Photo: Andy Henderson

This review is of the premiere on Friday, July 26, 2024.

Bard SummerScape Festival 2024 took a daring leap, presenting Giacomo Meyerbeer’s “Le Prophète” in a fully staged production. This opera is a rarity, and after sitting through it, I can see why. It’s probably best left on the fringes of the repertoire but shouldn’t be missed if you want to see what was one of Meyerbeer’s most successful operas. There are some hurdles to overcome as an audience member, the greatest being length, but if you’re able to hang in there, it’s an interesting piece.

“Le Prophète” is notoriously long, clocking in at over four hours when intermissions are included. The libretto is packed with repetitive content, and the false endings are so numerous they become almost comical. During the first intermission, while guests toasted the show’s premiere, I wandered around the Fisher Center at Bard—designed by Frank Gehry—taking in the building’s curves as the sun dipped behind, lighting the sky with fiery orange and delicate pinks.

“Can you tell me something?” another wandering audience member asked. “Why don’t they just get to the point? Also, just when I think the act is over, it starts up again….”

I nodded. “Agreed.”

“That had to have been two acts.”

“Oh, no, we have four more.”

Meyerbeer made cuts knowing the opera was too long—he just didn’t cut enough to keep today’s audience engaged.

While plenty of hardcore buffs were in the seats, most were casual attendees there to enjoy some opera and maybe have a picnic or wine and cheese al fresco on a beautiful summer evening. A reduction would have been very welcome.

Historical Context and Critical Acclaim

To understand the challenges and merits of “Le Prophète,” it’s essential to look at its historical context. The opera was met with enthusiasm when it premiered at Opéra de Paris on April 16, 1849. Critics and audiences were impressed by the grandeur of the production, the dramatic intensity, and the elaborate staging, which included a memorable ice-skating ballet scene (no ice-skating in the SummerScape production. Would have loved to see a Zamboni smooth the ice in between acts if they had!). Beyond the spectacle, the opera’s political and social themes resonated with the public, particularly given the revolutionary events in Europe during 1848.

Despite some detractors who criticized Meyerbeer for his eclectic style and accused him of pandering to popular tastes, “Le Prophète” was widely praised for its innovation and emotional power. The lead roles, especially that of the prophet Jean, were performed by some of the era’s leading singers, further contributing to the opera’s acclaim. Overall, “Le Prophète” solidified Meyerbeer’s reputation as a master of grand opera and remained a staple of the operatic repertoire for many years.

“Le Prophète” tells the story of Jean de Leyde, a man pulled from simple beginnings into the tempest of 16th-century Anabaptist Münster. Betrayed by his fiancée, Berthe, and swayed by three Anabaptist leaders, Jean’s rise to power is marked by internal turmoil and external manipulation. His mother, Fidès, watches with a heart torn between love and horror. Through his prophetic role, Jean sees his dreams turn to ashes. In a final act, Jean, Fidès, and Berthe meet their fate in an explosive end. The opera’s portrayal of fanaticism and ambition reveals the heavy price of power and betrayal.

Returning to length, Meyerbeer wasn’t blind to the fact he wrote long operas. He was known for his meticulous attention to detail and his willingness to revise and expand his works to achieve the desired impact. In “Le Prophète,” he worked extensively with his librettist, Eugène Scribe, to create a complex and engaging narrative. Meyerbeer made cuts and adjustments during rehearsals to streamline the opera and maintain the audience’s engagement, but it wasn’t enough for 21st-century attention spans. I hate saying it, but there were moments when a scene or act felt interminable.

Meyerbeer justified the length by ensuring each scene served a critical purpose in advancing the story or developing the characters. If only he and Scribe knew the “iceberg theory” concocted by Hemingway a century later: deeper meaning is found in what’s not said or, in this case, not sung.

Maestro Leon Botstein had an excellent outing, bringing Meyerbeer’s beautifully lyric score to life. His band, the American Symphony Orchestra, was as indefatigable as its leader, who kept them tight. The singers were never overpowered, nor did Botstein try to rush due to length. Cues between vocalists and the maestro were smack on, with no one falling behind or moving ahead of the orchestra. My seatmate told me they would sometimes close their eyes and just listen. Botstein and the ASO gave the audience unadulterated beauty.

Jean de Leyde’s Journey

Jean de Leyde, sung by Robert Watson, transforms from a simple man into a prophet through the machinations of the Anabaptist rulers. His rise to power is marked by internal turmoil and manipulation. Watson struggled in Act One. The finish was rough. The final, extended note was over-sung with a complete loss of control. His voice cracked, and his pitch went south. It was an “oh no” moment.

