This is a project I have wanted to do for a while, but it felt a bit self serving. However, since I have decided I want to formally peruse violin performance in a Master’s program I thought I would celebrate by finding out as much as I can about the 21st century violin music (an area I wish to focus on in my studies and maybe even write about in the future). To start with I thought I would post this wonderful concerto by the American Composer Mason Bates. I was unfamiliar with his work prior to coming across this concerto, but I will be sure to post more of his music in the future for I have truly enjoyed this work. The first movement has this wonderful post minimal style introduction followed by a wonderfully lyrical section (I love the way the violin sneaks in with the orchestra. it reminds me of the Bartok serenade for strings with this brief ambiguity of where the solo begins and the tutti ends) This is followed by this ramping of difficulty culminating with a nice syncopated dialog between the soloist and the orchestra, moving back to the lyrical melody echoed by both the orchestra and soloist, and culminating a held high note that marks the end of the first movement and beginning of the second which begins without a pause. The movement title evoke the evolution of the Bird beginning with Archaeopteryx, moving into Lakebed Memories, and culminating with The Rise of the Birds. I hope you enjoy this wonderful work
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (Mason Bates) - MET, 02/outubro/2025
Ópera legendada em português: vídeo; legenda.
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay é uma ópera contemporânea em dois atos, com música de Mason Bates e libreto de Gene Scheer, baseada no romance homônimo de Michael Chabon, vencedor do Prêmio Pulitzer. A obra teve sua estreia mundial em 2024 na Indiana University Jacobs School of Music.
Ambientada durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial, a narrativa acompanha dois primos judeus — o refugiado tcheco Joe Kavalier e o nova-iorquino Sam Clay — que criam um super-herói de histórias em quadrinhos, o Escapista, como forma de expressão artística e também como instrumento de engajamento político contra o nazismo. A ação se desenvolve em três planos distintos: a Praga ocupada pelos nazistas, a vibrante Nova York dos anos 1940 e o universo fantástico das histórias em quadrinhos criadas pelos protagonistas.
A partitura de Mason Bates é marcada por um estilo eclético que combina escrita orquestral tradicional com recursos eletrônicos, criando atmosferas musicais contrastantes para cada ambiente dramático. Elementos de jazz e big band evocam a energia urbana de Nova York, enquanto passagens mais sombrias retratam a opressão na Europa ocupada; já o mundo dos quadrinhos ganha cores sonoras próprias por meio da eletrônica.
Apesar de sua dimensão épica, esta ópera mantém foco nas experiências humanas centrais — amizade, amor, perda e sobrevivência — explorando como a criação artística pode servir tanto como escapismo quanto como resistência diante da violência e da intolerância. Ao abordar temas ligados ao Holocausto e à imigração, a obra constrói uma narrativa de esperança, resiliência e conexão humana, tornando-se ao mesmo tempo histórica e profundamente contemporânea.
Sinopse
Informações sobre esta produção
Master Key
Superconductor
Programas
Cast Sheet
Educational Guides: link1, link2, link3, link4.
(vídeo) The Making of
(vídeo) Top of the Empire State Building
(vídeo) “Imagine” (Act I duet)
(vídeo) Act I Finale
(vídeo) “Open Your Eyes” (Sun-Ly Pierce)
(vídeo) "Luna Moth" (from Act II)
(vídeo) Escapist Interlude (from Act I)
(vídeo) Radio Drama (from Act I)
(vídeo) Creating the Escapist (from Act I)
(vídeo) Audience Testimonials
(vídeo) Entrevista com Mark Grimmer and Jenny Melville
(vídeo) Debate na Pioneer Works
(vídeo) Debate na Streicker Cultural Center
(vídeo) WNYC and the New York Public Library
Personagens principais:
- Joe Kavalier: Jovem artista e mágico amador, refugiado de Praga, que busca salvar sua família do regime nazista enquanto cria histórias em quadrinhos.
- Sam Clay: Primo de Joe, escritor talentoso e espirituoso, que colabora na criação do Escapista e enfrenta conflitos ligados à sua identidade pessoal.
- Rosa Saks: Artista idealista que trabalha ajudando crianças judias a escapar da Europa; torna-se o grande interesse amoroso de Joe.
- Tracy Bacon: Ator carismático que interpreta o Escapista no rádio e se envolve romanticamente com Sam.
