Dusapin - Antigone (Paris, 2025)

Pascal Dusapin - Antigone

Philharmonie de Paris, 2025

Klaus Mäkelä, Netia Jones, Christel Loetzsch, Anna Prohaska, Tómas Tómasson, Jarrett Ott, Thomas Atkins, Edwin Crossley-Mercer, Serge Kakudji, Natalia Cellier, Cosma Moïssakis

Philharmonie Live streaming - October 2025

The themes and presentation of the ancient Greek dramas of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus remain just as important a foundation for opera as it does for contemporary theatre. Even more so in opera which was originally conceived in the belief that Greek drama was sung. Medea, Orpheus, Elektra, and Oedipus have inspired some of the greatest works of opera from early baroque to modern times, which is not surprising, as the subjects and treatments are inherently dynamic and dramatic in their grappling with always relevant human and moral questions. Filled with death and destruction on a cataclysmic scale, the tragedies present dark tales about the price to be paid for contravention of moral laws and defiance of the gods, but there is more than one kind of god and the dramas still have something important and vital to tell us today about humanity and moral imperatives today. Especially today in our troubled times, when the rule of law is in danger of being disregarded, when what should be unthinkable atrocities are committed and permitted before our eyes.

It's in these febrile and dangerous times that Pascal Dusapin produces his latest work based on Sophocles' Antigone. Dealing with one woman's stand against injustice and belief in a higher law than that of corrupt or foolish rulers, it's a timely reflection on the horrors that we are seeing around us today and the potential consequences for us all if authoritarianism is not resisted - and even if it is. Created for the Philharmonie in Paris, Dusapin presents the work as an "opératorio", partly in concession to it being performed in the Grande salle Pierre Boulez concert hall rather than on an opera stage, but more to give it the concentrated force that the work merits.

Seen as a typically moral question of holding to individual beliefs or divine order above those of man-made laws of the state and resorting to activism when they are wrongfully employed, the subject of Antigone however raises many complex questions and ambiguities when viewed in a modern light. This is another reason why Dusapin chooses to work with Friedrich Hölderlin's 1804 German translation of the work, a reduction to a concentrated form of text. As an 'Opératorio in Five Acts', reduced to an hour and a half performance, the composer uses his always powerful musical expression to provide weight and subtext to explore the ambiguity within that version, and Dusapin's score for his Antigone indeed imbues the work with all the force and meaning that its subject merits.

The essence of the drama is retained and remains simple enough in outline, where as a background to what unfolds in Antigone, Eteocles and Polynices, the sons of Oedipus and brothers to Antigone and Ismene, have both been killed in a dispute over the rule of the city of Thebes. As a punishment for having gathered an army to march against the great city, Creon, their uncle and now ruler of Thebes (and uncle of Antigone) refuses a burial for Polynices, denying even any funeral rites to be said over his body. Antigone is horrified by the order, as much from human decency as for the fact that Polynices was her brother and, against the advice of her sister Ismene, defies Creon's proclamation and performs a burial rite, throwing soil and praying for her fallen brother where he lays.

The drama of Antigone is certainly is adaptable to the times and political events. I recall the segment 'The Postponed Antigone' by Volker Schlöndorff from a script by Heinrich Böll in the 1978 film Deutschland im Herbst, where the public TV executives pull a filmed theatre performance of Antigone from the schedules at a time of high tensions in Germany around the activities of the RAF/Baader-Meinhof terrorist group. That is an indication of the potential of the original work to inspire activism, while at the same time showing how the authorities can control and prevent such controversial views from being aired - but Dusapin's choice of Hölderlin's translation and his own efforts to take a neutral position calculatedly avoid any contemporary political interpretation of the work.

