NEW YORK — Two things are required of a good Aida: lavish, gilded pageantry and strong singing. The New Year’s Eve opening night of Michael Mayer’s new production for the Metropolitan Opera provided plenty of spectacle but some problematic singing. With luck and a few more performances, the show will achieve its potential.
Ancient Egypt has long been the object of fascination to the West. Aida’s 1871 premiere in the new Cairo opera house coincided with Egypt’s growing prominence after the recent opening of the Suez Canal, though Napoleonic expeditions some 70 years earlier had already introduced a form of Egyptomania. The discovery of King Tutankhamun’s tomb in the 1920s introduced another wave of interest, and a blockbuster touring exhibit of King Tut artifacts packed museums in the 1970s. Today, New York visitors can don virtual-reality goggles and stroll through the pyramid of Giza, while across town the Metropolitan Museum of Art is hosting a 200-work exhibition examining the enduring influence of ancient Egypt on Black artists.
Sonja Frisell’s traditional and grandiose 1988 Met production, with its full complement of gold, pharaonic monuments, dancers, and parading animals, satisfied expectations and introduced many new artists to the company. Originally scheduled for replacement by this production in 2020, when the pandemic intervened, it returned for a final run in the 2022-23 season. Though the production has finally been dismantled, the glitz lingers in scenic elements that were incorporated into the new version.
In his fifth Met production, director Michael Mayer introduced a modern overlay to this fictional tale of ancient Egypt: the early 20th century discovery and exploitation of a royal site. To the ethereal strains of the Act I prelude, an explorer is slowly lowered by rope into a dark void. As he lands on terra firma, lighting (by Kevin Adams) reveals a chamber lined with statues, which gradually glow with richly colored drawings and hieroglyphics (sets by Christine Jones, projections by 59 Productions).
A man in a red tunic appears, and the explorer slips away as the drama begins. When the curtain lowers on the first scene, an explorer sits at the corner of the stage and sketches, her drawing projected onto a screen hiding the set change in progress. As the drama proceeds, note-taking archaeologists appear every so often for no apparent reason other than to divert attention from the flow of Verdi’s love triangle played out against political turmoil. I was relieved that the explorers barely appeared after intermission.
Mayer’s conceit echoes a trend in opera production toward undoing cultural offenses of “othering” non-European cultures so common in 19th-century opera. Mayer also shakes a finger at cultural appropriation — here, the looting of artifacts. These are worthy considerations but perhaps too gimmicky for a production intended to last for many years — and the khaki-clad scientists just looked silly. Still, the “Triumphal March” was undeniably clever: The explorers threaded their way through the massed chorus of Egyptians carrying treasures looted from the tombs, including statues of horses and elephants, in a nod to the stage tradition of using live animals for this scene.
Other than the directorial gesture toward political correctness, the production was basically very traditional in look and feel. Susan Hilferty’s colorful, sumptuous costumes for the Egyptians were gorgeous. The splendor of the massed forces — advance copy boasted of over 200 performers onstage — compensated for static stand-and-deliver blocking (which was probably necessary for traffic control). The dancers executed Oleg Glushkov’s befuddling choreography with skill and precision. No one could leave this Aida feeling cheated of spectacle.
But how was the music-making, you ask?
First the bad news: Piotr Beczała chose to go on as Radamès in spite of a bad cold, which his impeccable musicianship and solid technique couldn’t hide. Was the discomfort to both singer and audience worth it? Was a suitable cover really unavailable? The Polish tenor did cut a fine figure onstage, with a charismatic portrayal of the ambitious soldier secretly in love with a prisoner of war. It is to be hoped that he will recover in time for the HD transmission.
Angel Blue’s Ethiopian princess may not yet rival aficionados’ favorite historical Aidas, but her Met role debut promises great things. Refulgent of voice if a bit lightweight at first, she sounded wonderful in her big arias. Her portrayal started off gentle and somewhat anonymous, but she was fully engaged by the third act, especially in her duet with Amonasro.
As Amneris, the Egyptian princess in love with Radames, Judit Kutasi portrayed the willful king’s daughter with flair and fire — another Verdi mezzo-soprano undone by jealousy. After some warm-up, her voice sounded plush at moderate levels, but with increasing volume her vibrato grew wild and obscured the pitch, all but erasing her lines in the ensembles. Still, in the final act, she was touching as Amneris realized the price of her intransigence.
It’s a sad night when Amonasro is the best of the cast, but Quinn Kelsey gave the most complete performance of the evening. The baritone’s voice was fresh, solid, and expressive, and he boosted the energy level every time he was onstage. His Nile scene with Aida was the evening’s highlight.
In smaller roles, the reliable Morris Robinson (King), in his third Met production of Aida, provided stentorian power when needed. Dmitry Belosselskiy (Ramfis) was still recovering from a cold, and the bottom of his range was weak, but his dark, booming sound had priestly authority.
Music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin led the score with restraint, bringing out instrumental colors and giving a sense of structure to the “Triumphal March.” Donald Palumbo made a welcome return to lead the mighty, massive Met chorus, which was magnificent.
Aida runs through May 9, with several cast changes and an HD screening on Jan. 25. For information and tickets go here.
