Glass - Satyagraha (Paris, 2026)

Philip Glass - Satyagraha

Opéra National de Paris, 2026

Ingo Metzmacher, Bobbi Jene Smith, Or Schraiber, Anthony Roth Costanzo, Ilanah Lobel-Torres, Olivia Boen, Davóne Tines, Amin Ahangaran, Adriana Bignagni Lesca, Deepa Johnny, Nicky Spence, Nicolas Cavallier, Alexander Bozinoff, Lorrin Brubaker, Jeremy Coachman Jonathan Fredrickson, Marion Gautier de Charnacé, Awa Joannais, Héloïse Jocqueviel, Payton Johnson, Rachel McNamee, Mermoz Melchior, Adrien Ouaki, Ido Toledano

Palais Garnier, Paris - 14th April 2026

Satyagraha is a multi-layered work, which is perhaps to state the obvious since that's true of any opera, but I think even more so in the case of Glass’s second opera. There is a noticeable shift away from the more experimental Einstein in the Beach, but Satyagraha still remains unconventional in its format and presentation, using conventional but reduced groups of acoustic instruments (strings and woodwind, no brass or percussion) that almost imitate the rapidly played Philip Glass Ensemble keyboard arpeggios alongside scenes with actual electronic keyboard flourishes. Each one of the work's layers, musical and conceptual, are however necessary and completely true to the nature and intent of the message of the "truth force" (Satyagraha) of non-violent resistance that it intends to put across in this medium; and indeed does so impressively, inspiring some spectacular stage productions over the years. The latest production at the Paris Opéra is no exception.

When I say layered, Satyagraha is layered in its whole conception, since it has complex conflicting ideas it wants to work through. Opera is the ideal medium for that of course, at the same time being flexible enough to allow Glass tremendous scope to innovate and remain true to his own voice. On one level the opera considers the dilemma of the warrior Arjuna in the ancient Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita as he is conflicted over his duty to join the battle or follow his own inner voice that rejects violence. On another level, Glass explores the influence of the work as the foundation of Mohandas Gandhi's movement of non-violent resistance through selected scenes from his life and applies it to how that message is taken forward through Rabindranath Tagore, Leo Tolstoy and Martin Luther King Jr. The music and singing provide another accumulative level to the emotional, philosophical and ideal truth force of non-violent resistance as a path to peace and justice, seeking to embody it less in narrative than in a trance-like meditation of the mantra-like delivery of the Sanskrit libretto.

Satyagraha already has these multiple layers built-in, but the stage production provides the opportunity for a creative director to add a few more and, based on past history of productions, such is the nature of the work and its subject that this opera can easily sustain them with overloading or detracting from its essential purpose. The spectacle of Phelim McDermott's production for the English National Opera (which I saw three times in its 2006/07, 2009/10 and 2021/22 seasons) which also transferred to the Metropolitan Opera in New York, adhered relatively closely to the journey of Gandhi in his path to resistance, or at least recognised it as the central focus of the work. In that production Constance De Jong's libretto taken from the Bhagavad Gita and sung in Sanskrit was not subtitled or translated as it was believed (with some merit) that the work and its message could speak for itself.

The new 2026 Paris production directed and choreographed by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber would beg to differ and accordingly they take a different course through the work presumably towards the same end. That's somewhat in the spirit of the whole Krishna-Arjuna dialogue in the Bhagavad Gita that underpins the work, in which the eternal struggle between the individual self and the higher Godself is resolved through the imperative of putting aside doubt and just taking action. The directors then choose to ditch the outline structure as it relates to Gandhi and instead explore the Arjuna narrative, in the process even removing the names of the principal singing characters, reducing them to voice types. In this refinement of the work - that nevertheless takes nothing away from it - it becomes more of a spiritual journey and that is enhanced through the focus on movement and dance rather than dramatic action.

The premise of this version is then made relatively simple, taking its lead from the opening scene's dialogue from the Bhagavad Gita between Arjuna and Krishna on the eve of the war between the Kuruvas and the Pandavas royal families. The outcome of Arjuna’s actions become the motivating force through the remainder of the opera in this production to rise above the individual desires and seek a higher purpose and truth. Set in what looks like a kind of assembly hall or rehearsal room with raised platforms and doors to the sides - with Gandhi, Tagore, Tolstoy and King looking on from above - in the first scene of Act I: The Kuru Field of Justice, a soldier in modern military uniform is manipulated into the killing of his fellow man by dark forces, both internal and external. A stage at the back of the hall which remains dark, light occasionally cutting through the mist, suggests that this is a space for an internal, emotional or personal journey. But it's not enough for this to be just a individual struggle to come to terms with one's own personal demons; the man has to reconcile his own belief in truth and justice with the reality of the outside world and bring others along with him to believe in the power of non-violent resistance.

