a letto” (“to bed”).

Ryan Speedo Green was an eloquent Banquo; Freddie De Tommaso’s bright tenor brought poignant lyricism to Macduff’s lament for his murdered family. Jonathan Burton was a clarion Malcolm, Duncan’s eldest son and heir; soprano Jazmine Saunders had an eerie, offstage cameo as the apparition of the Bloody Child. The potent Met chorus captured the shrieking cackles of the witches, the horror of the courtiers after Duncan’s murder, and the despair of the exiles fleeing Macbeth’s tyranny.

Montana Levi Blanco’s imposing Elizabethan costumes referred to the opera’s Shakespearean source, and the ruin of the Macbeths was all the more noticeable when their grand ceremonial garments were stripped away. Ms. Proske, best known in New York as co-founder of the unorthodox Heartbeat Opera, directed the intimate scenes as tight close-ups, and her many eye-catching moments, whether stage-filling or small-scale, were always purposeful. In the banquet scene, a pig brought in on a spit and laid on the table was suddenly replaced by Banquo, hallucinated by Macbeth. Leaping dancers, acrobatically choreographed by Jorrell Lawyer-Jefferson, brought the two battle scenes thrillingly to life (even their clashing swords threw off sparks). The Act 3 witches’ ballet featured a satirical re-enactment of the murder of Duncan.

During the introduction to her sleepwalking scene, Lady Macbeth wandered through a series of rooms, including one that contained Macduff’s gorily murdered wife and children; she ended up in her bedroom, where the red bed hangings had rotted away and a mudslide had breached the door. And Macduff did not kill Macbeth at the end. Instead, the victorious Malcolm’s jubilant followers dragged him off upstage to be burned at the stake while the witches temptingly held out the crown to the boy Fleance. The cycle, it seems, was destined to continue indefinitely.

‘A River Runs Through It’ Review: Singing Meets Fly-Fishing at Opera Montana

The company’s world-premiere production is a taut, skillful adaptation of the classic Norman Maclean novella about a stalwart Westerner and his gambling-addicted brother.

Heidi Waleson

Sept. 23, 2026 at 1:29 pm ET

A scene from the opera ‘A River Runs Through It.’ NILE SCOTT STUDIOS

Bozeman, Mont.

It’s appropriate that Opera Montana’s first commissioned work is Zach Redler’s “A River Runs Through It,” which opened last week at the Ellen Theatre here. Based on Norman Maclean’s elegiac 1976 novella about fly fishing and family in Missoula, 200 miles to the northwest, it embodies the book’s characters, themes and powerful sense of place with a sophistication and eloquence that take it beyond the regional into the universal.

Librettists Kelley Rourke and Matt Foss have skillfully adapted the story, extracting its essential events and distilling them into a taut 90 minutes. To make it theatrical, they have also given each of the seven characters weight, artfully rebalancing the narrator’s strong voice in the novella. An earlier adaptation, Robert Redford’s 1992 film, took different liberties with the source.

“River” is Norman’s recollection of his youth—dominated by his Presbyterian minister father, John, who believes that there is no clear line between religion and fly fishing, and his younger brother, Paul, a brilliant fisherman who can’t control the dangerous gambling habit that costs him his life. In the opera, set in 1937, the secondary figures, particularly the women, are vividly characterized as well: Norman’s wife, Jessie; his mother, Clara; Jessie’s feckless brother, Neal; and Heidi, the local wild woman who gets together with Neal. (In the novella, she is known only as “Rawhide,” the town slut who is always drunk; the opera offers a more nuanced portrait.)

Mr. Redler’s score leans toward musical theater, with tuneful, rhythmic arias often built on strophic, deftly rhymed text as well as deep affinity with Maclean’s poetic diction. The styles are varied: Mezzo Megan Marino struts through a jangly country ditty that shows off Heidi’s toughness and vulnerability, while David Pittsinger’s opulent bass-baritone takes a more operatic turn in John’s musing aria “To fish is to chase a spot of time.” We understand Paul’s fatal bravado in tenor Michael Kuhn’s jaunty recounting of a race with a rabbit that ends with him crashing his car—it’s a performance designed to deflect Norman’s offer of help.

The most striking musical moments are the ensembles. In the parallel opening and closing sections and the fishing scenes, the overlapping voices evoke the world of water, a place of grace and redemption. In scene 5, the center of the opera, an ill-fated excursion to the river, the separate, troubled musings of Norman, Paul, Neal and Heidi join in a hypnotic, time-stopping moment as each one experiences “something close to love.” In the final scene, after Paul’s death, all seven characters weave the opera’s musical themes together with Maclean’s lyrical words: “Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”

The strong cast also included Schyler Vargas, as a stalwart Norman, and Christine Taylor Price, as a bright-voiced Jessie, figuring out their own relationship and trying to help their respective brothers. They and Mr. Kuhn have musical-theater backgrounds and occasionally strayed too far into its croons and swoops. Phyllis Pancella brought thoughtful intensity to Clara’s aria of worry about her sons. Tenor Ryan Bryce Johnson displayed comic flair as Neal, who covers his inadequacies with tall tales. Leading an orchestra of 22, featuring lively colorations from saxophone, harp, marimba and guitar, conductor Michael Sakir captured the music’s landscape of alternating pulse and elegy.