However, Act two was a different story. Watson sent out to the audience a pure, resounding brass with wonderful squillo. There was depth and passion, and solid acting. I don’t know how he turned it around after the crash of Act One, but he did. He was shiny, bright, articulate, and a joy to hear for the remaining four acts. That’s professionalism—turning it around on a dime. I laud him for that. Watson was a convincing actor, especially during scenes of emotional turmoil. His dream sequences were particularly well-played.

Fidès: The Devoted Mother

Fidès, sung by mezzo-soprano Jennifer Feinstein, tries to keep Jean grounded and true to himself amid the chaos. Her love and concern add emotional depth, highlighting the personal cost of his ascent. Feinstein sang Fidès with a strong top and bottom, with the low end being a titch stronger, which, for the character, fit very well. I definitely saw a proto-Azucenca in Feinstein’s portrayal of a mother tortured by guilt to the point of insanity. Shunned and without a home, the director, Räth, drew a pitiful character who pushed a baby carriage with a “baby” she fashioned from Jean’s shirt. Feinstein’s turn as Jean’s mother was very much a success and a highlight.

Berthe: The Betrayed Fiancée

Berthe, sung by Amina Edris, plays a crucial role in Jean’s transformation. Her betrayal sets off events that propel Jean into his prophetic role, significantly impacting his path. Edris’ character got scant stage time, and while she was mostly good in the role, some screechiness was present in her forte top notes. Like Watson, over-singing was an issue, but not to the extent of Watson’s Act One performance. For her entrance aria, “Mon coeur s’élance et palpite,” the tone was innocent; she was a girl in love. That innocence is lost and becomes rage after Oberthal rapes her. Berthe becomes part of the resistance, fighting the theocracy in fatigues and combat boots.

The Anabaptist Trio & Count Oberthal, The Catalyst

The three Anabaptist leaders—Zacharie, Jonas, and Mathisen—manipulate Jean into becoming their prophet. Their scheming drives much of the opera’s conflict, pushing Jean further into rebellion. As a trio, they were excellent. While the opera’s premise is dark and the trio a devilish ruling group, they did inject a modest amount of levity. They were not Ping, Pang, and Pong, but it was comic relief nonetheless, providing the audience with a break from the heaviness.

As the chief Anabaptist priest Zacharie, Harold Wilson, was a towering figure whose decrees through song were full of power, menace, and absolute authority. It’s not a surprise he’s been cast as Sarastro. In some ways, they’re the same figure in terms of authority; the big difference is that Sarastro is a force for good.

Jonas, sung by Brian Vu, is the right-hand man and enforcer. It is he who wields the golden insignia, poking people to kneel or otherwise threatening them. Unlike Watson’s brassiness, Vu’s voice was buttery and carried additional weight as one of the Anabaptist leaders. This separated the two tenors, making each distinguishable even with eyes closed.

Wei Wu, a Grammy-winning bass who sang the role of Mathisen, appeared to be the least powerful of the trio in terms of their rule. Wu’s voice was nicely paired with Wilson’s, with Wilson being the more robust bass—in terms of authority—because of the nature of the role. Wu fired on all cylinders—acting and singing.

Count Oberthal, sung by Zachary Altman, plays a pivotal role, though his stage presence is limited. When Berthe and Jean’s mother seek his blessing for the lovers to marry, he bluntly refuses and then attacks Berthe. This incident marks the beginning of Jean’s transformation into a tool for the Anabaptists.

Breaking it Down

Few works fully incorporated a ballet corps during Meyerbeer’s day. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the opera was a society hub, and there was a lot going on. Gambling and “opera girls” kept the aristocracy engaged outside the auditorium. Ballets brought them back to their seats to see ‘the good stuff.’

Trouble was, the hoi-polloi would arrive just in time for the ballet, usually placed in the second act. Composers figured out a way to get the monied class in their seats much earlier: they front-loaded the ballet. Checkmate.

Whether Meyerbeer had ulterior motives for putting one of “Le Prophète’s” ballets in the front is debatable. The opera’s ratio of song to dance is roughly 3:1. What’s better than one ballet to keep the wealthy—and today’s more egalitarian audiences—entertained? Multiple ballets! Each was visually engaging and laden with meaning and foreshadowing. For instance, Jean’s repeated visions of fairies with wings of burnt Bible passages hint at the protagonist’s impending doom and mental instability.

The set comprised three rectangular monoliths that rose almost to the fly space. If you didn’t immediately catch on to what the monolithic rectangles were—they were books—it wasn’t problematic because it became obvious once things started moving and rotating.