- Sarah Kavalier: Irmã mais nova de Joe, deixada em Praga, cuja presença permanece viva na memória e na imaginação do protagonista.
- Gerhard: Comandante da Gestapo que simboliza a opressão nazista e assombra Joe ao longo da obra.
- Sheldon Anapol: Empresário que aposta no talento de Joe e Sam, viabilizando o sucesso comercial de sua criação.
Sinopse:
Ato I
Nos primeiros dias da Segunda Guerra Mundial, Joe Kavalier foge de Praga, deixando para trás seus pais e sua irmã adolescente, Sarah, e chega ao Brooklyn para viver com seu primo Sam e sua tia Esther. Ele planeja ganhar dinheiro suficiente para trazer sua família para os Estados Unidos e escapar da ocupação alemã. Joe, um artista talentoso e também mágico amador e escapista, e Sam, um escritor espirituoso, criam um super-herói de histórias em quadrinhos para rivalizar com o Superman e usam suas histórias para incentivar os americanos a se juntarem à luta contra os nazistas. O chefe de Sam em uma empresa de brinquedos e novidades, Sr. Anapol, aposta neles e apoia o projeto. O Escapista se torna um sucesso, gerando até um programa de rádio. Ao assistir a uma transmissão, Joe e Sam conhecem Tracy Bacon, o ator que interpreta o Escapista. Joe também conhece Rosa, uma artista talentosa que trabalha para o Fundo Infantil Judaico, que transporta crianças refugiadas da Europa para os Estados Unidos em seu próprio navio, o Ark of Miriam. Joe e Rosa participam de uma exposição beneficente para o Fundo, onde Salvador Dalí entretém o público e Joe o ajuda a escapar de uma quase asfixia após o artista ficar preso em um capacete de mergulho. Joe e Rosa discutem a possibilidade de colocar Sarah no Ark of Miriam e, enquanto planejam o futuro, acabam se apaixonando. Em Praga, a mãe de Joe é capturada pelos alemães e enviada para um campo, e seu pai é levado em uma batida liderada pelo comandante da Gestapo, Gerhard, enquanto Sarah consegue escapar por pouco. O relacionamento entre Joe e Rosa floresce, e Rosa confirma a passagem de Sarah no Ark of Miriam. Enquanto isso, Sam e Tracy Bacon se apaixonam. Eles compartilham um jantar de Shabat com a mãe de Sam, brindando à chegada iminente do navio de Sarah em Nova York, e passam uma noite romântica no topo do Empire State Building, onde discutem o plano de pegar um trem para Hollywood. Ao descobrirem uma manchete de jornal informando que o Ark of Miriam foi afundado por torpedos alemães, correm para contar a Joe, que está se apresentando em um evento beneficente do Fundo Infantil Judaico. Eles fazem Rosa dar a notícia e, diante de um salão cheio de convidados, Joe tem um colapso.
Ato II
A deterioração mental de Joe continua, agravada pela notícia da morte de seus pais e de sua irmã. Escondido em um armazém, ele imagina um confronto surreal com Gerhard. Enquanto isso, Rosa não tem notícias de Joe há semanas e não consegue encontrá-lo. Seguindo uma pista, ela vai até o armazém e encontra um estúdio improvisado que Joe montou, mas que está destruído — sinal de seu estado mental conturbado. Rosa também encontra evidências de que Joe se alistou no exército e foi enviado para o front. Sam, por sua vez, participa de uma festa de despedida para Tracy, que também se alistou. A festa é exclusivamente gay e, quando é invadida pelo FBI, Sam se esconde enquanto os outros são presos. Um agente que permanece no local descobre Sam e o agride sexualmente. Rosa encontra Sam devastado, que só consegue dizer que acabou — convencido de que ficará sozinho pelo resto da vida. Rosa também está abalada: além do desaparecimento de Joe sem despedida, ela descobre que está grávida. Sam se oferece para se casar com ela e criar a criança como se fosse sua. Rosa aceita, e eles começam uma vida juntos, com Rosa assumindo o trabalho de Joe desenhando o Escapista — além de um novo personagem, Luna Moth, inspirado em uma história que Joe inventou para ela. Joe acaba em um campo de batalha na Europa, onde encontra Tracy. Tracy mostra a Joe uma carta de Sam pedindo que ele pare de escrever. Tracy se surpreende ao descobrir que Joe nunca abriu nenhuma das centenas de cartas que Rosa lhe enviou — se tivesse aberto, saberia que tem um filho. Tracy é morto, e Joe fica devastado por mais essa perda. Ele começa a abrir e ler as cartas de Rosa. Em uma delas, há um desenho de Luna Moth, que passa a aparecer para Joe e o guia para fora do campo de batalha até a casa em Long Island onde Rosa e Sam vivem. Do lado de fora da porta, Sarah aparece e dá a Joe o impulso final para retomar sua vida, levando-o a conhecer sua filha pequena, também chamada Sarah, e a se reunir com Rosa e Sam. Sam embarca em um trem rumo à Califórnia e pega sua caneta para começar a escrever As Incríveis Aventuras de Kavalier & Clay.