Kristin Ellert’s single set—chairs, hats and fishing rods stacked at the rear of the stage and brought forward as needed—got its flavor from beautifully crafted video that showed a front porch, the outside of a jail, and of course the river from many different angles, both realistic and abstract. Stephen Sakowski’s lighting matched the opera’s moods; Stacy Hostetter’s costumes evoked the place and the period. Mr. Foss was the capable director; Jason Borger the fly-fishing consultant. Norman, Paul and John had poles, but the swirling lines of their casts were shown only in the video, and the fish they caught were left to the imagination. The opera runs through Oct. 4 in Bozeman and Missoula.

‘Mitridate, re di Ponto’ Review: Young Mozart’s Music at Opera Philadelphia

The company stages a well-sung if theatrically uneven production of the composer’s saga of romance and a kingdom facing the might of the Roman Empire, written when he was just 14 years old.

Heidi Waleson

Sept. 14, 2026 at 4:34 pm ET

Lawrence Brownlee (left) and Anthony Roth Costanzo (center) DOMINIC MERCIER

Philadelphia

Opera Philadelphia opened its season last week at the Academy of Music with a rarity: Mozart’s “Mitridate, re di Ponto,” written in 1770 for Milan when the composer was 14 years old. Opera seria in style, the piece has flashes of the mature Mozart, but it is predominantly a procession of display arias written for virtuoso singers. Fortunately, the company was able to field a highly capable cast: tenor Lawrence Brownlee in the title role; countertenor (and OP general director and president) Anthony Roth Costanzo as his treacherous son, Farnace; Meredith Wohlgemuth as Farnace’s brother, Sifare; and, in a last-minute substitution, soprano Brenda Rae as Aspasia, the object of everyone’s desire.

Vittorio Amedeo Cigna-Santi’s libretto, based on a 1673 tragedy by Jean Racine, is political and personal. Mitridate is trying to hold onto his kingdom, Pontus, against the advance of the Roman Empire. Having pretended to die in battle to test the loyalty of his sons, he returns home to find them both in love with Aspasia, his fiancée. The updated production by director Emma Griffin leaned into the story’s “Succession” undercurrents, with the not-quite-toothless old lion lashing out at those he sees as eager to supplant him.

The arias follow the conventions of the period with plenty of coloratura and opportunities to show off, but Mozart’s preternatural ability to create character is already present. Of the two angry men, Mr. Brownlee’s raging Mitridate was quite a different creature from Mr. Costanzo’s sly, malicious Farnace. (He is secretly in league with the Romans, who have promised him the throne.) Mr. Costanzo also shifted gears brilliantly for Farnace’s 11th-hour change of heart, the exquisitely meditative “Già dagli occhi,” as he decides to join his father against the Romans.

Brenda Rae DOMINIC MERCIER

Ms. Rae grew in richness and assurance as the evening progressed, capturing the constant torment of Aspasia—who hates Farnace, secretly loves Sifare, and is dutifully prepared to go through with the planned wedding to their father until he threatens everyone with death. Ms. Wohlgemuth proved a real find as the gentle Sifare, who remains loyal to Mitridate despite everything. Her pure, warm soprano shone especially in the lament “Lungi da te, mio bene” with its mournful horn accompaniment, as Sifare realizes the hopelessness of his and Aspasia’s love. Later, the two blended poignantly in the opera’s only duet, in which they grieve over their seemingly inevitable fate—they must die together.

The smaller roles were also capably handled. Soprano Nola Richardson sang Ismene, a princess once loved by Farnace; mezzo Sarah Coit was Arbate, a peace-making ally of Mitridate and his sons, and Minghao Liu brought a striking high tenor to Marzio, Farnace’s Roman contact. The roles of Farnace, Sifare and Arbate were originally written for castrati; the music for this all-high-voice cast proved varied enough that one didn’t miss the bass notes. Conductor Corrado Rovaris tended to push the tempi, however, which heightened the excitement but left little space for expressivity and nuance in the rage arias and other moments of high drama.

Mr. Costanzo and Minghao Liu DOMINIC MERCIER

Ms. Griffin’s production looked under-resourced. Kaye Voyce’s set placed a random collection of contemporary furniture (sofas, an office desk and chair, a globe) against a patchwork backdrop of dull-colored flags. A posse of extras clad in white jumpsuits and little black aprons would occasionally flood the set, tidying up and moving the furniture into new configurations. This often happened during arias, creating a regrettable focus disturbance for the audience.

Masha Tsimring’s lighting was glaring, luridly hued, or strangely flat. Ms. Voyce’s hodgepodge of costumes included patterned velvet leisure suits with balloon pants for the brothers, a nod to their geographic origin (Pontus was part of modern-day Turkey), and chic outfits for the women—Aspasia in a flowing white trouser ensemble, Ismene in a regal gold kimono and turban. Mitridate sported a red military uniform.

