(Photo Credit: Karen Almond / Met Opera)

Antony and Cleopatra. The two icons have long been mythologized throughout history, their story captured in theater, cinema, and even the opera. In fact, the story of the lovers is forever linked to the Metropolitan Opera and its new house. And unfortunately, it isn’t always a heroic story.

To this day, we hear more stories about the shortcomings of Franco Zeffirelli’s production of Samuel Barber’s opera than the opera itself, which has essentially been forgotten from the repertory. If it had been anywhere near a success, it is unlikely that on May 12, 2025, the Met would not be premiering another “Antony and Cleopatra,” this time by John Adams, opera’s historian. Adams has long mythologized major historical figures and mined their circumstances for operatic gold. We got this with “Nixon in China,” “Dr. Atomic,” and, despite its controversies, “Death of Klinghoffer.” Even “El Niño,” regardless of individual beliefs, fits this mold. “Antony and Cleopatra” would seem tailor-made for Adams with its mix of history and mythology.

But unfortunately, this “Antony and Cleopatra,” which premiered in San Francisco in 2022 and Barcelona in 2023, found no more success than that very first one that opened the new Metropolitan Opera in 1966.

Not Quite Shakespearean

While the libretto is credited as an adaptation from Shakespeare with the addition of other classical texts, the opera itself never feels like it ascends to those lofty heights.

The first problem area is the libretto itself. Antony and Cleopatra start the opera intoxicated by one another until Antony is called home to Rome due to the death of his wife. He heads home then makes a pact with Caesar to marry his sister Octavia. He doesn’t think twice about the arrangement. No consideration for Cleopatra. No doubts about his own feelings in the matter. He just goes for it. When Cleopatra finds out, she’s understandably angry. But that rage subsides because in the ensuing scene, Antony decides that he is unhappy in Greece with Octavia and will run back to Cleopatra. We find out the news from Caesar who is rightfully angry at the betrayal and doubly so when he finds out his sister is with child. Then we go back to Egypt where Antony and Cleopatra prepare for war and the famed Battle of Actium. Cleopatra abandons Antony and he loses, cursing his love for her in the process.

And this is just part one. The real issue here is how the opera seems more interested in plot over characterization. Characters spend a lot of time in overly heightened states of frenzy or anger. War is at the climax of the first half, but there’s little room for nuance, for doubt, for even a reconciliation between Antony and Cleopatra. She’s angry in one moment and torturing the messenger and the next time we see her, all is well between her and Antony. All of this off-stage action blunts the dramatic impact in the second half. Since we never get much time to truly engage with Antony and Cleopatra’s love outside of their lust for one another, their sudden desperation at losing one another in the final hour of the opera doesn’t register in the least. Seeing them reconcile instead of hearing it from Caesar would have made a world of difference emotionally for the opera. Seeing them struggle through betrayal and find a way to make peace with that would have allowed for some intense drama and a true love duet. Hearing it from Caesar and his perspective has the effect making Antony come off as fickle. Speaking of which, it also doesn’t help that the first scene of the second half sees Cleopatra seemingly betray Antony, prompting him to pummel her around like an abusive husband. There isn’t even room for a dialogue between the two here. The titular hero is supercharged for violence throughout the opera with nary a moment for vulnerability or even tenderness and by the time we get some semblance of that in his death scene, it isn’t enough. Moreover, that entire scene shows him pathetically fails at his own suicide attempt, turning Antony into a remarkable failure of a man that is impossible to pity. As a result, Cleopatra’s extensive brooding over him in her final moments ring rather hollow and long-winded. Our ability to feel for these characters thus renders the overall experience like a flat procedural. We know we’re supposed to feel for them, but nothing in the opera actually earns those emotions from the viewer / listener.