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay: Metropolitan Opera (New York, New York, USA) - October 11, 2025
TL; DR: A wonderfully performed and gorgeously designed production of an (understandably flawed) adaptation of a very complex and wonderful book. Most of my qualms are due to the fact that I *just* read the novel, and the second half of the opera deviated greatly plot-wise, even if the opera's adaptation makes sense for the (very resolution-filled) story it's trying to tell. Also, you all should go see the Met's cinema broadcast of the opera on January 24, because I want to hear everyone else's opinions!
It's been a while since I've had energy or reason to post an opera review, but I had a very opera-filled weekend exactly a month ago, so let's get back into this whole routine! (Per usual, posting this review quite late because life is busy; but, as these were both final performances of the shows in question, I feel minimal guilt.)
In anticipation of the Met's new production of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, I spent much of the past year slowly working my way through all 700 pages of Michael Chabon's novel about two Jewish cousins—Josef "Joe" Kavalier and Sammy Clay—in late 1930s Brooklyn, who attempt to galvanize the USA into action against Nazi Germany by creating the Escapist, a fascism-fighting comic book hero. I remember a bunch of my relatives enthusiastically reading the book when it was first published in 2000, although I myself was a little too young to have read it at that time. So it was great to have a solid reason to pick up Kav & Clay and read it, at long last; Chabon has such a densely lyrical writing style, and the plot itself is painfully beautiful, perhaps even more so in the current times we're living through. I am particularly grateful to the lovely @derring-do for fielding my excited screaming about this book throughout the course of my read-through, as well as for being amazingly good about avoiding plot spoilers despite all my screaming!
Given that @derring-do acted as a sounding board throughout my entire emotional journey through this story in novel form, I was so delighted that we were actually able to attend this opera together, and of course swap thoughts during intermissions and post-show! I overall thought there was a lot to really like about this opera, and I can totally understand why it was a tear-jerker for so many. My main gripe with the opera, other than the comparative weakness of its libretto, was that I LOVED the final third of the novel, and the opera drastically changed how that part of the plot played out, for reasons that may have been (somewhat) dramatically justifiable but which I still found frustrating. Many further thoughts on all of this below...
As a heads up, the below review contains major spoilers for the plots of both the novel and the opera. Content warnings also for Nazism, concentration camps, antisemitism, homophobia, sexual assault, and battlefield-related death.
Photo credit: Metropolitan Opera. Given that the opera itself cut the excellent moment in the book where the boys almost ditch Shelly Anapol for refusing to publish Joe's dynamically rendered comic book cover of the Escapist punching Hitler in the face, I'm glad the opera's visuals covered that base!
The Music
This was actually the second opera by Mason Bates that I'd seen, so I came into the opera having some sense of what the music might be like! Bates loves playing with rhythm and texture in his orchestrations, which I think really defines his sound as a composer. There's a lot of momentum to his chorus numbers especially, and I really enjoyed a lot of the choral moments in this opera, which is not something I can say about every composer out there! (For the record, the other Bates opera I've seen is The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs, and while I enjoyed a lot of the music in that opera as well, nothing is designed to make me emotionally tune out quicker than a 10-minute-long chorus on the launch of the iPhone.) I've heard that Bates has been getting some flak in reviews for the sheer consonance of his composition style, but the general sound honestly worked for me, in this context; this opera lives in the world of 1940s big band music, and it felt totally appropriate for its sonic landscape to align with that general vibe.