Staging da capo arias is always a challenge, and Ms. Griffin often fell into the trap of extremes—Mr. Brownlee and Mr. Costanzo tossed chairs around, leaped acrobatically onto furniture and ripped things up—or stasis. One bold choice did work well. As Marzio sang his only aria, summoning Farnace to war, he changed his outfit, making Farnace hand him armor pieces like a servant. The realization that he is merely a tool of the Romans thus seemed to prompt Farnace’s return to the family fold.

At the end, Mitridate, fearing capture by the Romans in the battle, commits suicide for real, reconciling with both sons before he expires. (The white-suited servants were already strewn around the stage, casualties of war.) The remaining characters then sing an extremely brief ensemble vowing to resist the power of Rome. That finale should demonstrate the triumph of good over evil, but Marzio gunned them all down instead. We were back to “Succession,” in which the outsider, rather than one of the children, gets the plum job. In this production, the Romans got the last word—which, of course, eventually they did.

2026 Glimmerglass Festival Review: Soaring Highs, Brash Lows

The opera company’s summer season featured impressive stagings of Mozart’s ‘Così fan tutte’ and Gregory Spears’s ‘Fellow Travelers,’ as well as grating versions of ‘Oklahoma’ and ‘Madama Butterfly.’

Heidi Waleson

Aug. 17, 2026 at 4:37 pm ET

A scene from ‘Oklahoma.’ GLIMMERGLASS FESTIVAL 50

Cooperstown, N.Y.

This year’s Glimmerglass Festival looked at America—on the occasion of its 250th birthday—through different lenses. Most arresting was the oldest opera represented here, Mozart’s “Così fan tutte,” given an acute updating by director Eric Einhorn and Kelley Rourke, who devised the brilliantly calibrated English adaptation of the libretto. Setting “Così” on an American college campus in the 1990s, the creative team delved into the mixed motives of everyone involved in the bet that will supposedly prove that all women are fickle, recasting its misogynist undertones into a believable atmosphere of adolescent insecurity and experimentation.

The six characters were seamlessly transformed into a pair of football players and their girlfriends, a trouble-making janitor and a dorm resident advisor; the chorus became the football team’s cheerleaders (“We are Spartans, true and tough” for “Bella vita militar”) as well as silent student attendees at the dorm Halloween party. There were plenty of sight gags—Alfonso (Kevin Burdette, a gifted physical comedian) plunged a toilet while singing an aria. But the opera’s serious musical moments were always given appropriate space to unfold, the emotional development of the four lovers was earned, and the final resolution—who ends up with whom?—was left, properly for this concept, unresolved.

James Rotondo’s clever two-level set allowed for different areas of the dorm; designer Beth Goldenberg went all out with the costume party (Fiordiligi and Dorabella were, appropriately, Alice and the White Rabbit; we also got a robot and a slice of pizza); Kate Ashton’s lighting was integral to the tonal shifts between comedy and seriousness.

Amanda Batista’s steely soprano rose to high drama in Fiordiligi’s arias (“I am woman, hear me roar” was one line). Mezzo Michelle Mariposa’s pert Dorabella softened eloquently in her Act 2 duet (“I give my heart gladly”) with Guglielmo; Gregory Feldmann captured Guglielmo’s confusion and resentment. Tenor Travon D. Walker brought out Ferrando’s susceptibility in the sweetness of “Whenever she’s near me” (“Un’aura amorosa”). The four were especially good in the opera’s many ensembles. Keely Futterer showed off high vocal comedy in Despina’s appearance as an EMT arriving to rescue the boys from their supposed alcohol poisoning at the end of Act 1. Joseph Colaneri was the exuberant conductor.

A scene from ‘Fellow Travelers.’ GLIMMERGLASS FESTIVAL 50

Equally striking was the newest work, “Fellow Travelers” (2016) by Gregory Spears, in a production that is part of a multi-year tour mounted for the piece’s 10th anniversary. A haunting love story of two men, their bond destroyed by the 1950s Lavender Scare targeting gay U.S. government employees, “Fellow Travelers” makes its impact through a stripped-down libretto by Greg Pierce (based on Thomas Mallon’s 2007 novel) and its singularly evocative score.

A brief, twisting woodwind figure in the chamber orchestra is a constant, tracking the rise and fall of the love affair of Hawkins Fuller (baritone Joseph Lattanzi), a state department employee, who seduces the eager young Timothy Laughlin (tenor Colin Aikins). At one moment, Minimalism-style repetitions in the orchestra and the text map the Catholic guilt and erotic passion at war in Tim’s heart; at another, they weave together multiple vocal lines into a madrigal-like texture to illuminate the conflicting views in an office or at a party. Then there’s the slow, somber poignancy of Hawk’s final aria, in which he recognizes the impossibility of the relationship, and paves the way to betrayal.

Kevin Newbury’s production, based on his original staging, matches the score’s potent economy. Vita Tzykun’s design, enhanced by Thomas C. Hase’s moody lighting and Devario D. Simmons’s period costumes, has six sets of file cabinets that reverse to form a kitchen or a bedroom. Mr. Lattanzi (who was in the original cast) captured the predatory and mocking façade that Hawk uses to hide his feelings; Mr. Aikins brought brightness and innocence to Tim. Ms. Futterer was touching as Mary Johnson, who tries to protect both men; other members of the strong cast included high soprano Kaileigh Riess as a spiteful office worker and Luke Harnish as Joseph McCarthy. Conductor Kelly Kuo captured the opera’s pacing but sometimes let the orchestra overpower the singers.

