Photo credit: Raftermen

“Toi toi toi, y’all,” intones the attractive, Southern-inflected t-shirt at The Atlanta Opera’s pop-up gift shop. An apt tagline for a company having outgrown regional status, still honoring its roots in this de facto capital of the American South. Like Atlanta—now the sixth most populous metropolitan area in the United States, having recently edged past Philadelphia and Washington, DC—The Atlanta Opera (TAO) thrives in the 2020s. Newly inducted by Opera America into the exclusive tier of “budget one” opera houses, during an era of classical music organizations shrinking and even shuttering, TAO grows, completing the last eight seasons in fiscal surplus. Few companies find the means to produce video robustly; TAO pivoted to video of outdoor productions during the pandemic and continues with its Film Studio—the auditorium at Cobb Energy Performing Arts Center resembles the Metropolitan Opera on HDcast Saturdays, decked with TV cameras. The Film Studio allows not only for livestreams of performances, but robust advertising, para-production content, and scripted films—an hour’s worth of content preceded curtain for the “Midsummer” livestream. Visit the donor lounge, and pecunious grand dames of Atlanta jockey to have their photograph snapped with General Director Tomer Zvulun.

Money’s necessary, but not sufficient: what of interesting repertory? Who can afford to fully stage Wagner’s “Der Ring des Nibelungen” nowadays? Atlanta, apparently, while “America’s Bayreuth,” Seattle Opera, mounted a fantastic yet semi-staged “Das Rheingold,” and the Met shelved a “Ring” co-production, sunk by the Tories’ defenestration of English National Opera. 2024-25’s theme in Atlanta is the hero’s journey, anchored by the third “Ring” installment of “Siegfried,” on the heels of this April’s “Die Walküre,” and last year’s “Rheingold.” Innovative approaches undergird programming. After a conventionally positioned “La Bohème” this season, next brings “Bohème Project,” a performance run of Puccini’s tearjerker at a warehousey venue interlaced with its heir “Rent,” and updated to the COVID-19 era to pair with the AIDS pandemic of “Rent.” Classic rarities such as Joseph Bologne’s “The Amorous Lover,” and contemporary works alike appeared in recent seasons, especially operas on Mark Campbell’s libretti: Paul Moravec’s “The Shining” to open 2023-24, Mason Bates’ “The Revolution of Steve Jobs,” and Laura Kaminsky’s “As One” (with Kimberly Reed), a story of a transgender woman’s transition. Nor does TAO neglect cherished legacy repertory populating the murky middle between top-20 performance frequency and rarity, as next season TAO stages Verdi’s early thriller “Macbeth” and Handel’s magnificent but less-performed genre-bender, “Semele.”

Casts mix up-and-comers with established national and international singers. Plentiful ticketholders younger than fifty populate the lobby and ham at the selfie station. Concessions resemble a movie theater’s, and Cobb Energy PAC opened in the late 2000s but still looks new. In every respect The Atlanta Opera appears to be hitting on all cylinders.

While These Visions Did Appear

In this context we encounter a glittering original staging of Benjamin Britten’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” (1960) a co-production with Cincinnati Opera. (Reviewer attended performances on both 2 and 5 March 2024). Perhaps excepting “Peter Grimes,” Britten dwells in the penumbra of North American standard repertory, neither overworn nor truly rare, and this programming choice coinciding with TAO’s celebration of its new A-level status proved felicitous. Shakespeare sells, giving the audience a point of connection beyond the opera house. “Midsummer” offers a more beautiful score than Britten’s “Billy Budd,” a grander scope than his “Turn of the Screw,” and much funnier comic relief than his lengthier and often tedious “Albert Herring.” While the composer sometimes tends towards frustratingly talky scenes, “Midsummer” features just enough legato singing to keep old school opera fans happy, undergirded by keenly varied orchestration that sounds filmic, aiding accessibility for opera newbs as well. (TAO bussed in dozens of high school students for the dress rehearsal). The work made its way from Britain to the United States immediately, bowing at San Francisco Opera (1961) sixteen months after Aldeburgh.

