2020-03-23_The_New_Yorker

THE NEW YORKER, MARCH 23, 2020 67

unnoticed, with a few Spielbergian cloud
formations and flickering lights. Act II
was given over to a kind of ballet of in-
tertwining ropes, which accompanied
the Spinning Chorus; it was arresting
at first, then became labored. In Act III,
the bloodcurdling chorus of the Dutch-
man’s spectral crew lacked a persuasive
visual component. Throughout, motifs
from Girard’s “Parsifal” reappeared, in-
cluding barren terrain and scudding
wrack, yet they amounted mainly to
gloomy atmosphere.
The star bass-baritone Bryn Terfel
was to have sung the title role, but in Jan-
uary he fractured his ankle and withdrew.
His replacement, Evgeny Nikitin, is a fa-
vorite collaborator of Gergiev’s, and, more
to the point, sang strongly as the evil sor-
cerer Klingsor in Girard’s “Parsifal.” The
cutting snarl of Nikitin’s tone in the mid-
dle and upper registers conveyed the
Dutchman’s menace; the character’s mel-
ancholy ardor went missing. The veteran
German soprano Anja Kampe blazed in-
termittently in the role of Senta; although
some top notes went astray, her Act II
ballad was cannily plotted and urgently
delivered. Franz-Josef Selig was a sturdy,
stolid Daland. The young tenor Sergey
Skorokhodov gave an attractive Italianate
ping to the role of Senta’s suitor Erik.
David Portillo was similarly luminous as
the Steersman. The men of the Met cho-
rus let out a potent nautical roar, even
though they were often left to fend for
themselves as Gergiev waved vaguely and
gazed down at his score.

T

he following night, the mood at the
Met brightened considerably. A
well-travelled David McVicar produc-
tion of “Agrippina,” Handel’s glorious
satire of Roman decadence, was receiv-
ing the penultimate performance of its
run, and the cast had the loose, conviv-
ial spirit of a team that has been work-
ing together for weeks and is preparing
to disband. A trio of devil-may-care fe-
male leads outdid one another in actorly
extravagance. Joyce DiDonato, as Agrip-
pina, the last wife of Emperor Claudius,
clip-clopped to and fro in high heels,
smirking conspiratorially. Kate Lindsey,
as Agrippina’s deranged son, Nero,
spazzed out in a bad-boy style, burying
her face in heaps of stage cocaine. Brenda
Rae brought down the house when her
character, the fast-learning ingénue Pop-

pea, drunkenly tried to hide behind a

flower arrangement at a bar.

This was, needless to say, a modern-

dress update. McVicar had little trouble

finding contemporary analogies; indeed,

he might have tried a bit harder. Hav-

ing Matthew Rose, as Claudius, wear a

long red tie and wield a golf club, à la

Donald Trump, felt cheap (and it also

did a disservice to the emperor’s legisla-

tive record). Other interpolations hit

home. The countertenor Nicholas Ta-

magna, as the snivelling politician Nar-

ciso, sang the aria “Volo pronto” while

sitting next to Agrippina at a plush the-

atre. When the empress groped him

during the da capo, he became audibly

aroused, causing others to shush him.

The sequence was a little comic master-

piece, deftly integrated with the music.

At the heart of the show was DiDo-

nato, who pulled off yet another vocal-

theatrical tour de force. She used her

dizzyingly precise and flexible voice

to capture myriad nuances of Agrip-

pina’s dubious character: insincere flat-

tery, veiled contempt, sadistic flirtation,

hidden fury. The last element deepens

the characterization—Agrippina is as

much a victim of a corrupt system as

she is its master manipulator.

Lindsey and Rae may not rival Di-

Donato in vocal agility, but they crafted

indelible portrayals all the same. The

countertenor Iestyn Davies, as Ottone,

made the most of the opera’s more

serious moments: his lament “Voi che

udite” brought the lunacy to a haunting

halt. Harry Bicket, in the pit, elicited id-

iomatic playing throughout; he also made

a cute onstage cameo, playing harpsi-

chord continuo with the mannerisms of

a lounge pianist.

Truth be told, this “Agrippina” was

madcap to a fault, undercutting the leads

with an excess of focus-stealing poses

and pratfalls. Still, it made a great old

score come alive, and its portrait of a so-

ciety ruled by cynicism and venality felt

pertinent. The delicious irony that hangs

over the opera’s pseudo-happy ending

is that Agrippina is destined to be mur-

dered by the same son whom she schemes

to place on the throne. In Vincenzo Gri-

mani’s brilliant libretto, her final words

are “Now that Nero reigns, I can die

happy.” DiDonato broke into a sob when

she sang the line: her character glimpses

what fate has in store. 

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