Unlike some recent stagings that have emphasized the dark undercurrents in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Oklahoma,” Francesca Zambello’s slick new production was all primary colors, a paean to American frontier boosterism. Peter J. Davison’s set featured the typical house with a porch, barn and cornfield, even adding a little train that made a single pass across the front of the stage. Ken Billington’s lighting and Constance Hoffman’s costumes, which featured swirling flared skirts in different candy-colored plaids for the female chorus, added to the effect, as did Ms. Zambello’s direction, which emphasized thrust rather than sweetness.

As Laurey, Shereen Pimentel’s edgy Broadway belt grew wearing; her voice sounded too similar to the brassy nasality that we expected (and got) from Ado Annie, here played by Kate Morton. Michael Adams was a mellifluous Curly, Erik Nordstrom properly sinister as Jud, and Peter Murphy (as Will Parker) a better dancer than singer, though he had some issues with the sound design. Theater actress Holly Twyford was a standout Aunt Eller. The many dance sequences, choreographed by Eric Sean Fogel, were excellent. James Lowe’s brash conducting matched the production’s onslaught.

Ms. Zambello’s 2014 production of Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly,” directed in a revival by Joshua R. Horowitz, emphasizes the theme of American power: Most of Acts 1 and 2 are set in the U.S. Consulate in Nagasaki, making the Japanese supplicants. It also gives non-Asian chorus members a reason to be present at Butterfly’s wedding, though having a group of American ladies sing the invocation “O Kami! O Kami!” from song sheets seemed peculiar. Anita Yavich’s costumes were very much on point, especially the mixed Western and Japanese attire of the rich prince Yamadori.

As Butterfly, Eri Nakamura’s grating soprano had no bloom and a disconcerting wobble; tenor Eric Taylor’s Pinkerton was just loud; baritone Troy Cook did his share of bellowing as the American consul Sharpless; Ms. Mariposa was similarly assertive as Suzuki. They were matched and even outdone by Mr. Colaneri’s bombastic conducting. Everyone indulged in prodigious scenery-chewing, eschewing any subtlety that Puccini built into this tear-jerking piece in favor of all-around bludgeoning.

Santa Fe Opera 2026 Season Review: Potent Premieres and Reliable Revivals

The summer program features the American debut of Tobias Picker’s ‘Lili Elbe’ alongside satisfying stagings of ‘Rodelinda,’ ‘The Magic Flute,’ ‘Eugene Onegin’ and ‘Madama Butterfly.’

Heidi Waleson

Aug. 10, 2026 at 4:46 pm ET

Lucia Lucas and Sylvia D’Eramo in ‘Lili Elbe.’ BRONWEN SHARP

Santa Fe, N.M.

Tobias Picker’s “Lili Elbe,” which is having its American premiere at the Santa Fe Opera this season, is a multilayered work. Aryeh Lev Stollman’s skillfully crafted libretto is based on the story of the trans Danish landscape painter who began to live openly as a woman in the 1910s and died in 1931 after a series of gender-affirmation surgeries. Positive experiences—her early forays in female clothing; her loving relationship with her wife, the painter Gerda Wegener; and the support of their bohemian community in Paris—are counterbalanced by cruel rejection from some family members and the scathing portrayal of the medical professionals who exploit Lili’s desperation to be “a real woman” and a mother by performing experimental treatments including a uterus transplant.

The most successful parts of Mr. Picker’s score include atmospheric ensemble passages that evoke Lili’s inner longings, such as the chorus “Everything everywhere transformed” that celebrates her social debut as a woman—who has attracted a man—and suggests that the future will be magically smooth. The opera grows progressively darker, and other potent scenes musically probe the tale’s tragedy, including a vicious outburst by her mother and a nightmare—which includes choral Sprechstimme—as she begins to awaken in agony from one of her surgeries.

The title role was written for the trans singer Lucia Lucas, but her worn baritone made little of Mr. Picker’s vocal writing. Soprano Sylvia D’Eramo captured Gerda’s brightness and complexity. Other notable singers were mezzo Lindsay Ammann as Lili’s mother and bass Andrew Harris as the doctor. Conductor Roberto Kalb luxuriated in the rich orchestration.

Director James Robinson adroitly staged the swift changes of scene and mood. Allen Moyer’s set used conveyer belts to slide furniture in from the wings; Greg Emetaz’s misty videos included projections of Orpheus and Eurydice, a subtext in the work. Marco Piemontese’s striking period costumes conjured the artists’ milieu, and Marcus Doshi’s lighting evoked both festivity and the tragedy of the ending.

Meridian Prall and Lucy Crowe in ‘Rodelinda.’ BRONWEN SHARP

The most satisfying musical performance of the week was Handel’s “Rodelinda,” expertly shaped and paced by conductor Harry Bicket, the company’s music director, who knows how to make a modern orchestra—boosted by continuo instruments and recorders—sound like a period-instrument band. In this tale of an imprisoned queen, her supposedly dead husband, and her struggle against a usurper, brilliantly characterized arias succeed each other like jewels, ratcheting up the emotion. By the end of Act 2, when the separated spouses were finally brought together only to face death, their farewell duet was incandescent.

