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.
By
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.
AndyManshel.nyc 