In terms of what is the just and moral action to take, the message of Antigone's defiance and her stance in standing up for what she believes is right may seem fairly self-evidently and difficult to challenge, but as is often the case in Greek drama, all actions - even doing what seems to be the right and just thing in the circumstances - can have unintended consequences that reverberate down the line. You could even see the fate of the children of the incestuous marriage of Oedipus and Jocasta as being cursed by the time of Seven against Thebes and Antigone. In Antigone itself, Antigone's actions have immediate consequences for her when she is condemned to death, takes her own life and a series of other deaths follow in her wake.

So there is a lot to take in and consider in Antigone, and you have to say, based on the premiere performances of the work in October 2025 at the Philharmonie de Paris, Dusapin handles the subject impressively, finding the opposing contrasting forces within the drama and letting them assert their own power without imposing any heavy-handed contemporary reading on the work. More than Antigone, who is single minded and certain of her position - and who inevitably cuts an impressive figure as performed here by mezzo-soprano Christel Loetzsch - Creon has perhaps the more decisive and conflicted role. He knows a ruler cannot appear weak, that Antigone represents a challenge to his authority, but even knowing what will follow when the soothsayer Tiresias makes an appearance, he is unable to do anything to prevent the tragedy that is unfolding.

Dusapin obviously depicts this clash between Antigone and Creon in all its intensity, but despite the concentrated focus of this version, the other conflicts and views are all similarly well expressed and have a vital role to play in the overall balance of the drama, as well as introducing other perspectives that the individual viewer can relate to without being swayed to take one side or another. Ismene's advice to her sister to keep a lower profile and know their place as women, while Antigone wants to shout 'injustice!' from the rooftops introduces the inequality of women's views; Creon's son Haemon brings love into the equation, for Antigone, as well as between father and son. Fraternal love is there too of course in Antigone's conducting an unauthorised dignified burial of sorts for Polynices. Moral questions are agonised over, there are questions of self-sacrifice, honour and respect, both sides believing they have authority, creating a conflict the wisdom of age and holding to old ways over youthful impetuousness and new beliefs.

The dominant tone of the work however is one of unfolding tragedy and that is reflected in the orchestration of low dark sustained notes and lines on strings and brass. At times - as in Dusapin's more recent operas Macbeth Underworld (2019) and Penthesilea (2015) - there are occasional Reimann-like blasts from a large orchestra, although without quite the same sustained battery of seismic eruptions. The anger of Creon in pronouncement of the fate of Polynices is accompanied by a fusillade of rattling violent percussion crashes followed by ominous, rumbling mournful music. It's a musical language more in the line of Richard Strauss' Salome by way of Wagner, and under the direction of conductor Klaus Mäkelä it's every bit as expressive, operatic and dramatically visceral as that implies. Harp, bells and flute can stir up just as much menace and even while Creon brays out his threats, the music can hint at his words being empty; of compassion, of authority perhaps, moral and regal.

Directed by Netia Jones, who sees it as a kind of performance-installation for the concert hall of the Grande salle Pierre Boulez at the Philharmonie in Paris. the Antigone opératorio is nonetheless also fully operatic in performance. Jones can tend towards maximalism in her productions, but here settles for a monochrome minimalist set design that lets the singers take centre stage - figuratively speaking. The majority of the stage is taken up by tall imposing grey-white freestanding monolithic pillars (can it be a monolith if there is more than one?) which are reactive to lighting and effects created by Lightmap, projecting shadows, abstract markings, lines, swirling mists, clouds and gathering darkness, leaving only a corner for an array of microphone stands which are not used for oratorio purposes, but pleas and proclamations. Two video screens occasionally show time-delayed overlaid distorted images of the singers adding to the mood of a distorted reality, while the appearance of Tiresias seeing an enhanced reality wearing a VR-type headset is a good touch. The direction of the video recording of the performance by the Philharmonie de Paris for ARTE Concert makes creative use of movement and angles to capture the drama.

