‘Akhnaten’ Review: Long Live the King

Philip Glass’s opera about the pharaoh who abolished Egypt’s polytheistic religion is a non-narrative, totally engrossing historical fantasy. 

ByHeidi WalesonNov. 11, 2019 3:40 pm ET

New York

Philip Glass’s “Akhnaten” (1984), which had its Metropolitan Opera premiere on Friday, demands that the audience surrender to the experience. There is no conventional narrative, and Mr. Glass’s trademark, pulsating music, rather than text or characters, carries the story. When the New York City Opera mounted “Akhnaten” in 1984, I remember my reaction to it as being mostly confusion. Here, Phelim McDermott’s captivating, thoughtful production, first staged at the English National Opera, makes the music visual, and deftly unpacks “Akhnaten”’s multiple layers. 

The opera itself is a historical fantasy. Very little is known about the 14th-century B.C. Egyptian pharaoh Amenhotep IV, who renamed himself Akhnaten and abolished Egypt’s polytheistic religion in favor of a single god. After Akhnaten’s overthrow, the old religion was reinstated and all references to his brief, 17-year reign obliterated. Modern archaeological discoveries have provided some information, but both the opera and the production ask the audience to embrace the fragmentary quality of our knowledge, and to fill the empty spaces with imagination and feeling.

Tom Pye’s three-level set and projections, and Kevin Pollard’s costumes play with the familiar visual signifiers of Ancient Egypt, such as friezes of flat figures in profile, animal head masks and gold leaf, by mixing in Victorian costume elements—Queen Tye, Akhnaten’s mother, has a mink stole and a feather plume headdress; General Horemhab wears a 19th-century uniform. A close look at Akhnaten’s sumptuous coronation robe reveals that it incorporates weird wax doll heads. During the Act I funeral of Amenhotep III, white-coated figures seem to be unwrapping his shrouded body—like the costume elements, they suggest the viewpoints of the 19th-century explorers who opened the Egyptian tombs, and thus, contemporary interpretations of an ancient time. 

However, in the central scenes that define Akhnaten’s rapturous vision—such as his duet with his wife, Nefertiti, and his “Hymn to the Sun”—the Victorians are gone. Costumes are pared down to flowing, diaphanous robes, and lighting designer Bruno Poet substitutes brilliantly saturated colors for the earlier, murkier hues. 

The most unusual and ingenious scenic element is the use of 12 jugglers, choreographed by Sean Gandini, whose rhythmic, stunningly synchronized ball tossing makes Mr. Glass’s flowing, buoyant score visible, and gives texture and movement to the otherwise static dramaturgy, underscoring its ritual quality. Sometimes, the jugglers formed a background. At other moments, they became part of the story: When Akhnaten and his followers overthrew the Temple and the old gods, they became his army, juggling clubs.

The opera’s vocal text, devised by Shalom Goldman from original sources including the “Egyptian Book of the Dead” and a love poem found in a royal mummy, is recited in English by a narrator, here called Amenhotep III (the dramatic Zachary James ) and then sung by the characters and chorus in the original languages. The usual Met Titles translations are not provided for these sung passages, and several of the vocal sections have no words.

Yet, for all its strangeness, the opera makes a deep emotional connection. Much of that is due to the mesmerizing performance of Anthony Roth Costanzo in the title role. From his first appearance in the coronation scene, when he walks, stark naked and expressionless, down a flight of steps at center stage, he telegraphs the vulnerability of this young ruler. His piercingly beautiful countertenor is heard for the first time in the following scene, a trio with Queen Tye (Dísella Lárusdóttir) and Nefertiti (J’Nai Bridges); the three high voices provided a sharp contrast with the weight of the male voices that dominated the opening funeral scene and symbolized the old regime. 

Mr. Costanzo’s love duet with Ms. Bridges had an erotic charge that was enhanced by their slow, deliberate movements. The “Hymn to the Sun,” the opera’s only aria, and the only passage sung in English (Mr. Glass stipulates that it is to be sung in the language of the audience), was an ecstatic, personal avowal of faith. The music of Aknahten’s death, in a rebellion, is choral and orchestral, but Mr. Costanzo’s face and body conveyed his anguish. The concluding Epilogue, also a trio with Ms. Lárusdóttir and Ms. Bridges, was a poignant, wordless vocalise and Mr. Costanzo, here weighted down again in Akhnaten’s coronation robe and stuck in a museum exhibit, seemed to be straining to escape those trappings, and remind us of what the radical young pharaoh tried to do. 

In the pit, conductor Karen Kamensek led an acutely focused performance. The violin-less orchestra captured the score’s oceanic momentum and shone in virtuosic solo moments for trombone and trumpet. The excellent featured singers included Richard Bernstein as Aye, Nefertiti’s father; Aaron Blake as the High Priest of Amon; and Will Liverman as General Horemhab—their trio represented the old guard. As Akhnaten’s daughters, Lindsay Ohse, Karen Chia-Ling Ho, Chrystal E. Williams, Annie Rosen, Olivia Vote and Suzanne Hendrix communicated the innocent, but slightly desperate tone of the scene in which Akhnaten’s family, isolated from his people, sing a wordless ensemble before they are overrun. 

Ms. Waleson writes on opera for the Journal and is the author of “Mad Scenes and Exit Arias: The Death of the New York City Opera and the Future of Opera in America” (Metropolitan).