If there is one key phrase in the libretto that might have inspired the directors and choreographers Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber, it would seem to be the need to become "athletes of the spirit", as this is what is expressed in a production that aspires through movement and dance to match those heights of finding the truth force of Satyagraha achieved in the music and the singing. Glass's flowing rhythmic pulsating score for the opera is ideally suited for this approach, Glass having composed dance sections already for Lucinda Childs' choreography in sections of Einstein on the Beach and going on to create dance pieces for Twyla Tharp's In The Upper Room in 1986. Despite abandoning any traditional opera narrative, the ballet works just as effectively in the hands of Smith and Schraiber, each scene finding fresh ways to express aspects of the man in his internal struggle to reach a higher level, to be a better representative of what man can be in the battle with the corruption of the outside world. Figures then emerge out of the crowds and chorus to join and give strength to the movement.

The new Paris production of Satyagraha succeeds marvellously through its adherence to the spirit and spiritual element of the opera. In the central point of the opera, in Scene 2: Indian Opinion of Act II - Tagore (although the scene is no longer tied to the Gandhi narrative), the dancers step into a joined spiral of simple rhythmic dance steps in one of the most beautiful pieces in the production. It might look simple, but that's the beauty of it; it makes you feel like you want to get up and join them. That's also a quality within the work itself and within the deceptively simple repetitions of Philip Glass's music. In reality it's much more complex than it looks and sounds, in how it takes its time and builds, accumulating weight and meaning in its very structure and indeed movement, much more than just relying on words and narrative.

This is really Philip Glass’s Parsifal; a work that touches deep on what it means to be human and suffer in an imperfect world, but strive to achieve peace and inspire change that will save the world. Living in a time when injustice, inequality, violence and genocidal killing have reached new levels of obscenity, it's not hard to see how that sentiment is now more important than ever. What it also shows us - and which this production's focus and sense of movement highlights even more - is the history of the great names who have resisted through the years, showing that the battle still needs to be fought though the path of non-violent resistance. In that respect this is one modern opera that will endure because it has something that will always be relevant to the times, and it will always be important to remind ourselves of its message. Its form and conception are also key to its promise of longevity, the persuasive music showing how to rebuild and gain force though constant progression, reiteration and gradual change.

The unconventional orchestration and use of instruments - the orchestra essentially having to become an extended Philip Glass Ensemble without the same experience of performing this kind of fast flowing music of repetition and sudden changes - must present considerable challenges. The performance of the Paris orchestra under Ingo Metzmacher however was impressive and indeed persuasive, the delivery firm and seductive as it just washed across the Palais Garnier carrying everyone along with it. The singing likewise was extraordinarily good, as it can't but be in this opera, this time with countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo coming from Akhnaten in the Glass 'Portrait Trilogy' to the principal (Gandhi) role here. Usually a high tenor part, Costanzo retained the sweetness of the timbre while still incredibly managing to cut through the ensembles and even (vitally) rise above the huge chorus scenes. All the voices and how they come across is important in Satyagraha and it couldn't have been better arranged and directed, all credit to chorus master Ching-Lien Wu. The dance choreography is stunning, but no more or less important than any other element, other than perhaps bringing a robustness that adds another dimension that further enhances the meaning of the work.

I remarked in my review of the Live in HD cinema broadcast of this opera at the Metropolitan Opera in 2011 that it seemed like Glass and this opera were finally receiving belated recognition, but with all nine performances of this new production of Satyagraha at the Paris Opéra selling out months ago (I was only able to pick up a return on the actual day of the performance), it's clear that both this uncompromising work and its composer have achieved a popular status that few could have imagined when it premiered in Rotterdam in 1980. I fully expect that that this production, like the hugely successful Phelim McDermott production, will be revived at some stage and see future new productions, but if you can't wait, a performance of this current run will be broadcast live on the pay-per-view Paris Opera Play (POP) streaming service on the 24th April.

External links: Opéra National de Paris, Paris Opera Play (POP)
Production photographs: Yonathan Kellerman, OnP

Thomas - Hamlet

Ambroise Thomas - Hamlet

Opéra National du Rhin

Patrick Fournillier, Vincent Boussard, Stéphane Degout, Ana Camelia Stefanescu, Marie-Ange Todorovitch, Nicolas Cavallier, Christophe Berry, Vincent Pavesi, Mark Van Arsdale, Jean-Gabriel Saint-Martin, Dimitri Pkhaladze

Strasbourg, France - 26 June 2011

To be or not to be... an opera... that is the question.

That’s a bit of a predictable way to start a review of Ambroise Thomas’ opera version of Hamlet, but it’s still a relevant question that has divided opera-goers for years. Your view on that is likely to depend on whether you are an English-speaker and familiar with the Shakespeare drama or otherwise, and if you are more attuned to the traditions of French grand opera. The problem with Shakespeare in French – even though his work is venerated there almost as much as in the UK – is that it’s not really Shakespeare. In French it has none of the poetry of his Elizabethan period verse, and it translated into a rather prosaic, ordinary, commonplace (I know these all mean the same thing, I’m just listing them for effect) French that is almost indistinguishable from how modern French is spoken.

Adapting Shakespeare to opera is not without its problems either, but there are plenty of examples from Berlioz to Wagner, but most notably Rossini and Verdi, to indicate that there’s no reason why a lyrical presentation of the Bard’s dramas can’t work, and in some cases… dare I say it… even improve on the original. Well, maybe not improve, but there are certainly examples, such as Iago’s Credo in Verdi’s Otello, where the original elements are expanded upon to superb effect, but it’s hard to see how even the Gesamtkunstwerk nature of opera can add much that isn’t already contained within the original Shakespearean drama.