Dull Hammerblows

But perhaps the biggest culprit for the opera’s overall dullness is Adams the composer. Despite the weaknesses of the libretto, a great composer can do so much to add depth and unseen layers to the experience. Adams is a great composer. “Dr. Atomic” says so. “Nixon in China” makes an even bigger case for his operatic brilliance. “Antony and Cleopatra” is nowhere near that level. The music lacks in variety and feels like it is pummeling the listener into submission throughout its first half. The fact that the characters feel so one-note is thanks to the music and repetitive vocal writing. With the exception of Octavia, who gets some brief lyrical lines, the other major characters are just barking out recitative. It’s difficult to identify a vocal language to differentiate them. The orchestration presumably does this, but it essentially feels like ostinato variations on loop. The orchestral transitions fare best with some room for expansion and, shockingly, hints of melody, with the greatest exponent being the transition before the Battle of Actium with its hints of “Ring Cycle” Wagner. Enobarbus gets a couple of monologues that slow down the musical propulsion, but the overall shape of his lines lacks in melodic identity. The greatest frustration comes right before Antony and Cleopatra head to battle at the end of Act one. For a moment, it seems that we might finally get a lyrical duet between the two, a moment of tenderness, of longing, of passion to contrast with the teenage horniness we’ve otherwise witnessed. But it’s fleeting. It doesn’t develop into much of anything. Intellectually I might be on board with explaining it as a symbol of “their love isn’t meant to last,” but emotionally, it is completely vacuous and a massive missed opportunity for emotional engagement with the audience.

The second half of the opera is less obstinate orchestral hammering and more airiness. The sense of redundancy, however, doesn’t change all that much, mainly in part because a structural repetition settles in. After a tense scene in which Antony thinks Cleopatra has betrayed him and he abuses her and Agrippa for kissing her hand, we get a parade of monologues. First Caesar seizes control in a scene reminiscent of a fascist military celebration. Then Antony gets his lamentable death scene, interrupted briefly by appearances from Cleopatra’s attendants, one giving him fake news about her suicide in a strange attempt to get his attention and the other reversing course after he’s dealt his killing blow to himself.  The music allows Antony some much needed lyricism, but it is a case of too little too late. Cleopatra gets a brief moment to lament Antony. Then the newly-minted Augustus Caesar hears of Antony death and laments it. And then Cleopatra gets a lengthy death scene. Somewhere in there, Enobarbus also gets a monologue. Contrast is a rarity in this musical tapestry and the opera feels overlong and weighed down by it as a result. Less than 24 hours later, I can’t recall the music so much as the impression it created. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a positive one.

One might argue that Adams’ intent here is to create theater through the music with the pretense of opera essentially dropped altogether. In this context, the text comes first and the music is simply a complement, and accompaniment. Again, the libretto falters because, while the language is, well, Shakespeare, the characterizations, as noted,  are lacking in depth as portrayed here. The production is thus relied upon to do some of the heavy lifting. And it is also a mixed bag.

Cinema & Fascism

The production, set in the 1930s and the rise of fascism, and directed by Elkhanah Pulitzer, does the characterizations no favors. Cleopatra is personified as a silent cinema diva while Caesar is a fascist in waiting and Antony is kind of caught in between. Given the preponderance of silent movies during this period, the production makes major use of projections and videos, often to emphasize the military parades. In some instances, Cleopatra dominates the screen like the cinematic goddess that she is showcased to be. Cleopatra gets a wide array of wardrobe changes to emphasize her imperial presence and Antony, while he gets some variety early on, loses that flashiness as the story proceeds. Meanwhile, Caesar looks more and more like the militaristic leader he develops into while his soldiers, led by Agrippa are clothed in black uniforms. The parallels are pretty obvious.

The production is versatile in how it transitions from moment to moment and certainly provides the visual highlight of the evening. But even then, the acoustic were rather questionable. Throughout the night, it sounded as if the singers were being amplified depending on where they were standing. In other moments, the sound came through unimpeded, but the inconsistency dulled the experience and made me question if there was some sort of amplification being used to aid the singers along. That’s not how you want to experience an opera at the Met.

