(Photo: Marty Sohl / Met Opera)
In recent years, it has become that contemporary opera has an identity issue. In a world where musical theater and cinema / television dominate the entertainment landscape (not to mention video games), contemporary opera has seemingly done its utmost to match these works in breadth and scope. The problem is, opera has always had this, if not more than those other art forms. The problem is a difference of where those differences lie. Given how musical theater can jump from music to spoken word, it has the ability to play up a more conversational tone, pushing into more quotidian themes and stories. Cinema owns this kind of storytelling and has the ability to expand space and time through editing. But opera is not beholden to the logistics of that kind of storytelling. Sure, experimental cinema exists and non-linearity is at the core of some of the greatest films in history. But in opera, no one truly cares about the logic of a plot. They care about the emotions, and most importantly how those emotions are explored through music. To that end, opera never has to worry about pushing the power of its musical and theatrical expression to its limit.
But so often, for the sake of being more “movie-like” or more palatable for a musical theater crowd, contemporary opera has muted its most extraordinary feature and relegated music to the background.
That’s what makes Osvaldo Golijov and David Henry Hwang’s “Ainadamar” such an extraordinary work. It’s opera, but it’s so much more than that. It pushes the boundaries of what an operatic theatrical experience can be. As I sat there experiencing it for the first time on Saturday, Oct. 19, 2024, I could not help but feel that I was witnessing something I’d never seen before on that stage and might never see again.
Something Truly Special
The opera’s “plot” is straightforward, drawing a line from actress Margarita Xirgu as she remembers Federico García Lorca’s death and its connection to the historic liberalist Marianna Pineda, whom she interpreted in Lorca’s play. The opera is structured in vignettes with Margarita’s stream of consciousness taking her through salient experiences with Lorca, who in turn recalls Marianna. The dramatic structure is both linear and non-linear, concrete and abstract. It doesn’t need to be fully understood to be felt, but it provides just enough to keep you engaged with the characters and their emotions. It definitely recalls some of Philip Glass’ works, though with less of the trance-like approach.
To this effect, the Met Opera brought in director Deborah Colker to lead the production. The stage is dominated by a circular formation wrapped up by curtain-like structures that provide opportunity for projections all around. As with the opera’s overall feel, these projections vary in what they portray. Sometimes we get Margarita’s face intoning a wide array of expressions. Sometimes we blend many of these closeups to create something more surreal. At times, it’s a simple effect that elicits the fountain of tears, or “Ainadamar.” At others, text to accompany Franco’s enunciations of “Viva la Muerte.” At others a hellscape. At others just lighting effects to amplify the different scenes. It moves and varies with a tremendous array of variety, always having something new to present to the audience. Sometimes it will be right in your face. Sometimes, you will feel it more than acknowledge it. But all the same, it is simply some of the best use of projections in a Met production I have yet to see in recent years.
It isn’t perfect though and there are some moments where the blocking of actors and the prominence of the projections get in each other’s way. This is most readily visible during moments where we see projections of Margarita. These usually take place while the character is on stage singing one of her many solo moments, coupled with a lot of activity from her and other artists. At one point, while soprano Angel Blue was singing, the projection was also moving her mouth. They were not in synchrony, which created an effect akin to the uncanny valley. For a few moments, I found myself trying to make out what this projected Margarita was trying to say, before realizing that my attention was better served by focusing on the stage performers. It’s in these moments, where overdoing projections can create confusion for the viewer, detracting from the overall experience.
Colker’s sense of stage blocking is second to none, mixing sublime dance choreography with solid visual tableaus. All of the major artists are challenged to dance throughout, often in tandem with other singers and dancers. This can be a challenge as oftentimes it becomes clear that the choreography is beyond their abilities. But in this case, not only was that not at all visible, but everyone seemed to be on the same wavelength throughout and there were moments where I lost track of where the divide between singers and dancers ended. For me, one of the finest moments of the opera in this regard comes halfway through when Margarita invites Lorca to Cuba and they dance away in the hopes of a better life. But then Lorca decides to stay in a glorious passage, “Quiere cantar entre las explosiones.” Here the choreography shifts with Margarita chasing Lorca around the stage, trying to convince him to stay. The dancers follow, huddling around him like some sort of shield from his demise. This latter segment, coming on the heels of a vivacious choreography, is simple, but effective in its contrast.
During the execution scene, Lorca is placed on a platform alongside his executioner and two other men condemned to a similar fate. Throughout the quartet, the platform rotates, allowing each a moment to express their perspectives as death looms. It’s one of the most restrained uses of the rotating stage I have seen in the Peter Gelb era, and undoubtedly the best. In another scene, we see a cubist structure dominate the stage, expressing the destruction of war.
I could go on, but the truth is that my words will never be able to match or truly describe what any of this feels like. Clocking in at a brisk 80 minutes, not one moment is wasted by Colker and company.