The stellar cast included Lucy Crowe (Rodelinda), whose expressiveness made up for some loss of clarity; countertenor Iestyn Davies, embodying both the vulnerability and explosiveness of her husband, Bertarido; and tenor Anthony Gregory, capturing the volatility of the usurping tyrant Grimoaldo. As Bertarido’s sister, Eduige, mezzo Meridian Prall had splendid low notes and agility; countertenor Hugh Cutting was exquisite as Bertarido’s faithful aide Unulfo, and William Guanbo Su brought a potent bass to Garibaldo, the real villain of the piece.

R.B. Schlather’s stark production, inspired by noir cinema, used blank walls, giant shadows, and a lot of darkness (Masha Tsimring did the lighting) as an effective backdrop for this intense emotional journey. Doey Lüthi’s Victorian costumes were a plus; so were acute directing choices, such as having the insecure Grimoaldo drink himself into a stupor during the farewell duet, thus accounting for his erratic behavior in Act 3.

Matthew Goodheart, Joélle Harvey, Josh Lovell and Sunghoon Han in ‘The Magic Flute.’ BRONWEN SHARP

Christopher Luscombe’s production of “The Magic Flute” wittily transformed Mozart’s Singspiel into a British pantomime, a closely related theatrical tradition. Sung and spoken in a smart, idiomatic English translation by Jeremy Sams, it became a sparkling comedy of archetypes—the questing lovers; the exemplars of wisdom and darkness; and, of course, the clown Papageno (Will Liverman, who enters riding an ostrich). Simon Higlett’s toy-theater set had side boxes, scene-changing flats, a flying boat for the Three Boys and a mummy case for the first entrance of Papagena (Jazmine Saunders). Robert Perdziola’s lively costumes included a classic Wicked Queen headdress for the Queen of the Night (Jeni Houser) and a top-hatted villain getup for Monostatos (Spencer Hamlin). Even the serious moments had hints of comedy, yet the bits were never overdone.

The singers embraced the madness with brio, especially Mr. Liverman, who invited audience participation, including a singalong. Joélle Harvey was a luminous Pamina; Josh Lovell a stalwart Tamino, even when the joke was on him. Alexander Köpeczi and Le Bu showed off weighty low notes as Sarastro and the Speaker. Mr. Bicket paced the orchestra buoyantly, matching the high jinks on stage.

Olga Kulchynska and Mattia Olivieri in ‘Eugene Onegin.’ BRONWEN SHARP

Two satisfying revivals completed the season’s program. In 2021, Covid-19 protocols meant that the chorus had to sing from the side of the stage in Alessandro Talevi’s fantastical production of Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin.” Fully integrated this time, they made the Act 2 name-day party exponentially more nightmarish for poor Tatyana, crowding the room along with the dancers sporting animal heads. As Tatyana, Olga Kulchynska restrained her rich soprano until the end of the Letter aria, but she and Mattia Olivieri (Onegin) ignited in their Act 3 duet. Iván Ayón-Rivas’s striking tenor made for an unusually acerbic Lensky; Ya-Chung Huang was a weirdly creepy Monsieur Triquet; Ms. Prall’s rich mezzo impressed as Filipyevna. Keri-Lynn Wilson was the stylish conductor.

Stephen Costello, Karen Chia-ling Ho and Sun-Ly Pierce in ‘Madama Butterfly.’ BRONWEN SHARP

Previously mounted in 2010 and 2018, the Lee Blakeley production of Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly,” with its elegant Japanese house (designed by Jean-Marc Puissant) and handsome costumes (by Brigitte Reiffenstuel), got realistic, unsentimental direction by Melanie Bacaling. Karen Chia-ling Ho brought a big sound and sincerity to the title role. Her Butterfly is no pathetic victim—having chosen Pinkerton, America and modernity, she finally accepts that they will destroy her. Stephen Costello was an assertive Pinkerton; Jarrett Ott a mellifluous, nuanced Sharpless; Sun-Ly Pierce a fine Suzuki without illusions. John Fiore’s conducting was serviceable. As in “Lili Elbe,” optimism and romance drain steadily over the course of the story, and here Rick Fisher’s lighting took the tale from the fairy-tale sunset of the beginning to the bleakness of the final tableau.

‘The Egyptian Helen’ and ‘Tolomeo’ Review: Marital Strife and Hidden Identities

At Bard SummerScape, Christian Räth directs an enigmatic staging of Richard Strauss’s myth-bending work; led by its new music director, Peter Whelan, Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra brought Handel’s opera to Caramoor.

Heidi Waleson

July 28, 2026 at 4:05 pm ET

Hailey Clark and the company of ‘The Egyptian Helen’ at Bard. MARIA BARANOVA

Annandale-on-Hudson, N.Y.