Too, Britten makes accessible the drama. Decades ago, the Met’s Texaco Opera Quiz sometimes recycled a question, about which operas based on Shakespeare, if any, rivaled the antecedent stage play in quality. This granted panelists an opportunity to genuflect ritualistically before Verdi and Boito, or possibly Verdi and Piave, before a snobbish dismissal of other Shaxy operas ensued. Whisper it, but Britten’s opera on his libretto with Peter Pears does achieve certain upgrades on the Bard. Chiefly, it slows the firehose of text in which Shakespeare’s comedies soak the listener. Each of Oberon’s spells forms a set piece, resulting in the plot unfolding more comprehensibly than in the play, whose Act one Britten dispenses with entirely. The symmetrical fifty-minute acts contour the story into a pleasing journey over a Freytag’s triangle of rising conflict and resolution, peaking in Act two. Necessarily, you lose some Shakespearean depth, especially where the Mechanicals and social class, and the reduced roles of Hippolyta and Theseus are concerned. But overall, Britten and Pears gave us one of the best adaptations of Shakespeare in several centuries of opera.

Through the House Give Glimm’ring Light

Britten’s “Midsummer” concerns itself with, above all else, the fallibility of human sense perception. Steven Kemp’s set design, in concert with Zvulun’s production direction and Bruno Baker’s stage direction, physicalized the dreamy dimensions of the drama and consistently kept the human characters on their heels. The Escher-eqsue set, of platforms and bridges, echoing Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, worked best for Act three when the Mechanicals treated us to “Pyramus and Thisby,” the play-within-a-play, but it also contributed to pervasive dislocation and confusion. Surrounding this Shakespearean jungle gym, Nicholas Hussong and Jamie Godwin’s projections conjured the magical forest outside Athens with greens and blues and made epigrams of select lines in the libretto (more on that later). Thomas Hase’s lighting design reinforced the oneirophrenic effects, at least the staging lighting. The prop lighting worked but seemed a little clichéd—Oberon wielded a white lightsaber, and a large sphere suggesting a full moon cycled through a Wieland Wagneresque series of colors and moods. We’ve seen very similar recently—the long arm of Phelim McDermott’s staging of Glass’ “Akhnaten” seems inescapable for the time being; when the children’s chorus of fairies entered the house aisles armed with lucent globes, my seat partner quipped “the Akhnettes!”

Erik Teague’s costume design and Melanie Steele’s wigs and makeup mesmerized. Worth the price of admission alone was Rehanna Thelwell’s backless, bejeweled royal blue evening gown for Hippolyta, with encrusted matching boots. The Mechanicals were outfitted in a bourgeois thriftstore aesthetic, led by Andrew Potter’s purple velvet suit as Quince, and Kevin Burdette’s Waffle House-yellow and brown checkered suit, crowned by his illuminated donkey cranium in Act two. Among the lovers, Luke Sutliff’s Demetrius wore a hoodie befitting a software engineer, and Kameron’s Lopreore‘s Lysander a rugby shirt and preppily waist-cinched sweater. Susanne Burgess’ Helena revived a smart plaid “Clueless” pencil dress, a bubblegum turtleneck and an insolent tight ponytail, while Melody Wilson’s adorably clothed Hermia channeled an adult Alice in Wonderland in a proto-Cottagecore mode, with a hairband, a pillbox handbag, and “Almost Famous” sunglasses. The royal faeries delighted the eye. Liv Redpath’s Titania was decked in a blood-red floral gown and vegetation about her person, and Iestyn Davies’ Oberon, adorned in a technicolor dreamcoat of sorts, gave nothing less than David Bowie.

But Room, Fairies. Here Comes Oberon!