The gargantuan “books” were rotated (by hand, no turntable). Each rotation formed a new set—a wall becomes a palace, the palace becomes a cathedral, and the three conniving Anabaptists’ pedestals from which they made decrees. Pretty cool, but if you were unfortunate to have a partial view, you’d have no clue what’s going on because the three Anabaptists were utterly unseeable. If you had a partial view, you would’ve missed the full impact of the impressive set and its multiple configurations.

To reach the top of the “books,” the vocalists climbed a winding staircase within the spines. Sometimes, the spines were lit to show characters climbing or descending, creating a spectacular effect. That was a bit nerve-wracking from this reviewer’s standpoint. The costumes worn by the Anabaptists were not unlike the outfit Keanu Reeves wore in “The Matrix” films—long black robes with mandarin collars. In other words, a trip hazard. Luckily, no Anabaptists took a tumble.

Christian Räth, the show’s director, enjoyed having characters pop out of cleverly concealed doors and windows within the book’s cover. The effect was slapstick, with characters appearing unexpectedly, lending some humor to the overall seriousness of the narrative. He and Daniel Unger designed these amazing sets, which were effective, aesthetically interesting, and integrated into the action. Though it may sound trite, the set truly acted as a character unto itself, fully integrated into the narrative rather than merely serving as a showpiece.

The biggest issue with the height of the sets was that when the vocalists stood atop them, they were nearly in the fly space. Speaking of the fly space, we need to discuss the giant, garishly lit cross that descended from it. The cross was lowered lengthwise. As it came down from the heavens, I whispered to my seatmate, “If Jean’s on that cross, this show has irreparably jumped the shark.” While I wasn’t offended by the spectacular technicolor cross with trippy vertical and horizontal lines, others could easily see its use as blasphemous at worst and disrespectful at best, even with no one on it. Spoiler: Jean was not on the cross.

The Costumes

Apart from the black SS-looking uniforms seen early on, signaling an authoritarian regime, the other costumes were fantastical and seemed inspired by various films. The Matrix-style outfits worn by the trio of manipulative Anabaptists stood out. The costume designer, Mattie Ulrich, aimed for priestly robes without looking too much like priestly robes—sleek, dark, and modern.

The female laity began the evening in plain dresses and ended it looking like they stepped off “The Handmaid’s Tale” set. While the spiritual descendants of Anabaptism, such as the Amish and Mennonites, dress similarly even to this day, the choice felt more like a heavy-handed pop culture reference screaming theocracy.

Then there were other female acolytes, higher up the hierarchy, who seemed to have wandered over from the “Dune” set, wearing Bene-Gesserit clothes. Interestingly, the mythological order in “Dune” awaited a messiah’s arrival.

While the costumes can be criticized as heavily borrowed, Ulrich’s choices can be seen from a different vantage point: semiotics. Semiotics is the study of signs and symbols and their use or interpretation.

Intertextuality, a key component in understanding a ‘text’, was introduced by Ferdinand de Saussure, the father of modern semiotics, who described the “signifier” (the form) and the “signified” (the concept). In the late 20th century, Umberto Eco expanded on Saussure’s theory, applying semiotics to literature, film, and media. Through this lens, Ulrich’s sartorial references embody intertextuality, using fashion from “The Matrix,” “The Handmaid’s Tale,” and “Dune” as signs symbolic of power and submission.

Similarly, though not a costume, the choice for the Anabaptists’ insignia was a cross encircled by a crown of thorns. With one open side and a spike protruding from the opposite side, Jonas, played by Brian Vu, used the pointed end to force people to kneel or obey his confederates’ commands. The broken crown may symbolize the illegitimacy of Jean’s divinity.
Once proclaimed the Prophet King, Jean’s image was everywhere. Posters and framed pictures showed a black-and-white headshot on a red field with a yellow crown of thorns. It screamed revolutionary iconography, evoking Che Guevara or Mao. Have fun with the semiotics in this production.

Final Thoughts

Bard SummerScape’s “Le Prophète” was a success and worth the time investment. Who knows when the next opportunity to see it will be? The Fisher Center campus is a treat unto itself, where nature and art meet to form something magical.

There are some disturbing and possibly triggering moments and some that may offend the devout. Berthe’s rape happens on stage, with Oberthal pushing her onto his desk and violating her.

The heavy use of the cross in a critique of religious fanaticism and the sacrificial death of Jean (a false messiah) may be off-putting to some.

The political statement isn’t nuanced. America, with its Christian Nationalists and their desire to impose their will upon the people, cannot be missed. Perhaps, were the political climate different, nothing would need to be said except that the story may be a warning should things make a theocratic turn. Now faced with extremists and an easily swayed populace (not just in the U.S.), the hypothetical is becoming increasingly real. Operas like “Le Prophète” hold up a shockingly accurate mirror of what happens when critical thinking goes out the window.