Richard Strauss’s “The Egyptian Helen” (1928) defies any realistic interpretation, and at this year’s Bard SummerScape, Christian Räth staged it as a tortured psychological landscape that was fun to watch, if sometimes challenging to follow. In Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s libretto, the enraged Menelaus tries to kill his errant wife Helena on their journey home from Troy. He is forestalled by the sorceress Aithra, who tries to give the couple a happy ending, inventing a scenario in which a phantom Helena ran off with Paris while the real Helena has actually been asleep in Egypt for the past 10 years. The text includes an Omniscient Seashell, drinks that offer forgetfulness or remembering, ghostly apparitions, a magical couples’ retreat at the foot of the Atlas Mountains, and a desert prince who becomes obsessed with Helena.

At its heart, however, the opera is about marital acceptance and reconciliation, and it was affecting to see two excellent, powerful singers—soprano Hailey Clark (Helena) and tenor John Matthew Myers (Menelaus)—battling their way through a seemingly impossible situation. In staging Aithra’s magical manifestations, Mr. Räth and choreographer Catherine Galasso made their inner demons visible. Menelaus found himself repeatedly killing Paris (six male dancers in Trojan armor) and a phantom Helena (a female dancer); confused by a shadowy chorus in satin nightwear and shoes with red pompoms (Mattie Ullrich designed the costumes); or lost in a maze of mirrors. Tyler Micoleau’s lighting tended toward dimness, which intensified the sense of dislocation. Mr. Räth also collaborated on the scenic design (a gray interior in Act 1, a mountain range in Act 2) with Daniel Unger. Elaine J. McCarthy designed the projections.

Ms. Clark captured Helena’s intensity and determination to make Menelaus feel her love for him; Mr. Myers was poignant in his depiction of a strong man’s total confusion. As Aithra, Jana McIntyre’s bright soprano was insecure in the coloratura passages and grew harsh as the evening progressed. Baritone Blake Denson brought a dangerous ferocity to Altair, the desert prince; as Da-Ud, Altair’s son, killed by Menelaus, who thinks he is Paris, Shawn Roth displayed a sweetly lyric tenor that made for a nice timbral change. Deborah Nansteel doubling as the Omniscient Seashell and one of Aithra’s servants, and Catherine Creed as the other servant, ably filled out the cast. The singers of the Bard Festival Chorale were a game group, swarming all over the stage. Leon Botstein’s conducting of the American Symphony Orchestra was relentlessly loud and unsubtle, missing opportunities for shaping and transparency in what is ultimately a love story. “Helena” runs through Aug. 2, with a livestream on July 31 at 4 p.m.

A scene from the performance of Handel’s ‘Tolomeo, re d’Egitto’ at Caramoor. GABE PALACIO

Katonah, N.Y.

Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra, the San Francisco Bay area’s venerable period-instrument ensemble, visited Caramoor on Sunday with Handel’s “Tolomeo, re d’Egitto” (1728). Conducted by its incoming music director, Peter Whelan—just the fourth in the group’s 45-year history—the orchestra was in excellent form, its stylish swing and careful balances buoyantly supporting the singers. With some judicious excisions of aria sections, the opera ran 2 1/2 hours with one intermission.

Handel wrote “Tolomeo” for a trio of 18th-century superstars, and the Philharmonia presentation scored with two out of three. Tolomeo, the deposed king of Egypt, is hiding out on the island of Cyprus disguised as a shepherd. He is lamenting the death of his wife, Seleuce, who is not actually dead but also on Cyprus, pretending to be a shepherdess and looking for him. Araspe, the king of Cyprus, and his sister, Elisa, are in love with these two exiles and determined to have them no matter what. Newly shipwrecked on the island is Tolomeo’s usurping brother, Alessandro, who is having second thoughts. Everything works out, eventually.

Countertenor Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen (Tolomeo) and soprano Lauren Snouffer (Seleuce) were spectacular, their rich, matched timbres and onstage chemistry bringing the separated spouses to vivid life. Both displayed robust instruments with exceptional clarity, agility in florid passages, and moving sincerity in the many laments, which were ornamented with elegant subtlety. Their two duets—one of anguished farewell, the other of joyful reunion—were beautifully blended. As Elisa, Nicole Heaston’s bright, secure soprano was also impressive, but she missed the character’s deep malevolence—Elisa is prepared to kill to get what she wants.

Countertenor Kangmin Justin Kim sang Alessandro with a hooded quality and too much vibrato; he sounded messy, especially in the big register jumps of his agitated Act 2 aria. Bass-baritone Dashon Burton raged monotonously as Araspe.

James Darrah Black, the artistic director of Long Beach Opera, the show’s co-producer, supplied an occasionally inscrutable semi-staging that featured a chest covered with slabs of foam, some color-changing neon cylinders arranged in what looked like a tripping hazard, and four mirrored cubes. Character interactions were thoughtfully choreographed—though having Elisa paw Tolomeo made her seem flirty and desperate rather than dangerous. Still, the director’s contributions for the most part supported the underlying emotional drama, which, in lesser musical and theatrical hands, can be flattened into an evening of empty display.

Teatro Nuovo and Les Arts Florissants Review: Classic Bel Canto and Poignant Baroque

In New York, Will Crutchfield’s company celebrated 200 years of Italian opera in America with performances of ‘Il Don Giovanni’ and ‘Il Turco in Italia’; upstate, at Caramoor, William Christie’s French ensemble and select young vocalists delivered moving renditions of two Marc-Antoine Charpentier works.