Opera, however, is about singing most of all, and the cast excelled from leads through supporting roles. Iestyn Davies qualifies as one of the best countertenors on the planet. Many male sopranos suffer from similar vocal challenges as do female sopranos—strong top, unfocused middle, weak low register. Not Davies, whose meaty countertenor sound presents connected registers and a robust middle range, carrying into the house powerfully. If you’re frustrated with off-the-body countertenor sounds more appropriate for lessons and carols than opera, Davies is the antidote. With each spell, his vocalism created a supernatural air. He calibrated well his understated acting; soft-playing his manipulation of the others enhances Oberon’s creepiness—the evening’s hijinks land even weirder if his trick on Titania forms part of some screwy quotidian gameplay in their marriage. Liv Redpath’s Titania sounded heartrendingly beautiful with every utterance. Of leggiero weight at most, her Oscar in the Met’s “Un Ballo in Maschera” last fall got partially swallowed by that unreasonably cavernous space, but in Cobb Energy’s manageable 2400-seat confines, she embraced the hall with a golden, streaming top with effortless sounding spin. She tossed off coloratura runs as though speaking. Convincing in her affections for Bottom’s metamorphosed donkey, she also communicated tenderness with the fairy juveniles. Alone in receiving amplification—a little jarring given speaker placement—Meg Marino embodied the spoken role of Puck with appropriate impishness and body language à la Peter Pan, flanked by a double and helmeted with a WWI gas mask for scenes in which Puck handles erotic hazmats for Oberon. Bailey Jo Harbaugh worked overtime in the mute dancing role of Puck’s Shadow.

The magical effects intensified at Act three’s opening, when hazy projected closeups of Titania’s face in orgasmic reverie were followed by her caresses of Bottom in asinine form, accompanied by lush orchestration reminiscent of Britten’s “Four Sea Interludes” from “Peter Grimes.” Puck removed diaphanous shrouds atop the sleeping Titania, Bottom, and the four lovers—the play and the opera both explore the close relationship between sleep and death—and Puck’s announced the lark, a nice contrast with “Romeo and Juliette,” in which day’s lark brings death, not life. The projections repeatedly underscored particular lines in the libretto, excerpting them from the supertitles in 108-point font, frequently pronouncements by Puck, and Oberon, especially the fairy king’s spells. This gave the force of linguistic performativity (making something happen merely by saying it) to the humans’ incantations that were afforded these projections too, among them “mine own and not my own” in the lovers’ waking duet, and in Hermia and Lysander’s vows of love in Act one.

I Swear to Thee by Cupid’s Strongest Bow

Oberon’s manipulatees, the lovers, formed a uniformly strong quartet vocally and managed admirably their exhausting stage business, running about the multilevel set and sometimes assaulting each other, all while counting and signing Britten’s complicated score. “Midsummer” doesn’t exactly feature arias or numbers per se, but at the prima, audience interrupted to applaud their Act three waking quartet. Tenor Kameron Lopreore, representing TAO’s young artists studio, already sounds unlike a young artist, with a powerful ringing top and a baritenor weight that will compel casting directors elsewhere to salivate. His sometimes foe, Demetrius, arrived with Luke Sutliff’s strong baritone, of burnished walnut timbre. Their “swords” formed the least effective bit of staging, letter openers really. The short steel did nothing to lessen the menace of Act two’s staging, roughing up soprano Susanne Burgess’ Helena moderately and absolutely rag-dolling mezzo-soprano Melody Wilson as Hermia, whom the men variably restrained, tossed, choked, and held a blade to her throat. The women negotiated this with flying colors, and their contrasting voices and physiques abetted the drama. Burgess’ pleasant soprano cuts with a sharp edge and a quick vibrato. Her height augmented the catfight where she insults Hermia, calling her “puppet” and “low.” Though Wilson’s petite, her voice is anything but, and Britten’s score featured her customary warmth, bloomy top and mahogany chest voice. Her skill in acting served as the glue for the scenes with the four lovers, and she sang beautifully despite working the most calisthenic evening, outside of Puck. Well-fleshed out, the four lovers ground the whole work, and the romantic criss-cross plays more interestingly than in, say, Mozart’s “Così Fan Tutte.”