Particularly Hamlet, which in my view, and many others, is the greatest drama ever written. I may have been biased from the outset then, but, never having had the opportunity before to see Ambroise Thomas’s Hamlet – or indeed anything by one of France’s most respected if little-known composers – I was keen to take the opportunity to see it performed on French soil in Strasbourg. Ambroise Thomas’ works are rarely performed, with only Hamlet and Mignon staged with any kind of regularity in France, but even here at the Opéra National du Rhin, Hamlet was billed as a rare classic rediscovered. Try as I might however, I couldn’t get the original text out of my head as the rather drab, colourless, dull (yes, for effect) and prosaic French libretto singularly failed to bring the drama and the poetry to life.

Act I and II set out the dramatic content of the opera. It opens with the marriage of Gertrude to Claudius (a invented scene not in the original, but effective enough to establish the context of the drama) two months after his brother King Hamlet’s death, and is then followed by the appearance of the ghost of the father talking to his son Prince Hamlet, telling him that he was poisoned by Claudius and that he must be avenged (“but go easy on Gertrude”, he bizarrely warns), and Act II ends with the travelling players re-enacting the crime (strangely and confusingly in this production, implicating the real people into the drama and not leaving much room for ambiguity).

Musically, it’s hard to find anything attractive about the early scenes, the score conventional and dull, full of old-fashioned academicism that has little relation to the dramatic tone or context of the piece, with one-note continuo during speaking sections and only the chorus coming in from time to time to add dramatic emphasis. Any attempts at originality are quite eccentric, such as a solo saxophone at one point. The staging at Strasbourg Opéra didn’t really find any interesting way to make this come to life (the appearance of the King’s ghost walking vertically down a wall notwithstanding), with a generic Court setting that never changed, with variation only in the lighting – but it did at least keep the dramatic action fluid.

Act III and IV however, post interval, present a totally different side to the opera, putting aside the exposition of the dramatic plot and allowing the emotional tone to find its own footing through some lovely duets and arias – in Hamlet’s confrontation with the Queen, and particularly in Ophelia’s extended lament and death scene. It becomes more like scenes from Hamlet (or inspired by Hamlet) set to music, and it certainly kills the plot progression stone dead, but the musical qualities work in favour of the opera and this is certainly preferable to the dreary dramatisation of the first half. As wonderful as this might be, it comes at the cost of the excision of some important and famous scenes, with several of the characters given short shrift. Laertes has a walk-on/walk-off part (pointlessly wandering through the dramatic scene between Hamlet and Ophelia with a suitcase at one point in this production), there are no Rosencrantz or Guildenstern (not a loss really), and alas, poor Yorick’s name is forgotten by the gravediggers, giving Hamlet no opportunity to pose with a skull and meditate upon life (although he does so here, and quite effectively, in relation to Ophelia’s death). Even Polonius is reduced to a bit-part of about three lines, playing no significant part in the drama, and consequently coming out of the drama alive!

As do many other characters, for Thomas and his librettists Michel Carré and Jules Barbier (taken admittedly from a reworking of the drama by Alexandre Dumas) – suddenly realise that they need to find a way to quickly wrap-up this non-drama. Shakespeare is thrown out the window and instead they tack on their own ending where the ghost of the dead King appears before the assembled guests, hands a knife to Hamlet and tells him to get on with it (“but don’t forget, go easy on your mother”). Hamlet duly obliges, despatching Claudius before himself expiring over the grave of Ophelia. To say I was bemused at the finale would be an understatement – flabberghasted, perhaps – and this is the revised version of the opera that was forced upon Thomas for the English permiere of the opera, as it was felt that the English audience wouldn’t accept the happy ending in the original version where Hamlet lives on and is crowned King! Putting Shakespeare aside however – and the developments of Act III and IV are such a thoroughly enjoyable musical experience that one is finally able to do this – it was a however a dramatically effective conclusion.

It helped that the singing at Strasbourg was of a fairly high standard. Hamlet is a baritone role, which one feels it should be even though it’s not a great operatic role (he’s even upstaged by Ophelia), but we had Stéphane Degout here (who I’ve previously seen doing Rameau) and he was in fine voice, as was Nicolas Cavallier in the bass role of Claudius. Hamlet of course notes that women are fickle and inconstant, and there was some inconsistency to the Romanian Ana Camelia Stefanescu as Ophelia, and Marie-Ange Todorovitch’s Gertrude, but they were mainly hampered by the dramatic expression of the first two acts and both came through to excellent effect in the final two acts, particularly in Ophelia’s beautifully heartfelt lament. Despite the liberties taken with Shakespeare’s verse and characterisation then, and despite some conservative grand opera tedium in the drama of the first half, and with the help of some judicious pruning by Patrick Fournillier of the opera’s ballet sequences, Ambroise Thomas’ Hamlet proved to be such an experience that one can see why the opera remains popular in France, as well as why it’s not so highly thought of elsewhere.