Heidi Waleson

July 20, 2026 at 5:09 pm ET

Kresley Figueroa and Mattia Venni in ‘Il Turco in Italia.’ STEVEN PISANO

New York

This summer, Will Crutchfield’s Teatro Nuovo marked the 200th anniversary of the arrival of Italian opera in America. From November 1825 through September 1826, a troupe headed by Manuel García Sr., the famous singer (he was Rossini’s first Count Almaviva), composer and paterfamilias of a legendary opera family, gave 79 performances of nine operas (five by Rossini, two by García, one each by Mozart and Zingarelli) at the 2,000-seat Park Theatre in New York. Teatro Nuovo presented two of them at Lincoln Center’s Rose Theater last week. As usual, Mr. Crutchfield took a scholarly approach, examining historical documents to determine what bel canto might have sounded like during that stay.

For its American premiere in May 1826, Mozart’s “Il Don Giovanni” (1787)—the oldest of García’s offerings—got a fresh look from its librettist, the 77-year-old Lorenzo da Ponte, who was then living in New York. Da Ponte created a streamlined version of the piece; his son Luigi contributed the English translation that Teatro Nuovo used for its projected titles. Some arias are cut; Donna Elvira’s Act 2 “Mi tradì” replaces her Act 1 “Ah, fuggi il traditor,” and there is no moralizing epilogue after the Don goes to hell.

Even more startling for modern listeners is the bel canto-style vocal ornamentation. Donna Elvira (mezzo Sedona Libero) got some particularly elaborate flourishes, fitting the character, who gyrates between vengeful fury and desperate love. The soubrette Zerlina is also a lot fancier—García’s daughter Maria Malibran, then 18 but already a superstar, sang the role in 1826. Here, mezzo Simona Genga displayed an impressively large, imperfectly controlled instrument. Soprano Elizabeth Novella was a monochromatic Donna Anna, and exaggerated rubato often made her impassioned outbursts sag. Ricardo José Rivera was a suave Don; Kevin Spooner and Noah B. Rogers were serviceable as Leporello and Masetto. Tenor Martin Luther Clark was bent on erasing Don Ottavio’s usual wimpiness, sometimes to excess; Daniel Mobbs was insufficiently scary as the Commendatore, despite help from the trombones.

Martin Luther Clark and Elizabeth Novella STEVEN PISANO

It was illuminating to hear the period-instrument orchestra—led by Geoffrey Loff, who also played keyboard—with its softer strings and prominent bassoons, though the continuo cellist struggled with coordination. The projections of period décor were charming, as was the slightly antiquated rhymed English text of the titles, but the undirected singers missed the energy of a fully realized performance.

Rossini’s “Il Turco in Italia” (1814) is an underappreciated gem. This romp about Fiorilla, a flirty young woman with a roving eye who is married to Geronio, a wealthy old Neapolitan, is packed with hilarious, fast-moving ensembles. Felice Romani’s libretto also has an unusual—rather meta—construction: It includes a poet who is trying to write an opera buffa and narrates the events, a nod to Mozart’s “Così fan tutte.”

The standout singers were bass-baritone Mattia Venni (Geronio), who sparkled in the speedy patter, and tenor Max Alexander Cook, who captured the wailing self-indulgence of Narciso, Fiorilla’s lover. As Selim, the visiting Turk who catches Fiorilla’s eye, bass Vincent Graña had pitch and rhythm issues, and the grating timbre of Kresley Figueroa’s big, agile soprano undercut her depiction of Fiorilla. Hans Tashjian (the poet), Sabatina Mauro (Zaida, Selim’s former beloved), and David Freides (Albazar, a friend of Zaida) ably filled out the cast. Leading the orchestra from the violin, Elisa Citterio maintained a speedy pace that did not always coordinate with what was happening onstage.

Les Arts Florissants JULIEN GAZEAU

Katonah, N.Y.

The Caramoor visit of Les Arts Florissants on Friday had a special frisson. The ensemble, a stylistic laboratory, essentially revived the forgotten French Baroque repertoire when launched by William Christie in France in 1979. Two of its early signature pieces by Marc-Antoine Charpentier, performed by 10 young singers from the group’s Le Jardin des Voix training program, made it clear that Mr. Christie’s profound musical and historical understanding of this repertoire is still being passed along decades later.

In “Les Arts Florissants,” an ebullient curtain-raiser, La Musique (soprano Camille Chopin) and the other arts offer a paean to the peaceful reign of Louis XIV. La Discorde (baritone Olivier Bergeron) briefly interrupts, but La Paix (eloquently voiced by soprano Josipa Bilić) has the last word.

“La Descente d’Orphée aux Enfers” was a master class in the expressiveness of this repertoire, in which music is firmly welded to text. The young singers have clearly internalized its principles. In the title role, tenor Richard Pittsinger sang the grieving widower’s escalating pleas for the return of his wife with almost unbearable poignancy; soprano Sarah Fleiss was also touching as Proserpine, who intercedes for him with Pluton (bass Kevin Arboleda-Oquendo), as were the trio of sufferers in hell (tenor Bastien Rimondi, tenor Attila Varga-Tóth, and Mr. Bergeron) whose torments are eased by Orphée’s song. The glory of this little gem also lies in the frequent choruses, especially the ones in which the damned plead with Orphée to remain, and the magical sound of two violas da gamba, augmenting the nine-person chamber ensemble to express the ineffable power of his music.