This is the Silliest Stuff I Have Ever Heard

A decade before Monty Python, Britten fashioned Shakespeare’s sextet of Mechanicals into a similarly absurdist troupe that somehow functions less annoyingly than it ought. They occupy a lot of stage time in all three acts, staggered with the fairy world, and their vocals lean less operatic and more towards character patter. Putting an exclamation point on luxury casting, veteran bel canto tenor Barry Banks essayed Flute, as a jump-in. You may have enjoyed him in any number of Rossini roles lo these decades, but you really haven’t seen Banks until you’ve experienced him in drag, adjusting his halter top and waving an inside-out lavender parasol. His physical comedy worked with every gesture, through the last thud atop Pyramus’ (Bottom’s) waiting corpse. He navigated Thisby’s (Flute’s) ludicrous staccato runs in her death scene with aplomb. Even more impressive was bass Kevin Burdette’s Bottom. If Davies reminded of David Bowie, Burdette’s dome and hat, threads, and gestural language echoed Michael Stipe. Burdette increased his nasality when playing the donkey, and offered a lightly gravelly, Broadway-adjacent sound that worked perfectly in the role. His kooky chemistry with Titania trumped hers with Oberon—wouldn’t you enjoy the queen of the fairies massaging your scalp?  His third act soliloquy “When my cue comes, call me” displayed dramatic and musical range. Bottom and Flute enjoyed the aid of a straight man, basso profundo Andrew Potter, who provided a steady floor for the group in ensemble. Rounding out the sextet of goofuses, tenor Wayd Odle’s Snout, bass-baritone Andrew Gilstrap’s Starveling, and bass-baritone Jason Zacher’s Snug all added comedic moments, especially Odle’s performance of an anthropomorphized wall dividing Burdette and Banks as the pining Pyramus and Thisby.

No Epilogue, I Pray You

Burdette had opened the show spotlit and seated in a house left box, eventually nodding off and falling floorward. The show’s fluid fourth wall encroached on the auditorium in Act three as well, installing the lovers in two house right, one above the other, and Hippolyta and Theseus house left, all viewing “Pyramus and Thisby,” along with audience, and us watching them watch. Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, provides the funniest portion of the Mechanicals’ comically performed tragedy, intermittently throwing shade at the performance. Mezzo-soprano Rehanna Thelwell exuded rich, warm voice both singing and speaking, radiating like the queen of the universe in that blue gown. She nailed all of Hippolyta’s zingers—“I am weary of this moon”—speaking to the fatigue audience might experience as “Pyramus and Thisby” elapses. But as the metadrama closes, when Hippolyta beseeches “no epilogue, I pray you,” she satirizes Britten himself, inasmuch as “Pyramus and Thisby” functions as epilogue to the “Midsummer” story.

Duke Theseus knows how to host a party. With a booming, declamatory sound, Bass Cory McGee ably painted the Duke as jolly, pompous but affable. Theseus and Hippolyta shared a ostentatiously amorous moment in their box as the lovers also commentated on the play. When everyone departed, Bottom returned to the darkened threshold, implying he may have dreamed the whole diegesis, and the one nested inside it. The Faeries’ serene outro “Now until the break of day” closed the show with a last chance for Oberon and Titania to blend vocally, and some of the loveliest orchestration in the score. Maestro Louis Lohraseb negotiated this large cast and the differing musical languages of the Fairies, the Athenians, and the Mechanicals, giving so many principals and sections chances to stand out in Britten’s score, especially percussion, and coaxing textured strings, especially in all those strange moments with glissandos, and mutes.

Trip Away, Make No Stay

TAO’s successful production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” demonstrated the depth of the piece and Britten and Pears’ thorough achievement in distilling the play. The production design and musicianship reinforced the thesis that sense perception reliably tricks us, more so when under the influence of Eros. It’s a difficult opera to cast, with more roles even than “Das Rheingold,” and the singers formed a superb ensemble with a wide range of tenures in opera. A long overdue practice accompanied the curtain call, announcing the performers on the supertitle screen as they bowed. Lots of details at The Atlanta Opera impress. Opera is in rude health in the Peach State. Toi toi toi, y’all.