At Opera Philadelphia, Vivaldi’s music meets a contemporary libretto by Sarah Ruhl; in New York, Lincoln Center Theater presents Gian Carlo Menotti’s written-for-television opera in a production starring Joyce DiDonato.
By
Heidi Waleson
Abigail Raiford and Megan Moore STEVEN PISANO
Philadelphia
“The Seasons,” an ambitious project performed last weekend by Opera Philadelphia in the Perelman Theater, shakes up Vivaldi’s famous orchestral score “The Four Seasons” to sound a warning about climate change. In the libretto by playwright Sarah Ruhl (who conceived the project with Anthony Roth Costanzo, countertenor and general director of the company), five artists have retreated to a farm in the country where their artmaking and lovemaking are upended by the strangeness and violence of the weather. The frantic warnings of a Cosmic Weatherman go unheard as winter, confoundingly, follows spring, and summer arrives as a double cataclysm of fire and floods.
Musically, the piece is hugely enjoyable, with the orchestra stylishly led by Corrado Rovaris. Additional Vivaldi arias and ensembles are deftly interpolated among the scrambled “Seasons” movements, their words a combination of Ms. Ruhl’s new English texts and the original Italian and Latin. Outer and inner personal weather start to match: In a stunningly sung “Gelido in ogni vena” from “Farnace”—now “Frozen inside my body”—the Poet (Mr. Costanzo) is sad after a fight with his crush, the Painter (Kangmin Justin Kim), but also lost and freezing to death in a blizzard.
Kangmin Justin Kim and Anthony Roth Costanzo STEVEN PISANO
Theatrically, however, “The Seasons” is sometimes obscure. The setup of the scenario and characters feels rushed and thin when placed against the surging emotion of the arias and the impending menace of the weather. Also, the inventive, nonliteral staging by director Zack Winokur, choreographer Pam Tanowitz, co-set designers Mimi Lienand Jack Forman and lighting designer John Torres is astonishing to look at but not always intelligible.
Six dancers persuasively interpret the seasons and sometimes accompany the arias; Ms. Tanowitz’s angular, evocative choreography is enhanced by costumes in shiny textiles and chiffons by Victoria Bek and Carlos Soto. There is no built scenery. Instead, there is smoke and vivid use of light—in the most dramatic sequences, such as the fire, a wall-size blaze of color angles forward from a bank of instruments on the floor upstage. Dozens of individual silvery metal tears descend on wires; ranks of horizontal pipes (usually employed for hanging drop curtains or other scenery) bob up and down, threatening to crush the performers. Most ingenious of all are the soap bubbles, devised by Mr. Forman, an MIT doctoral student, that drift around the stage as whirling snow.
John Mburu STEVEN PISANO
With his sensitive interpretations, Mr. Costanzo was the standout among the singers, but they all gamely tackled the challenges of their full da capo arias. As the Choreographer, Megan Moore’s plangent mezzo was especially effective in her mourning aria; soprano Whitney Morrison was dramatic as the Performance Artist, the only member of the creative quintet who sees what is coming. With her bright soprano, Abigail Raiford brought a pealing earnestness and flexible coloratura to the Farmer (a former actress): In an aria accompanied by two piccolos, she happily prepared vegetables from her organic farm and fed them to the Poet. In his desperate bid to awaken the Poet from his frozen trance (“Sol da te,” or ”Oh my soul” in Ms. Ruhl’s text), Mr. Kim’s resonant countertenor combined elegantly with the flute obligato of Emi Ferguson, the onstage soloist. As the Cosmic Weatherman, John Mburu ably demonstrated how smoothly baroque arias for bass—regardless of their original subjects—can be repurposed as howls of despair about a modern apocalypse.
The piece ends with the Performance Artist realizing that the boat she built out of garbage is too small to save everyone; a children’s chorus arrives and sings “Et in terra pax” from a Vivaldi “Gloria.” The sun rises, perhaps a hopeful sign, but the staging does not suggest a happy ending.
A scene from ‘Amahl and the Night Visitors.’ JULIETA CERVANTES
New York
Gian Carlo Menotti’s evergreen chamber opera “Amahl and the Night Visitors” is the epitome of family-friendly holiday fare, and Lincoln Center Theater, in association with the Metropolitan Opera, is presenting a luxuriously cast production of it through Jan. 4, 2026. One might worry that the 300-seat Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater would be too small for the operatic mezzo-soprano of its star, Joyce DiDonato, but director Kenny Leon has shrewdly calibrated the space and the voices and stayed true to the spirit of Menotti’s work.
Intimate and accessible—it was written for television, first broadcast in 1951 and for many years thereafter—“Amahl” balances sweet, comic and serious elements without slipping into sentimentality. Its tunes are indelible. Over a tightly plotted 45 minutes, the opera explores poverty, love, generosity and a Christmas miracle as the disabled Amahl (Albert Rhodes Jr., a forthright young performer with Broadway presence) and his destitute mother (the intense Ms. DiDonato) are visited by the Three Magi (Bernard Holcomb, Todd Thomas, Phillip Boykin) on their way to Bethlehem.
The thrust stage, representing Amahl’s humble house, is a simple wooden platform, open to a radiantly starry sky; a lively shepherds’ chorus swirls around it, and the Kings enter down the aisles through the audience. (Derek McLane designed the set; Adam Honoré the effective lighting.) The Kings wear colorful Eastern robes; the rest of Emilio Sosa’s costumes are subtle and more or less contemporary. Steven Osgoodably conducted the two-piano accompaniment; Jesse Barrett played the haunting oboe solos. All the singers brought clear diction (there are no supertitles) and expressive characterizations. Mr. Leon’s staging and Ms. DiDonato’s performance built a compelling arc: The real Christmas miracle is not Amahl’s sudden cure, but the transformation of the Mother’s abject despair into hope. Seen in proximity to “The Seasons,” its optimism felt nostalgically redolent of a very different age.
AndyManshel.nyc 