The singing performances are exceptional, and a fully rounded range of voice types just add to the characterisation and the feel of this being fully operatic. It's certainly more declamatory by its very nature, less action-oriented, but deeply operatic in the presentation of the themes and the range of expression in the music and singing. Mezzo-soprano Christel Loetzsch sings Antigone with all the sense of a 'true believer' (whether of the will of Gods or of her own sense of moral certainty), but you can feel the deep emotional sense of loss at the tragedy of her brother's/brothers' fate. Soprano Anna Prohaska's timidity as Ismene can also be seen suggesting a more cautious response, a wiser one even. Creon is of course a bass, and Tómas Tómasson's performance makes you feel deeply involved in his predicament as one bad decision sets off a chain of horrific events. There are solid performances here to from baritone, Jarrett Ott (a Messenger), tenor Thomas Atkins (Haemon), bass Edwin Crossley-Mercer (Tiresias) and even an unearthly sounding counter-tenor Serge Kakudji appropriately as the Greek Chorus.

External links: Philharmonie de Paris, ARTE Concert

Mozart - Die Zauberflöte (Glyndebourne, 2019)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Die Zauberflöte

Glyndebourne, 2019

Ryan Wigglesworth, André Barbe, Renaud Doucet, David Portillo, Sofia Fomino, Brindley Sherratt, Björn Bürger, Caroline Wettergreen, Michael Kraus, Esther Dierkes, Marta Fontanals-Simmons, Katharina Magiera, Jörg Schneider, Alison Rose, Freddie Jemison, Aman De Silva, Stephan Dyakonov, Thomas Atkins, Martin Snell

Opus Arte - Blu-ray

Maybe it's the fact that it's Glyndebourne or maybe the popularity of Downton Abbey has made the idea of the English country estate more romantic and idealised, but there does seem to be a tendency to incorporate such old English period ideas into operas produced there. Some are perfectly appropriate and fit perfectly, such as Verdi's Falstaff, some such as Ariadne auf Naxos are a bit of a stretch but nonetheless wholly successful, and Barber's Vanessa seem perfectly at home there. Mozart's Die Zauberflöte is a work very much open to imaginative reinterpretation that can reveal new facets to the work - none more so than Romeo Castellucci's production for La Monnaie in Brussels - but even so Barbe and Doucet are undoubtedly going to have to take a few liberties to set The Magic Flute in an Edwardian hotel.

But ideas and imagination are exactly what you want for Mozart's delightful, sometimes enigmatic but most purely enjoyable opera. In Barbe and Doucet's hotel, the three ladies are all maids and Papageno seems to be an eccentric guest with a thing for feather pillows and duvets. Coming down into the lobby in his pyjamas, perhaps in the middle of a nightmare, Tamino is attacked by a monster serpent assembled out of new but still primitive technology. The Queen of the Night is the hotel owner who makes her grand appearance to lay down the law in a clanking lift. The three boys are suitably attired in bellhop uniforms. Sarastro is the head chef, his brotherhood the hotel's cooks. Monostatos down in the basement, below even the servants and maids, shovels coal (which accounts for his black skin) to keep the hotel heated, and it's there that he has dragged Pamina.

The theme of this production of is clear enough and the characters all have vaguely appropriate and recognisable roles in the hierarchy of the hotel, even if it doesn't quite match the stratification of Mozart's society. From the Age of Enlightenment to the Age of Progress however, it does at least correlate with a period of progress, the early twentieth century being on the cusp of the modern age, challenging outdated notions of tradition, which of course includes women's suffrage. That's perhaps not necessarily a development that the Age of Enlightenment libretto is quite ready for ("Women do little but chatter a lot", "Without the guidance of men, women tend to rise above their station"), nor perhaps the Masonic traditions and ceremonies celebrated in Mozart's opera. There is something here however that captures the wind of change and an awareness of class and social inequality that is at least partly consistent with the intentions of the opera.