Same goes for the music which was gloriously brought to life by all involved. Commencing with a pre-recorded track that suggests the ever-present water, it also unspools with endless invention, every scene featuring something unique and special. There’s flamenco in abundance. There’s cante jondo. There’s more Caribbean flavor in “Mariana, tus ojos” and “La Habana.” There’s another cante jondo scene that is juxtaposed by Margarita imitating its vocal line in an operatic style. There’s a beautiful arioso for Lorca. There’s even a climactic trio in the vein of “Der Rosenkavalier” at the end of the opera. And there’s also a glorious monologue over some of the most nail-biting music the opera has to offer.
The female voice dominates throughout. Lorca is a trouser role for mezzo-soprano with much of the line written in the middle to lower register. Margarita and Nuria are both sopranos. And the main choral ensemble, the Niñas, is made up of women. The lone male voices in the opera include the flamenco cantaor who represents the villainous Ramón Ruiz Alonso (the man who arrests Lorca while repeatedly singing “Entréguenlo!”) and the three men that join Lorca during the death scene.
While the musical invention is in tremendous abundance, I found a few things with the presentation far from optimal. The first of these is a choice made by Golijov. Having the quartet, and the only scene with a male ensemble, consisting of lower male voices, muddies the texture of the entire ensemble. I struggled to hear the voices or to identify them throughout. It doesn’t help that they are often in the lowest reaches of their voices AND they are accompanied by both orchestra and pre-recorded sounds. This was the lone section in the entire opera where I felt that the composer had made a major misstep in how he delineated the vocal writing. While there’s no doubt that the role of Lorca and its insistence on the lower register can be quite challenging to its interpreter, the orchestration always supports the vocal line and it comes through clearly. The death scene came across as muddled and incomprehensible musically.
The other questionable choice, and again there might simply be nothing to do here, was the use of amplification. There’s nothing inherently wrong with amplification and unlike a lot of purists who might not want to see it used in the Met, I think that it is a tool like any other and can provide a different color or effect for certain works. Given the use of pre-recorded tracks in “Ainadamar,” there was no doubt it would be a tool, but I am not convinced it was well-balanced or calculated. One example that jumps at me is Margarita’s death scene. You have the Niñas clearly singing with amplification. Standing beside them and decidedly not amplified was Elena Villalón as Nuria. There was a stark and distracting difference in their sounds. Not to mention that Villalón, who gave one of the best performances on the night (more later), came out on the losing end of this exchange. In other moments, Angel Blue would seemingly go from being unamplified to suddenly sounding amplified moments later. Or maybe it sounded that way. Just like with the projections, it created a distortion to the experience that I don’t think was originally intended.
(Credit: Marty Sohl / Met Opera)
Musical Freedom
Conductor Miguel Harth-Bedoya clearly did his utmost to marshal all the musical forces at play to create balance throughout, but I never felt that it was fully achieved whenever amplification came to the forefront.
That said, the individual performances were truly special with Daniela Mack delivering a solid and full-blooded vocal power to Lorca. Her interpretation of the trance-like “Desde mi ventana,” accompanied by delicate strings and harp, exuded her tremendous lower range, both potent and gentle at the same time. This passage is full of lengthy legato lines and is among the longer solo pieces in the opera, building its melody gradually to something truly glorious as it transforms into a duet and then a trio. It would not be surprising to see a mezzo fade here as the aria progressed. But Mack didn’t relent, her voice blossoming as the line ascended and she was joined by Blue and Villalón, the blending beautifully throughout the rest of the passage. She maintained a sense of vocal and physical composure throughout the performance, channeling a strength of character in the face of adversity.
Margarita’s character is the central figure and provides the main perspective. After all, she is invoking these dead souls and will eventually join them by the end. So it is incumbent on the lead soprano to be at her utmost. Angel Blue had a solid night, capturing the audience’s attention during her opening scenes, her voice soaring over the ample musical landscape. Her most impressive moment for me was her responses to Alfredo Tejada, the flamenco cantaor, with her own flourishes. It was a moment of intense musicodramatic juxtaposition that Blue managed very well. But as the performance progressed, her vocal resources did seem to fray, particularly during the final “Adios,” her high notes coming off as a bit forced and shrill. By the time she was at the final “Yo soy la libertad,” the vocal line was a bit fuzzy in its execution (the opening line of that melody is admittedly unkind to the singer and very high). Her Spanish pronunciation could at times come off a bit unclear (I only make this note because I didn’t have that experience with the rest of the cast). But she was at her best during the duets with Mack and Villalón and exuded grace and joy throughout “La Habana” and all her musical numbers. This was undoubtedly one of Blue’s finest performances at the Met in recent years.
