
Opéra National de Paris 2025 Review: Castor et Pollux
By João Marcos Copertino(Photo: Vincent Pontent)
Few operas have a more melancholic plot than this one: two brothers, twins with different fathers– one must die so the other can live. The twist? The brother destined to die happens to be immortal. In the end, they are forever united in the sky. Rameau’s “Castor et Pollux” is one of history’s great musical triumphs, and its enduring success is tied to its deeply poignant and uniquely discomforting narrative. This is a tale of fraternal love and sacrifice that transcends time.
Sometimes, I miss a premiere and have to attend a subsequent performance. Typically, this is just a slight inconvenience—missing the excitement of an opening night. However, missing the debut of “Castor et Pollux” meant arriving at a scene already consumed by controversy: reviews were mixed, Jeanine De Bique’s social media post had sparked heated discussion, and Peter Sellars’ interview hyped the production as a commentary on war and its resolution. My expectations were both sky-high and cautiously low. Ultimately, while imperfect, this production proved to be a work of great artistry.
In a world where mere competence often suffices, true artistry feels rare and elusive. Great art is not necessarily immaculate—there’s seldom room for perfection—but what distinguishes it is its ability to engage with themes larger than life. Not everyone on this stage embodied great artistry, and the staging itself had its flaws—omissions I would be remiss not to address. However, the production was brimming with ambition. It captured Rameau’s vision and underlined the profound significance of his work. It exuded confidence, demonstrating that these artists had the means and understanding to aim for the stars.
Peter Sellars has endured a few recent artistic lows, producing two of the least compelling operatic productions I’ve ever seen—a dreary “The Gambler” and “Beatrice di Tenda,” featuring iron toilet seats as its most memorable visual. With “Castor,” Sellars seems to have returned to form. His enthusiasm for the opera, especially the 1737 version, is palpable. Even his overwrought, frenetic program notes capture his excitement.
At his best, Sellars draws unexpected connections, creating cohesive links between disparate elements. In “Castor,” he juxtaposes Rameau’s mournful music with the fluidity of modern breakdancing. The action is set in a suburban apartment in an implied wartime era, though the specifics are unclear. The stark furniture contrasts with high-definition projections of celestial imagery and industrial factories. This aesthetic, reminiscent of his “Tristan und Isolde” with Bill Viola, struck me as effective and visually striking.
Yet, the scenic narration is muddled. The promised commentary on contemporary conflicts instead feels like a modern-day transposition of mythological tragedy with occasional gestures toward racial reflection—territory Sellars navigated more successfully in his celebrated “Don Giovanni.”
Still, the insistence on connecting the opera to an urban, contemporary setting yields more rewards than losses. Why not explore timeless themes within the context of everyday life?
The prologue is decipherable only with a synopsis, and even attentive viewers might struggle to grasp the meaning of Pollux’s journey to the underworld. The ambiguous ending—whether happy or tragic—left me focusing on the music and dancing rather than the plot’s resolution.
And what dancing it was! Cal Hunt’s breakdancing choreography was exceptional. While Baroque music has met urban dance before, rarely has it done so with such quality. Breakdancing is typically noisy, but these dancers performed with a quiet precision that harmonized with Teodor Currentzis’ preference for subtle dynamics. Their movements became both part of the action and a reaction to the music, creating an interdependent relationship with Rameau’s score. It was not merely dance to the music but an organic creation within it.
It is a bit ironic—to say the least— how a staging that claims to be about “how to end a war” is musically directed by Teodor Currentzis. I personally am always extremely impressed by his musicianship and love the unorthodox way he conducts—especially his tempi and quiet dynamics. Still, his great musicianship does not erase the world.
Currentzis’s talents are indissociable from the performance of his musicians. While the conductor often imposes the most drastic tempi and quietest dynamics, the execution is possible only because of the amazing Utopia orchestra and choir. They sing everything quietly, showcasing the maximum control of breath and phrasing. Some orchestral and choral textures are so smooth that they languidly flow like cream into our ears. While most historically informed groups performing “Castor” would still preserve some rustiness, Utopia and Currentzis do everything without any friction. Some moments are just perfection itself: the chorus singing “qu’Hébé de fleurs” had the most compelling phrasing inflections ever.
Some might not enjoy such sonority—especially if we recall that we are in the town where Les Arts Florssiants and Pygmalion reign. However, it is not necessarily a matter of who is better, but of where in the universe of historically informed music the most interesting and subtle artistic possibilities are being explored.

(Photo : Vincent PONTET)
In Jeanine De Bique, Currentzis found a realization of his artistic aspirations for the role of Télaïre. A common collaborator of his, De Bique, when singing in pianissimo, displays what might be one of the most beautiful voices that one can ever hear: delicate, but still full of colors and medium harmonics, De Bique does not sound like the common light soprano. There are issues regarding vocal projection, though, especially in the acoustic conditions of Palais Garnier. I have had the privilege of listening to De Bique in a few different halls, and indeed her voice struggles to project a bit more in this hall than in others. I am no acoustician and therefore do not know exactly why; at least this time, in any event, she was with Currentzis on the podium, who seemed to understand her musicianship very well.
At her best, De Bique fully synchronized her physical movements with a sense that music, through her voice, can change death itself. In the memorable “Tristes Apprêts,” she arched her arms in a posture not unlike Lorraine Hunt in Sellars’ “Theodora;” her voice quietly moved into a solemn, elegiac phrasing, and the more her arms arched, the body of Castor as an act of magic, seemed to become manifest—as if Télaïre’s sorrow could serve as a Lazarus call. I found her even better when singing “Voici des Dieux” following a breath-taking on-stage flute solo. And she seemed to be having the time of her life singing “Brillez, astres nouveaux,” where she sacrificed a bit of her vocal colors in the name of tonality, showcasing a brighter sonority.