Something else you expect with The Magic Flute is a magical colourful fairy tale or storybook character and you certainly get that in André Barbe's highly stylised Edwardian designs. The sets are all of the cardboard cut-out variety, using Barbe's hand-drawn sketches and blowing them up to give the impression of a set model expanded to life-size. The detail is impressive, creating a storybook-like background that the colourful characters all stand out against. It really looks stunning. Puppeteers provide the magical elements which fit as suitably old-fashioned theatrical effects. The puppetry is sometimes over-used and a little superfluous, but when used for effect - such as with the armoured men - it makes a great impression. The costumes are marvellous, Edwardian elegance with colourful stylistic cartoon flourishes. Unquestionably, the production design is a thing of beauty and style, the period chosen a useful one to explore some of the themes of the work.

Some, but not all. It doesn't really get to grips with the divisions of physical and spiritual needs of mankind, the struggle between enlightenment versus mysticism, on overcoming darkness and despair, the power of music as a transformative force that is open and accessible to everyone as demonstrated in Die Zauberflöte's wonderful blend of high art and comic pantomime. The elegance of the setting in a grand hotel also precludes any deeper commentary on the class struggle and the belief that all men are equal and can aspire to the betterment of individuals and society. Tamino and Pamina's success in the trial by fire and water for example is to become masters of kitchen skills, which is amusingly staged but doesn't really get to the heart of the work.

There's little to complain about in the singing, which is mostly good even if there's nothing to lift this to another level. Among the more notable performances, Björn Bürger's Papageno is strong and entertaining and Brindley Sherratt is superb, giving one of the most assured and controlled performances I've seen as Sarastro. Jörg Schneider's Monostatos is also well sung and played. There's always a risk that Tamino and Pamina can appear a little bland if insufficiently characterised and they can come across as rather bland. Tamino and Pamina are perhaps somewhat over-privileged because of their upbringing and need to experience the realities of the world in order to find the wisdom to mend the inequalities (perhaps not by great cookery though). Although we have two earnest performances from David Portillo and Sofia Fomino that suit the content and treatment here, neither of them are developed enough to compensate for these weaknesses in characterisation.

Conducted by Ryan Wigglesworth, there's a fullness of sound in the orchestration and no sign of any period or historically informed instrumentation. The delivery is a little cool in places, working better in the more buoyant and humorous scenes than in the more solemn and emotional scenes, but that could also be an impression informed by the staging, which can inevitably feel a little stuffy and mannered in places. You don't always get a sense of the varied parts of the work coming together in the way that should give Die Zauberflöte a greater sense of completeness and accomplishment, nor is it entirely successful consequently in getting across the deeper character of the work or the application of its many levels of meaning as they relate to all aspects of human nature.

It's a thoroughly entertaining an impressively designed Die Zauberflöte however and it comes across well on the High Definition presentation on the Opus Arte Blu-ray. The disc contains a short Making Of extra feature that focusses on Barbe and Doucet's creation for Glyndebourne, revealing that their Queen of the Night was inspired by a turn of the century lady owner of a Viennese hotel. The feature also covers the challenge of turning the André Barbe's wonderfully detailed sketches into sets. There's also a Cast Gallery and a very informative booklet essay by Nicholas Till on the creation of Die Zauberflöte and the influences that shaped it.

Links: Glyndebourne

Verdi - Otello (London, 2017)

Giuseppe Verdi - Otello

Royal Opera House, London - 2017

Antonio Pappano, Keith Warner, Jonas Kaufmann, Maria Agresta, Marco Vratogna, Frédéric Antoun, Thomas Atkins, Kai Rüütel, Simon Shibambu, In Sung Sim, Thomas Barnard

Royal Opera House Cinema Season Live - 28 June 2017

Keith Warner nails his colours firmly to the mast at the start of the Royal Opera House's new production of Otello when Iago steps to the front of the stage before the storm explodes, holding a black mask of evil and a white mask of goodness, contemptuously discarding the white mask with an evil laugh; it's clear that this is going to be a 'black' Otello. That's as broad as the characterisation gets in Warner's abstract, incoherent and somewhat brutish production which rather stifles but doesn't entirely submerge the potential that lies elsewhere in the casting and performances.