One could argue that the scene stealer was soprano Elena Villalón, fresh off her appearance as Amore last Spring in “Orfeo ed Euridice.” Here, her role as Nuria ramps up gradually, initially relegated to brief vocal exchanges that provide a launchpad for Margarita’s big solos before becoming a part of major ensembles and then getting a solo moment alongside Las Niñas after Margarita dies. As noted, Villalón did her utmost during this latter moment and shone vocally, even if the conditions were never in her favor. In other preceding moments, she joined in with the choreography seamlessly and blended beautifully with Blue. But she really shone in two major moments at the end. First up was the trio “Doy mi Sangre,” where she got ample opportunity to showcase her brilliant soprano, her voice floating alongside that of Blue and Mack. But the real standout was one where she was able to showcase her dramatic chops. Near the end of the opera, she gets the chance to recite a monologue based on Lorca’s work. Here Villalón built a dramatic arc, one of increased intensity and fury, the music crescendoing beside her as her voice became more aggressive, her movements more erratic. The text of the monologue was projected across the screens, but nothing could detract from the magnetism she produced in that moment. In all honesty, given the powerful musical build of that moment and this is an opera that centers on the figure of Lorca, this moment of dramatic poetry should have been the end of the opera. As beautiful as “Yo Soy la Libertad” is, ending on this moment would have been truly cathartic.
Jasmine Muhammad and Gina Perregrino made solid vocal cameos during the fountain scene alongside the Niñas, while Scott Connor did a strong job with the unforgivingly low tessitura for his role as the executioner José Tripaldi. Eleomar Cuello and Federico de Michelis also displayed fine voices during the Death Quartet. Props to the dancers as well and all the Niñas. Every major ensemble moment felt so carefully and thoughtfully crafted, providing immeasurable impact.
Finally, Alfredo Tejada’s interpretation of Ramón Ruiz Alonso was electric, each proclamation of “Entréguenlo” rich and more intense than the last. When we talk about things you will rarely (or never) see at the Met, his performance is literally one of them.
This is why I find myself having to end this review on a bit of a sour note.
(Credit: Marty Sohl/ Met Opera)
Lost in HD
Let’s talk about “Live in HD.”
This is without a doubt, the crowning achievement of General Manager Peter Gelb’s regime at the Met. It’s where he peaked creatively and has never managed to better himself. It ushered in a revolution of sorts for the opera world, opening it up to new audiences and providing a unique experience that would eventually evolve into the richest offering of opera on demand to date. Every major opera company in the world has some version of it. And those unable to do it, find other ways to emulate it.
At the Met, it’s not only a massive marketing tool, but it’s also a status symbol. For a singer or an opera to get an HD is special because not every opera gets one. Every season, only 10 or so make the cut.
Now in recent years, the formula for HD has been quite predictable. Throw support behind the new productions and then some bonafide classics with either major or up-and-coming stars. It makes sense as an economic model, until it starts to become tedious. This season, with the exception of the season-opening “Grounded,” none of the contemporary operas are getting an HD performance.
Now the reason I bring this up is because HD performances become a part of the Met’s recorded legacy. Its history. Years from now, it is what people will look back at on either PBS or the Met’s platform and see as what the company had to offer at this moment in time. And this year, they chose to record yet another version of “Le Nozze di Figaro,” “Tosca,” and “Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” all operas that are already part of the Live in HD catalog multiple times. And while they feature different casts to those previous recordings (not to mention great operas in their own right), this “HD roster” speaks to a problem the Met has had over the years with its approach to “Live in HD” – the recycling of the same opera productions to the exclusion of other ones who have never gotten one recording (to that end, “Antony and Cleopatra” is not getting an HD broadcast this season and “Die Frau ohne Schatten’s” continued omission remains one of Gelb’s signature artistic abominations).
In the case of “Ainadamar,” it baffles me that this was not an obvious choice for the vaunted “Live in HD” series. Not only is it a shorter opera, but it speaks to numerous audiences across a continent-plus worth of countries in a language that is the second-most prominent in the country where the performance is taking place. If diversifying your audience is at the core of your initiatives (and per statements from management in recent years it has been and definitely should be given the Met Opera’s financial difficulties under Gelb), then letting native-Spanish speakers know that your company offers something idiomatic for them might just convince them to come. Moreover, “Ainadamar” is truly something unique and different from all of the Met’s other offerings. It doesn’t fit into the mainstream’s stereotypical understanding of opera. It’s a theatrical experience that can truly appeal to a wide range of audiences. People who love dance. People who love drama. People who love experimental art. People who love glorious melodies in their contemporary operas. People who are familiar with the figure of Federico García Lorca. The list could seriously go on and on. This is the one major asset Gelb has in his arsenal, and as per usual, the general manager manages to miss opportunities.
And perhaps I am being overzealous in my praise and none of this would have the dreamed-of impact. Then at the very least, preserve it as Met recorded history. Let future generations know that these kinds of performances matter and make up the backbone of what this company was and can be. Because for people like myself, a Latin American proud to see a Latin American opera grace the Met stage for only the second time ever, this decision to ignore the work in the company’s most essential recorded legacy series sends a pretty disappointing message.
Which means that audiences must go and see “Ainadamar.” It is truly special and you may never see anything like it on the Met stage again.