On the so-called issue of French pronunciation: the diva has written a few things on social media. It was my understanding that her indictment of critics had less to do with professional critics and more with social media or the commentary of colleagues. It is hard to say, however, especially because it seems to me that the social media posting served its ostensible purpose of promoting engagement in a medium that lives, not in the substance of what is said, but in the more or less vapid economy of attention.
The reaction to her singing took shape in a particular context. Rameau’s works—like Charpentier’s and Lully’s—are often performed in France with singers who—regardless of their nationality—hew closely to the vernacularity of the language in a way that is uncommon in other operatic periods. I have seen in that same opera house singers—especially in performances of the nineteenth-century repertoire—mangle the French and Italian languages to much applause. But the baroque affair is different: there is a unique expectation of comprehensibility. Most singers so far, then, emphasize their consonantal sounds, often at the loss of certain vocal beauty. It happens that De Bique has a beautiful voice and has been musically unapologetic about it, and it also happens that she softened her consonants in order to achieve a more delicate phrasing—though her vowels, to my knowledge were well-shaped. At the same time, most of De Bique’s stage peers seemed to partake of the more consonantal-focused school, with none of them sharing her vocal qualities. Aside from spelling out that context, everything that can have been said has already said—by her, by her critics, or by the comment sections of the week’s various Instagram and Facebook posts.
A student of a different vocal school, Marc Mauillon sang Pollux with less graciousness than expected. His tenor voice is rich with that nasal tonality very typical of French hautecontre. Although his instrument is not of the kind I feel most enthusiastic about, Mauillon is usually a very good singer, who shows particular attention to the text and its potential for lyricism. In this “Castor,” he seemed more than usual to be as if on autopilot. In such a long opera, I am able to recall beautiful phrasing from all of the musicians from the cast—including even those in the smaller parts—except him. His voice sounded solid, and his singing was solid. But dramaturgically, the character’s motivations—its journey towards a selfless decision, for example—felt a bit less intense than for anyone else.
In a significantly more graceful night, Reinoud Van Mechelen singing of Castor showed why he is such requested singer nowadays. It is not that anyone doubted Van Mechelen’s talents, but in this “Castor & Pollux” the singer proved himself by walking an extra mile beyond those talents. In “Séjour de l’eternelle paix,” he made the most refined phraseological inflexion—a diminuendo in the middle of the expanded vowels that made my spine freeze. There is no shortage of handsome voices in the hautecontre scenario nowadays, but still Van Mechelen manages now to distinguish himself with the right amount of nasality and a vibrato that walks that thin line between opera and tragic recitation. And, let’s be frank, in such repertoire Van Mechelen is currently matched only by his stage-mate Mauillon and by Cyrille Dubois.
Scenically, Van Mechelen has a physical presence that seems entirely proper for tragedy and honesty. There was a sense of somberness that made me wonder if Castor would be able to fight any war. His blank face, seen against the projection of the sideral constellations as he consoled Télaïre was certainly a visual moment that the audience took home in their hearts.
The always very striking Stéphanie d’Oustrac seemed to have a tough night singing the sorrowful Phébé. Perhaps the most seasoned singer on the stage, d’Oustrac has a unique charisma built on the deep alliance linking the scenic to her vocal expressiveness: few singers are so flexible as actors as she is. Aligned to that, she has one of the loudest voices in her fach. That said, Phébé exposed her to some small problematic areas. For once, the coloratura passages, especially under Currentzis’s drastic tempi, sounded a bit mushy and imprecise. Her scene descending to the Hades was solid (“Sortez d’escalvage”), though not thrilling.
Perhaps one of the greatest surprises of the night was Laurence Kilsby, both in the prologue and in his scenes as Jupiter’s devotee. Kilsby has been around for more than a while—singing in smaller, but lyrically enriching roles on many stages. Still, it seems that in this Rameau he at last managed properly to envelop his vocal skills. He is a light tenor whose vocal purity relies on different means from those of his peers, allowing him to play more with his vocal beauty. There is a sense of freshness in his sustained notes that was unmatched by any other singer of the male cast.
Another happy surprise was the gorgeous work of Natalia Smirnova singing the role of a happy spirit. I was so impressed by her smooth tone and piercing voice—so close to the musical sonority that Currentzis promotes with his own musical group—that I went to search for more of what she has sung. So far, her YouTube print is more regarding her jazz work than anything else—proving that she not only has a extremely fresh operatic voice, but also range.
Nicholas Newton was extraordinarily sober and graceful when singing the role of Jupiter, with a commanding voice and exciting phrasing. Also exciting was the work of Claire Antoine showing her crystal-clear coloratura.
At least for me, it is hard to not be impressed with this “Castor et Pollux” production. Against all odds, it showcases great musicianship, dance, and an ambitious artistic project that, though confused, never appears to be pedantic or pretentious. It might be that Rameau’s music is just that good, that Currentzis’s Utopia is just that extraordinary, and the dancers are just that impressive. Nevertheless, one cannot leave Palais Garnier without a small dose of skepticism. “Castor et Pollux’s” message is intimately connected with the idea of self-sacrifice and altruism, but is that really possible amid such indulgent music?