Dividing along the lines of black and white is also as close as the production gets to making any kind of comment on the question of the Moor's ethnicity which ought to play at least a small part in how the drama unfolds. Despite persistent complaints and controversy about blacking-up in relation to this opera, race is rarely highlighted in Othello or Otello as the primary motivation behind Iago's ambition to utterly break the Moor, so although Jonas Kaufmann plays Othello with nothing more than a good tan, his fitness for the role is best judged by his vocal ability, and there can be little dispute about the quality of that.

His ability to sing the role - an immensely challenging role that I've rarely heard sung entirely successfully - is demonstrated brilliantly here, Kaufmann launching himself at those hugely expressive declarations like his life depends on it, with extraordinary control, volume and a rich timbre that prevents it from sounding like unseemly bellowing (although how long he can keep it at that level must surely be a concern). Unfortunately, as far as this production is concerned, Keith Warner doesn't appear to have given Kaufmann any real nuance or motivation in his direction and the expressionistic set designs don't offer much in the way of context either other than reflecting Othello's madness, and after a while you just feel bombarded by the lack of colouration on every front.

The set is minimal-abstract, resembling the physical location of the castle in Cyprus as well as the tower of Othello's personality that fractures and comes crashing down at the end. As the assistant director revealed in a pre-screening interview, that's illustrated mainly by shifting the walls around, opening up and closing down, with some random colouration that bears little relation to any kind of conventional colour coding or appropriateness to the drama. Act I is mainly black and masculine, with the sailors and troops in period-like costumes of leather bodices. Act II uses a plain white background that might suffice for Othello and Desdemona's love duet, but the brush strokes are too broad and it scarcely offers any nuance of Iago's underlying plotting and manipulation elsewhere.

There is a noticeable shift away from the clash of harsh realism with clear black and white moral lines in the second half of the production, but it's not any more 'illuminating', only further adding confusion as to how we ought to feel about the characters. Desdemona and a Herald arise out of gaps in the stage like apparitions in Act III as Othello's mind struggles to retain a grasp on reality, and there's a red wash of rage when the Venice delegation arrives symbolically dragging a huge statue of 'The Lion of Venice' which is seen overturned and broken in two at the end of the Act. Act IV, by way of contrast, gives prominence to the purity of Desdemona's enclosed white bedroom, but even Othello's harsh, rugged edges have softened here in a way that scarcely matches the psychological implications of what is played out there.

You certainly can't accuse Antonio Pappano of hedging his bets or any lack of coherence in his approach to Verdi's score. It's a thunderous account that sides entirely with Jonas Kaufmann's unrestrained full-force expression. I think I would prefer a little more light and shade in Otello, but there's no question that the more muscular approach is merited by the main thrust of the intense drama. It's all blood and thunder on the surface, but beneath that lies the seething web of Iago's manipulations of Cassio and Roderigo and his dedication towards anarchy and nihilism. In the context of this rather more heavy-handed approach, Marco Vratogna has no option but to settle for evil villain characterisation, which to be fair he does reasonably well.

If there is one aspect of the production worthy of unqualified praise (apart from a degree of respect for the laundry-person who has to get the stage-blood that spurts effusively from Othello's chest out of the white bed linen here) it's how it renews admiration for Verdi's score and astonishment at how successfully the composer directs everything towards the extraordinary last act of Otello in such a way the one anticipates it almost with a sense of terror. Maria Agresta ensures however that Desdemona's humanity shines brightly in contrast to the blackness laid on thickly elsewhere, her singing of the Willow Song and Ave Maria exemplary where it most needs to be. If the production lacked coherence and direction elsewhere that would draw the audience into the tragedy of the drama, the breathtaking conclusion to Act IV redeems it, if not quite justifies everything that comes before it.

Links: Royal Opera House, ROH Cinema Season