Mr. Christie (who directed from the harpsichord and organ) has always used modern theater styles; here, Marie Lambert-Le Bihan and Stéphane Facco did the semi-staging with choreographer Martin Chaix. Four dancers were integrated with the singers in a smooth, physically expressionistic style. It wasn’t always clear when the chorus switched characters—from peace-loving Warriors to Furies in “Les Arts,” for example—since the 10 singers played all the parts, but some red ropes and agonized movement captured the torments of hell as vividly as the music.

‘Lalovavi’ Review: The Black Opera Project’s Glittery Debut

Composed by Kevin Day, the Cincinnati Opera’s Afrofuturist world premiere is a promising opening to its commissioning initiative.

Heidi Waleson

July 13, 2026 at 5:06 pm ET

Brittany Olivia Logan and Terrence Chin-Loy. PHILIP GROSHONG

Cincinnati

Last week, Cincinnati Opera gave the world premiere of “Lalovavi,” the first entry of its Black Opera Project. Over three years, this $6 million commissioning and production effort, sparked in 2019 by bass and company artistic adviser Morris Robinson, will feature three new pieces by black creative teams that focus on “the richness and complexity of the black American experience.”

“Lalovavi,” a first opera for both composer Kevin Day and librettist Tifara Brown, is an Afrofuturist fantasy with nods to the “Black Panther” movies. Its story also suggests “The Magic Flute” in reverse: A totalitarian patriarchal society is overthrown by a matriarchal band of outcasts grounded in love and the natural world; the young heroine, Persephone, defies her father and finds her true roots.

Set in 2426, 400 years after an unspecified global catastrophe, the closed city of Atlas (formerly Atlanta) is ruled with an iron fist by Titan (Mr. Robinson). Aided by Dr. Apollos (baritone Michael Preacely) he maintains community survival through eugenics, purging those with low levels of the strength-conferring Syndica gene. When his daughter Persephone (Brittany Olivia Logan) is found to have the immortality-conferring Tree of Life genetic mutation, which Titan covets for nefarious purposes, she flees the city to seek the Nunewaks, who are led by her long-lost mother, Niamara (Talise Trevigne). She is aided in her quest by Lucian (Terrence Chin-Loy), formerly one of Titan’s soldiers, and Dinah (Adrienne Danrich), her nursemaid and a secret rebel.

A scene from ‘Lalovavi.’ PHILIP GROSHONG

The opera unfolds more like a pageant than a drama. Mr. Day’s lushly orchestrated score, sweetly tonal throughout and full of harp riffs, is paced with a mellow sameness that even the frequent big climaxes can’t jolt into dramatic excitement or dangerous energy. With more than 2 1/2 hours of music, it is also too long. The prevailing aural color works best in the gentler sections, such as Niamara’s appealing aria, “Love, love, come to me.” Ms. Brown has also set much of the Nunewaks’ music in Tut, a secret 18th-century language of the enslaved, which is pleasantly singable. “Lalovavi” is Tut for “love,” which triumphs in the end.

Staged in the 2,500-seat Music Hall, the lavish production, directed by Kimille Howard, benefited from significant resources. Steven C. Kemp’s sets contrasted the forbiddingly gray and angular environment of Atlas with the riotously colored, luminescent trees and rocks of the world outside. Thomas C. Hase’s lighting played up the psychic differences between those two places. Kara Harmon’s outstanding costumes leaned into the Afrofuturist theme with radiant colors, sparkling metallics and three-dimensional construction—including giant wings for Titan’s ceremonial cape and the elaborate robe, headdress and puppet body of Ivavi (countertenor G. Thomas Allen), the cobra guardian of the Nunewaks. Tiara Jonescontributed the essential wig and makeup design. Chloe O. Davis devised writhing choreography for the six dancers who supplied some movement, in contrast to the mostly static chorus.

Talise Trevigne and Ms. Logan. PHILIP GROSHONG

Standouts in the solid all-black cast included Ms. Logan, a potent soprano who also looked splendid in her many costumes, including her final warrior outfit, and Mr. Chin-Loy, whose sweet tenor made his Act 2 lullaby an affecting moment. As Titan, Mr. Robinson often resorted to shouting; mezzo Zoie Reams was persuasive as Persephone’s sister Zipporah. Leading the Cincinnati Symphony, conductor Kevin Miller relished the sweeping, Disneyesque optimism of the score.

The two performances sold well—the second completely—and a large, enthusiastic black audience turned out, a significant achievement for an art form that often has difficulty attracting a diverse public. The next Black Opera Project titles include promising subjects and creators. The 2027 work, “John Lewis: Good Trouble,” is inspired by the life of the congressman and hero of the civil-rights struggle. In 2028, the company will present “Good Bones,” a collaboration between two Pulitzer Prize winners: Composer Michael Abels, known for his scores for Jordan Peele films, and playwright James Ijames, author of “Fat Ham.”