The myth of Orpheus told with mixed results in Los Angeles; political satire transported to a modern setting in New York.
ByHeidi Waleson Feb. 7, 2020 3:41 pm ET
The myth of Orpheus is the essence of opera: Singing is so powerful that it can bring back the dead. But in Matthew Aucoin and Sarah Ruhl’s poignant “Eurydice,” which had its world premiere at LA Opera on Saturday, it is not Orpheus but those who hover between life and death who sing with the most passion, because words and music together represent consciousness, memory and therefore life.
The libretto, which Ms. Ruhl skillfully distilled from her 2003 play, takes Eurydice’s point of view. Its core is the heroine’s longing for her dead father, a relationship that is older and stronger than her new one with Orpheus. Orpheus, the artist, cares about music; Eurydice cares about words. Their relationship, limned in the overlong Act I, feels superficial. It is only in Act II that the opera takes flight: Eurydice arrives in the Underworld, confused after being dipped in the river of forgetfulness. Her father, who has retained his memory and the ability to read and write, reteaches her words, and the real struggle for life begins. At first, the narrative felt regressive—the woman torn between two protectors—but the music made it a deeper story.
The music, which Mr. Aucoin composed and conducted with verve, explores different facets of this battle. The orchestration has Romantic heft, punctuated with zesty percussion, and it sometimes dances into Philip Glass-like swirls and arpeggios. The vocal writing, well-served by the strong cast, creates character: expansive and anguished for Eurydice (soprano Danielle de Niese), warm for the Father (baritone Rod Gilfry), weird and jittery for Hades (high tenor Barry Banks). Orpheus (baritone Joshua Hopkins ) is supposed to be able to make stones weep, but his aria at the gates of the Underworld was forceful rather than lyrical, another choice that puts the spotlight back on Eurydice. Orpheus’s Double (countertenor John Holiday) sings with Orpheus when he is expressing artistic, rather than regular-guy, thoughts. This was a missed opportunity: The two voices together should have created a new, otherworldly timbre, but they didn’t.
Three Stones, bossy keepers of the Underworld ( Stacey Tappan, Raehann Bryce-Davis and Kevin Ray ) provide some comic relief, and the wordless offstage chorus is a haunting reminder that death means forgetting. Gluck’s version of the opera had happy Blessed Spirits. There are none here, and the ending is almost unbearably sad, with neither words nor music: All three main characters end up voiceless, as the orchestra grunts and the chorus mutters.
Daniel Ostling’s simple set suggested locations without being literal. Its best element was an elevator—complete with a forgetfulness-inducing shower—to the Underworld. Ana Kuzmanić’s arresting costumes included a pink flared coat for Eurydice and a poisonous green suit for Hades; T.J. Gerckens supplied the astute lighting. Mary Zimmerman’s often static directing clarified some things—Eurydice makes Orpheus turn around as he is leading her back to life when she sees the Double in front of him, reminding her that she can never be first with Orpheus the artist. Other moments didn’t gel: Eurydice is supposed to die from a fall down a flight of stairs, but that didn’t happen onstage. Still, the bleak staging of the tragic ending made one thing very clear: Eurydice had a choice, and she made the wrong one.
***
New York
Handel’s “Agrippina,” which had its Metropolitan Opera premiere on Thursday, is just over three hours (plus intermission) of ebullient high spirits, as one bubbly da capo aria succeeds another. First performed in Venice in 1709, this biting political satire revolves around the manipulative Agrippina, wife of the Roman emperor Claudio, who will do anything to ensure that her wastrel son Nerone ascends the throne. In David McVicar’s smart, modern-dress production, with sets and costumes by John Macfarlane and lighting by Paule Constable, the tale slips easily into the present day with its nastiness intact. Stone tombs, enormous square pillars and a giant staircase leading to a golden throne trundle around the stage. They are hard-edged and monumental, suggesting that the characters, for all their antic energy and fervent machinations, will be dashed against history in the end.
Agrippina is the consummate pretender—persuading Poppea (here an air-headed party girl with a stuffed clothes closet), Ottone (Claudio’s chosen heir, who doesn’t care about the throne and only wants Poppea), Claudio (who also wants Poppea), Pallante (a general), and Narciso (a politician) that she has only their interests at heart. It’s a high-wire act, and Mr. McVicar’s rollicking direction, with every section of every aria staged with a new idea (a medal ceremony, golf practice, TV cameras…), keeps the energy and comedy level high. For the obligatory pastoral scene, for example, Poppea and Ottone are in a trendy bar surrounded by well-dressed barflies and lounge lizards; Ottone sings about “lovely springs” while pouring designer water; Poppea, a little drunk, sings an aria accompanied by an onstage cocktail harpsichordist (the excellent Bradley Brookshire ). Andrew George’s witty choreography has a Monty Python flavor.
The cast, all accomplished and convincing actors, met the opera’s virtuosic vocal demands with varying degrees of success. Mezzo Joyce DiDonato embodied Agrippina with ferocity and pinpoint accuracy. Brenda Rae, making her Met debut as Poppea, was hard to hear in the lower parts of the role, but scintillated in the highest soprano passages. Mezzo Kate Lindsey played Nerone as an amusingly Gumby-bodied, cocaine-snorting delinquent; her timbre, pinched at first, opened satisfyingly in the later part of the evening. Bass Matthew Rose was a wonderfully clueless, big-voiced Claudio. As Ottone, countertenor Iestyn Davies was the most stylish of the singers, and his lament, midway through the opera, as everyone deserts him, was the first—and last—moment of pathos in the evening. In the smaller roles, Duncan Rock (Pallante), Nicholas Tamagna (Narciso) and Christian Zaremba (Lesbo, Claudio’s servant) gave solid performances.
Holding it all together was conductor Harry Bicket, who also played harpsichord for the recitatives. Mr. Bicket makes modern ensembles sound as though they are playing period instruments, and the Met orchestra’s buoyancy, articulation and richness created a steady, captivating foundation beneath the runaway comedy onstage.
—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).
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