In terms of vocal writing, I thought the opera was fine, albeit not outstanding. Despite the recognizable big band sound of the score, this wasn't an opera given to prominent melodies or even motifs for the vocal lines, and while those elements certainly aren't necessary for a good opera, it does mean that I don't remember enough about any individual aria or duet to be able to say much about its style vocally. I honestly think is more a reflection of trends in contemporary operatic writing than anything else; I can't think of any recent contemporary operas I've seen that prioritized vocal melodic writing outside of occasional diegetic riffs, which speaking as a singer makes me sad (we do love a good melody, composers!), but so the world goes, and this score still offered plenty to like within the orchestrations. Bates did occasionally fall into the Puccini trap of having characters sing "harmony" in straight octaves, but when he did diversify his vocal writing into actual harmonies (or even slight counterpoint), the effect was really striking.
Truly, my biggest musical criticism actually was that I wanted WAY more percussion during the scene where two guys are making out on top of the Empire State Building during a thunderstorm, because when I read that scene, I could just *hear* the bass drum rolls in my head! But hey, the moment was still delightful dramatically, so I'll give the orchestrations a pass for not quite living up to my expectations.
The Libretto
This also wasn't the first opera I'd seen with a libretto by Gene Scheer—the other being Jake Heggie's Moby-Dick—and quite honestly, I haven't been blown away by the text of either libretto. This might be unfair to Scheer, given that he keeps being asked to adapt very stylistically distinctive novels into operas, but whereas Moby-Dick at least incorporated *some* of Melville's language, none of the vivid color of Chabon's detailed, descriptive language made it into the somewhat anodyne libretto of this opera.
I don't want to imply that the entire libretto was a total dud. Some recurring images related to the practice of creating art made for nice touches throughout the libretto: Joe and Rosa Saks (the visual artists) imagine a refugee's arrival in the USA as being a fresh start like the tip of a pen on a blank sheet of paper; and Sammy Clay (the author) and Tracy Bacon (the actor) imagine a future for men like them as being like blank pages filling up with a story. But, as much as I liked the choral numbers for their music, I often found the text given to the chorus to be very unimaginative and needlessly repetitive of whatever the leads were singing, and not in a social commentary-driven sort of way; during the very emotional final scene of Act 1, for example, the chorus's reactions amounted to a sort of banal, "Oh no! How horrible!" that really didn't do anything to enhance or even support the emotional horror of the moment. I suspect that the opera is at a stage where they won't be tinkering with the text much anymore, but if I had my druthers, I'd love to see an overhaul of the libretto to give it a bit more poetic spark, even if not the full rush of Chabon's lyricism.
I'll also give the libretto full credit where it's due in that I thought the pacing of the first half of the opera was just perfect. Chabon's writing is so dense that it came as a surprise to realize that all of the essentials of the first two-thirds of the book fit quite compactly into the first 90 minutes of the show, with room to spare for a few smaller moments from the book that I loved and was very pleasantly surprised weren't cut... Salvador Dalí's weird and historically accurate diving-suit stunt at a party! Sammy bringing Tracy Bacon home to one of Ethel Klayman's terribly cooked Shabbat dinners! the making-out-atop-the-Empire-State-Building scene! And more on this later, but I also DEEPLY appreciated the way the libretto created space for female characters within the opera to be present, in a way that simply didn't exist in the book! If I had one major criticism of Chabon's novel, it's that he has an extremely masculine perspective on the world, and even the bits narrated from the point of view of the one central female character were always focused on the doings of the men around her; so, it was great to see how the libretto reimagined the inner lives of the story's female characters, in a way that felt a bit more accessible and relatable to me (as a cis woman who actually *doesn't* spend all her time thinking about men).
Photo credit: New York Times.
The Singers
The entire cast in this production were just outstanding. The only singer I knew going in was the ever-excellent Patrick Carfizzi, so it was very exciting to come away with a whole slate of wonderful artists to keep an eye out for! Top praise obviously must go to baritone Andrzej Filończyk (Joe Kavalier) and tenor Miles Mykkanen (Sammy Clay) for really carrying this opera between them; they had a really lovely rapport, and their duets were very well-balanced sonically. Mezzo-soprano Sun-Ly Pierce also was wonderful as Rosa Saks, and while I occasionally wished that soprano Lauren Snouffer had been a bit more audible above the pit, she brought a very believably light and youthful tone to her 14-year-old character of Sarah Kavalier. I also thought that baritone Edward Nelson was just a delight as Tracy Bacon; he had the right sort of playful bravado to really make Tracy's humorous moments shine (I loved his first lines to Sammy in their Empire State Building scene!), and his duets with Mykkanen were equally beautiful.