Shining Amidst the Darkness

If there’s anyone who elevated the performance, it was the stars of the show themselves. As Cleopatra and Antony, Julia Bullock and Gerald Finley gave their all. Their chemistry was irresistible,e and even if I felt that the direction was one note in terms of the portrayal of their love, the way they touched each other, kissed each other, looked at each other was sensuality embodied. But the scene where Antony attacks her was visceral in its impact and showcased tremendous trust in one another.

They matched this intensity throughout, with Bullock’s particularly incendiary when she finds out Antony has married Octavia. She charged about the stage, beating Brenton Ryan’s Eros to a pulp, her singing aggressive and pointed. Every last word was cleanly delivered, making the surtitles a mere novelty. During the brief “duet” prior to the battle of Actium, there was a more sultry quality to her singing, matched with a similar charge by Finley’s bass-baritone. As she held the dying Antony in her arms, her voice took on a gentler quality, allowing for the horrified scream to shock the listener out of her reassuring calm. While the majority of the role is written in the middle voice, where Bullock is at her most clear and controlled, the final scene features several ascensions into the soprano stratosphere. Bullock’s voice sounds pinched and lacking in fullness up there. It emphasized Cleopatra’s horrified state, but never quite felt as confident or connected as the rest of her vocal performance. Nonetheless, it was impossible to look away from the violence she displays in her final confrontation with Agrippa, and the fierce resignation in her final moments. Few artists on the opera stage have the committed and alluring stage presence Bullock has, and her ability to shine amidst a work of questionable quality is a testament to her artistry.

The same goes for Finley. He hit all the notes as Antony, portraying him as an angry, violent, and lustful warlord. His voice was robust and virile throughout, every line clean and clear. He was at his most riveting as he beat Agrippa to a pulp, with Finley able to showcase Antony unraveling before our eyes, the fallen hero growing increasingly pathetic. When he makes his move to beat Cleopatra, he’s lost us for good. But Finley somehow managed to infuse some dignity and contrast during the opening of his death scene, the voice more gentle, the line more agile and longing. It doesn’t solve the issues inherent in the libretto, but at the very least, you could feel Finley doing his utmost to express Antony’s pain and regret.

Paul Appleby’s tenor trumpeted its way through Caesar’s declamatory music. He was the one most hindered by the production’s strange acoustics during his big Act two monologue. That he never felt like a true powerhouse often came down to the orchestra overpowering him with the busy orchestration. Still, he did manage to find a moment to portray a slight sense of loss when he heard that Antony was dead.

Jarrett Ott was tremendous as Agrippa, showcasing a roundness of sound. His sense of poise throughout gave way to a momentary weakness as Cleopatra seduces him in one of the opera’s most remarkable moments.

Allowed some breadth of line in his solo lines, Alfred Walker displayed an amble bass-baritone. The same goes for Elizabeth DeShong, whose Octavia unfortunately gets a short shift, and spends most of the time lamenting her circumstances. Still, DeShong, as always, displayed a gorgeous vocal line that had you wanting to hear more of her.

Taylor Raven displayed a potent mezzo-soprano as Charmian, while Brenton Ryan, the punching bag for Cleopatra, struck an empathetic figure as the messenger Eros. The remaining cast members, John Hancock as Lepidus, Michael Adams as Scarus, and Eve Giglioti as Iras, were solid in their brief moments.

Conducting his own score, Adams didn’t quite strike a strong balance between stage and pit. There were notable moments where the orchestra’s business detracted from the singers, even overpowering them in moments. The strange acoustics didn’t help matters. Nonetheless, there were beautiful moments as well, notably the passage preceding the Battle of Actium.

On paper, this should have been a slam dunk. A legendary composer adapting a classic text from arguably the greatest writer of all time, with a cast to suit the characters to perfection. But alas, while some pieces of the puzzle fit more than perfectly, the main ones necessary for great opera, notably a solid libretto and great music, were almost completely absent.