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Maybe the Met can make a habit of this.
Its worth the wait.
For a good time, knock at the gates of hell.
Theres a lot of vibrancy left in the world of shades.
In Aucoins setting, Orpheus (Joshua Hopkins) cant go it alone.
Inside his head there is always something more beautiful.
The aria is simultaneously a tour de force and a disappointment.
Another aspect of Ruhls libretto that Aucoin cant quite find his way through is its wit.
(Another is that opera composers tend not to be that funny.)
Aucoins command of the genre is dazzling.
Despite his tail and his horns and his chartreuse dinner jacket, Hades isnt an especially malicious fiend.
Hes the underworlds manager, tending to his guests discomfort and erecting procedural barriers to their departure.
Mary Zimmermans production and Ana Kuzmanics costumes amp up the mixture of wackiness and despair.
So does a trio of warbling rocks: petulant, stubborn creatures who insist on the rules.
Wagners got his Rhine maidens, Verdi his weird sisters; Aucoins got stones.
It takes a lot of nerve to insert yourself into that lineage.
At times he seems almost to be taunting his forerunners, retooling their styles for his own purposes.
Aucoin fills that long bit of silent stage business with an orchestral interlude that brims with tenderness and drama.
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