And of course I have to give a shout-out to Carfizzi for being the GOAT. While not nearly as gargantuan as the battleship-sized Sheldon Anapol is described as being (and done up to be balding!), Carfizzi did what he does best at the Met, and brought a lot of stage presence to a relatively minor bass role. During his first entrance, he was given a backup chorus of secretaries whose typing formed a part of the percussion, and I obviously loved that for him and wished the opera had provided even more such moments!
The Orchestra
The Met orchestra actually sounded great in this production, and as mentioned, Bates gave them a varied score with lots to do! My only complaint was that the enormous brass section sometimes got a bit close to overwhelming the singers, but as Frequent Met Attendee @derring-do pointed out, Yannick Nézet-Séguin was at the helm for this performance, and loud brass is kind of his thing (we love you, Yannick!). Zero complaints overall, in short, and props to the Met orchestra for handling a brand-new score with aplomb.
The Production
This entire production was, to put it simply, visually stunning. Much as I often complain about the use of projections in many contemporary opera productions, the Met went all out on their projection design here, and it was just an absolute treat to watch. Notably, the projections were almost exclusively used to show the audience what the characters were creating in real time in their drawings or comic book panels, and seeing the characters' imaginations come to life as sketches appeared behind them was just electrifying. It was also great fun to see fully colored comic book panels flash in the background of a crew recording a radio adaptation of that issue, essentially providing a storyboard track for the narrative of the radio show. Truly, all the kudos imaginable for 59 Studio, and especially their animators and visual artists, Jesse Richards, Stuart Fortune, and Anya Allin. (I did really have to wonder how other, smaller opera companies tackling this opera would be able to capture the wonder of the Met's projections on a smaller scale, but I'm sure they'll figure out a way to do so, and I look forward to seeing how they innovate accordingly!)
The stage itself also provided some real "wow!" moments, not least of which was the opening visual of a life-sized segment of the Charles Bridge in Prague, complete with looming statues—I definitely gasped! The final panorama of Act 1 was also incredibly haunting and beautiful, although I don't want to say too much about that to avoid spoilers for those who don't know the full plot. A revolving stage in the middle of the stage also was put to use throughout, first in some scenes concerning the fate of the Kavalier family back in Prague, and later during the scenes that contrasted the men on the battlefield with the women back at their offices on the home front. That said, I did think that after that opening moment, the bulk of the visual appeal of the production was carried by the projections, which more than pulled their weight.
Lastly, I was totally fascinated by a visual framing device used throughout the show, in which three black panels or curtains slid in synchronicity inwards or outwards to create a sort of angular iris wipe around any given part of the back of the stage. It felt extremely cinematic, in the best way possible. I also spent the entire show trying to figure out how they managed to get the three non-stage edges of the expanding or shrinking box to light up, but I certainly don't mind being left in a state of quiet awe over the occasional tech-related mystery. (And, in a story so focused on visual illusion, perhaps retaining one or two mysteries of this sort is only appropriate.)
Story-telling through drawing. Photo credit: Metropolitan Opera.
Major Plot Changes That I Loved
As mentioned above, I REALLY enjoyed how the first half of this opera was adapted, in no small part because of the much larger role given to the women of the story. I'll touch upon a few of these characters here:
Sarah Kavalier
Those of who have actually read this book probably have spent at least some of this review scratching your head over who the heck Sarah Kavalier is... and the answer is, she's gender-swapped Thomas Kavalier! In the novel, Joe Kavalier has a deeply adored little brother whom he last sees in Prague as an 11-year-old; in the opera, this brother has been transformed into a 14-year-old sister, equally adored, and much more physically present onstage throughout the plot, because of the opera's frequent jumps from New York back to Nazi-occupied Prague (whereas Thomas's presence is limited in the book to Joe's imagination and memories). The gender of Joe's younger sibling truly has zero bearing on their relationship with Joe and their function within the plot, and Sarah's being a slightly older young teenage woman actually put her at risk in a host of ways that the younger Thomas was never endangered; in the opera's opening scene, Sarah faced off against the Nazi officer Gerhard on her own while Joe practiced his escape routine under the waters of the Vltava, and at one moment it definitely seemed like Gerhard felt her up, which is so disturbing and only heightened just how many types of constant danger this character faced in her everyday life.
