Previously seen in San Francisco and Barcelona, John Adams’ operatic adaptation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra has finally arrived (revised) at the Metropolitan Opera. Composed on his own libretto (assisted by director Elkhanah Pulitzer and dramaturg Lucia Scheckner), the evening, with Adams himself on the podium, puts his propulsive music in the service of both moments of riveting human drama and less effective scenes of battle and politics.
The opera’s high points are the scenes featuring Julia Bullock’s Cleopatra and Gerald Finley’s Antony together. Score, singers and stage direction come together to create memorable, relatable music drama. Adams’ music, a colorful, motoric tapestry of shifting slabs and spikes, captures subtext precisely, never overpowers the singers and (mostly) sets the English language in a way that feels natural. The orchestra features a hammered dulcimer, an inspired choice that adds an almost electronic zing to key moments. The scene that made the deepest impression for me was the opening of Act 2, in which the two lovers, having lost the sea battle that ends the first act, are wallowing in shame, self-doubt and recrimination. The score captures it perfectly, and Bullock and Finley proved equal to the moment.
But about that sea battle: we are told, not shown. The underused chorus makes one of their two brief appearances and the bulk of the scene is Antony’s agonizing over the fact that he’s losing. Bill Morrison's projections, which feature water throughout the evening, are curiously unhelpful. Even the music, which has been effectively building tension up to this point, does not escalate sufficiently to contrast with the more intimate scenes we’ve been so involved in.
Paul Appleby, in fine voice as Caesar, was a terrific foil to Antony in their scene together in Rome, but most of the rest of what he is asked to do fell flat. In a rabble-rousing, proto-fascist public speech of an aria, his voice was filtered to sound like a World War 2-era radio broadcast – an eminently sensible creative choice given the production’s setting in the Golden Age of Hollywood, but one that robbed Appleby of his voice’s power to seduce.
The production has both inspired and problematic moments. When Cleopatra slaps a messenger who has brought her bad news and the projection of her swimming pool suddenly ripples – genius. When Annie-B Parson’s militaristic choreography is completely swallowed by giant projections and dim light – less so. The frequent crosses by a stampede of paparazzi seem extraneous, but the set, lighting and costume designs (by Mimi Lien, David Finn and Constance Hoffman, respectively) all are effective and create a world in keeping with the score.
Several singers shone in smaller roles, despite being given somewhat thankless assignments. A major problem with using Shakespeare as a librettist is that much of the language is just too dense to be sung, never mind being sung and understood. Some of it I had a hard time following even using the Met titles. Brenton Ryan as Eros and Alfred Walker as Enobarbus were often asked to spit out exposition at a dizzying rate, which they did with as much musicality as the task allowed; both had more reflective moments to balance these.
Elizabeth DeShong was a steadily growing, affecting presence in her few scenes as the commoditized bride, Octavia. Taylor Raven, making her Met debut as Cleopatra’s lady-in-waiting Charmia, displayed a tremendous warmth to both her voice and her character; Jarrett Ott, making his own debut as Agrippa, was solid and energetic.
But the evening belonged to Bullock and Finley, who both physically and vocally generated real heat as lovers and anguish as their choices led them to their deaths.
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