At a time when the popular sentiment seems to be to return plundered antiquities to the country from which they came; and as more and more people agree that the Parthenon sculptures at the British Museum, once upon a time labeled as the "Elgin Marbles," should be returned to Greece, the Metropolitan Opera's new staging of Verdi's AIDA seems to contradict the current vox populi. In a staging which can best be described as Indiana Jones meets Italian opera, 21st century archeologists rummage through ancient ruins filled with decrepit stones carved with hieroglyphics. However, when they get out of the way and the action reverts back to ancient Egypt the stones come alive thanks to the lighting scheme of Kevin Adams, and the carvings suddenly acquire their original colors. The play of light is possibly the best aspect of Michael Mayer's concept. The modern intruders, however, just clutter up the stage; their wordless comings and goings reminiscent of tourists who do not recognize the importance of a famous place. When they leave the stage and the ancient characters of Verdi's opera are given room to move about that's when the opera breathes once more. If perhaps the two worlds would have interacted with one another in some way it would have given this production a greater gravitas. At the moment it just feels like another gimmicky approach to one of opera's best known works.
The most interesting moment of this production is also partly the most objectionable, and partly the most thoughtful. During the triumphal scene, specifically while the well-known march plays, instead of the usual parade of Ethiopian riches that the Egyptian army has plundered we get another view of plundering: this time a parade of archeologists carrying away the riches of ancient Egypt. A meditation on the historical looting that has gone on between nations -- yes, but does it have to be shown to the tune of triumph? There's nothing triumphant about one nation stealing the riches of another. One can only wonder if this intercontinental robbery was the intended subtext in the original concept of Antonio Ghislanzoni, Verdi's librettist. Something tells me it was not.
This production premiered on New Year's Eve, but Saturday night was filled with illness and cancellations. It was clear on December 31st that tenor Piotr Beczała, who struggled through "Celeste Aida," his Act I aria, was very sick. Last night tenor SeokJong Baek came to the rescue. The young Korean is making a name for himself all over the world, with debuts at Covent Garden, San Carlo in Naples and Deutsche Oper Berlin. He possesses the kind of strong, stentorian voice that MET audiences adore. He is loud, and yes, my ears were ringing. It's great to experience that, but I wish he would trust the house's acoustics and realize that not every note has to be sung forte. Lise Davidsen has learned that over the years. Morris Robinson filling in for Dmitry Belosselskiy as Ramfis was cavernous, making mostly unpleasant bass sounds, and from the rear of the orchestra boos were heard. Harold Wilson was excellent as the King, the role that Mr. Robinson was supposed to have sung. Quinn Kelsey was strong as Amonasro, his heavy baritone lending a bellicose air to his character.
Judit Kutasi was a reliable Amneris, but her acting belongs in the silent film era. As the New York Times reported she "has a loud, wavering voice and a campy gift for staggering around the stage in despair, clutching her head." Arguably the night belonged to Angel Blue, who warmed up to the title role as the evening progressed. If she was a bit unsure in "Ritorna Vincitor" in Act I, by the time "O Patria Mia" came around she had comfortably settled into the role, and for the rest of the evening she delivered beautiful, elegant phrases filled with longing and honest emotion, her voice secure throughout her range.
What if you take away the modern explorers? I kept asking myself. What you'll have left over is a very conservative, old-fashioned production; the costumes, for instance, are right out of a Hollywood biblical film of the 1950's. Let's face it, what MET audiences relish is a production that rings true to the original intention of the work's creators. I'm sure that many a patron last night was thinking "get those silly Indiana Jones clones out of the way, and let old-man Verdi get through."
