‘Manon!’ Review: In Brooklyn, an Opera’s Underbelly Revealed

Jules Massenet’s classic work received a streamlined English adaptation from Heartbeat Opera, with musical-theater performers and a focus on the seamier side of the 18th-century setting.

By 

Heidi Waleson

Feb. 17, 2026 at 5:13 pm ET

A scene from ‘Manon!’ ANDREW BOYLE

Brooklyn, N.Y.

Heartbeat Opera’s most recent adaptation of a classic work, which just concluded a two-week run at the Space at Irondale, is an engaging 100-minute, musical-theater-inspired version of Jules Massenet’s “Manon.” Jacob Ashworth (Heartbeat’s artistic director) and Rory Pelsue wrote a new English translation, with spoken dialogue; Dan Schlosberg (the company’s music director) created the eight-player orchestral arrangement. It is now titled “Manon!” As usual with Heartbeat projects, the focus was narrowed to the main story, so choruses and ballets were cut along with some characters and subplots. Heartbeat also cast the show with singers experienced in musical theater, counting on their ability to articulate the English text clearly. Most of the performances were done without supertitles.

The adaptation retained the 18th-century setting and the central plot: The teenage siren Manon, on her way to a convent, runs off with a smitten young aristocrat, the Chevalier Des Grieux. But Manon’s desire for wealth and excitement invariably trumps love, and she abandons her swain to become a courtesan, enabled by her cousin Lescaut and her keeper, the elderly Guillot, here combined with De Brétigny, another rival for her services in the original. It doesn’t end well.

Justin Lee Miller ANDREW BOYLE

The snappy translation is deftly tailored to the music of the opera’s many famous earworm arias: Manon’s gavotte, “Profitons bien de la jeunesse,” becomes “Let me sparkle brightly while I may”; the Chevalier’s despairing “Ah! fuyez, douce image” is “Go away, dreams of love.” The librettists massaged the story a bit through their recitatives and connecting dialogue, making the prostitution theme more explicit—Lescaut is clearly pimping out his cousin.

Along with the English translation, a streamlined, bare-bones approach to the music and production increased the show’s immediacy. The musical-theater singers excelled in theatricality and diction, but I missed some of the lushness that we expect from opera performances. Emma Grimsley’s soprano had the necessary brightness and coloratura flexibility for Manon, but her monochromatic timbre missed the character’s pathos. Tenor Matt Dengler, a sweetly passionate and persuasive Des Grieux, overcooked some of his fortes but was clear about the character’s gradual corruption by Manon; as Lescaut, Jamari Darling’s baritone was nasal, and he was directed into some jarringly over-the-top antics.

Tenor Glenn Seven Allen was a solid Guillot; Justin Lee Miller’s rolling bass supplied richness as the Count Des Grieux, the Chevalier’s disapproving father. The original trio of prostitutes was reduced to a duo—Kathryn McCreary (Pousette) and Natalie Walker (Javotte)—who were striking in their close-harmony teasing and mockery, especially of Guillot (“Daddy, dear”). Mr. Schlosberg conducted from the keyboard; his orchestration for three winds, three strings and harp had his usual flair for exactly the right instrument and texture at the right time. The use of the harp stood out, as did the harpsichord for Manon’s apotheosis as a courtesan in Act 3 and an organ for the church of St. Sulpice. Ryan Gamblin’s sound design balanced the voices reasonably well, but was sometimes earsplittingly loud, an unwelcome intrusion from today’s Broadway.

Natalie Walker, Jamari Darling, and Kathryn McCreary ANDREW BOYLE

Set designer Alexander Woodward kept things simple. The playing area was a wide, shallow platform with the orchestra behind it, embellished by a few props—Manon’s two trunks, repurposed according to the scene; the “little table” for the impoverished lovers’ garret; and eight chandeliers that descended from the ceiling when Manon was living high. Yichen Zhou’s colored lighting supplied the sparkle; David Mitsch’s18th-century costumes the context.

Director Rory Pelsue zeroed in on desire and dissipation. He took Manon’s Act 3 Cours la Reine triumph to its logical extreme, staging it as a striptease/bondage-party performance—in period underwear, stockings and heels—by a top prostitute; when she seduced Des Grieux away from his priestly vows in St. Sulpice, the line “Don’t you know my hands” was explicitly blocked to be sure that he would. With the aid of Sara Gettelfinger’s choreography, the five subordinate characters jelled as an ensemble, supplying ambience and making up for the missing chorus. It was all a stimulating change from opera-house productions, which often lean on 18th-century elegance instead of exploring the seamy underside and corruption of the demimonde that is at the heart of the piece.