I obviously LOVED the gender-swap of Thomas into Sarah! More women in opera at all times, please!!! This is such a male-heavy plot that adding one more female voice into the texture of the opera—both narratively and sonically—was really welcome, in a story that otherwise would have contained really only one female character of note (and no soprano role, other than Helen, the actress who appears briefly as Tracy Bacon's date in a few scenes). I hope @derring-do also won't mind if I quote her equally important point about how critical it is for the repertoire to continue to add smaller but still very important roles for younger sopranos, who might not yet be ready to carry an entire show on their shoulders, but still deserve to be highlighted as they develop as artists, and this was definitely a great example of such a role.
Rosa Saks
Rosa is the only major female character in the entire novel, and while I really liked her in many ways, I also was struck throughout the novel with the sense that Chabon himself didn't take her terribly seriously. She's the daughter of a very eccentric and very rich man, and she's grown up with a bohemian and somewhat dilettante lifestyle; while she paints, she's bad at actually committing to projects, and her artistic style is heavily based on snippets of things she remembers from dreams. None of this is bad in and of itself, mind you! But I couldn't shake the sense while reading the novel that we were not supposed to see Rosa as a "serious" artist in the way that Joe was depicted as a "serious" artist; even when Rosa too becomes a cartoonist in the last section of the novel, she writes romance comics for women that Rosa herself seems to feel are less substantive than creating superheroes like the Escapist. And, as mentioned above, the scenes narrated from Rosa's POV were all very much about her relationships with Joe or Sammy.
I therefore was DELIGHTED with how the opera handled Rosa's character, who came across as much more directed and purposeful in her own right, outside of her relationship with Joe. In the book, Joe meets Rosa for the first time when he breaks in through her then-lover's bedroom window and startles her into wakefulness; Joe then proceeds to draw Rosa naked for Sammy and the rest of their cartoonist friends, and they don't meet again until Joe ends up at one of Rosa's father's roaring Greenwich Village parties and rescues Salvador Dalí from a diving suit, making him the big hero of the evening. In the opera, Joe meets Rosa as he's leaving a studio where a radio episode of The Escapist was being recorded, just as Rosa is arriving to put out a radio announcement about efforts to rescue Jewish children from Europe aboard a ship called the Ark of Miriam. Their connection stems not from some questionable and not-exactly-consensual naked sketching, but from Joe's interest in Rosa's efforts to save people like his sister; their mutual interest is not only artistic and romantic, but also political. Joe in the opera also just comes across as an amazingly supportive boyfriend in ways that I definitely didn't perceive in the book (where, for example, Rosa is implicitly expected to cook for him and Sammy, when Joe and Rosa begin dating). For example, when the Salvador Dalí party scene did roll around in the opera, it was reframed as an art auction hosted by Rosa to raise funds for the Ark of Miriam, and Joe commented favorably on one painting before Rosa even revealed that it was hers. In any event, I certainly shipped these two in the novel, but I shipped them even MORE when the opera decided to frame them as a politically minded couple who view each other as genuine artistic equals and support each other accordingly, even while also having interests and goals that exist outside of their relationship.
One other element that I really loved was how the show handled Luna Moth, the comic book character that Joe creates after he begins dating Rosa. In the book, Luna Moth is entirely Joe's creation and is described as being the comic book character that caused the sexual awakenings of teenage boys across the USA. In the opera, by contrast, Rosa explains that she and Joe came up with the character together after a moth landed on Rosa's pillow at night, and *she* is the one who ultimately fleshes out Luna Moth as a marketable character; which might explain why, at least in the Met's production, Luna Moth wasn't framed visually or descriptively as the hyper-sexualized figure that she was in the novel. The opera's second act really leans into the notion that Rosa herself becomes a formidable figure in the (superhero) comic book world, which felt very in keeping with how she had been reframed throughout, and I just really loved so much about how the opera had reimagined her character all around.
The Kavaliers in Prague
As alluded above, while the novel focuses exclusively on the protagonists in New York, the opera felt empowered to toggle back to events in Prague, as well, and this really helped the Kavalier family to feel like more central characters in their own rights. So much of the book centers around Joe's reactions to *not* knowing what's happening to his family in Prague—all of his mother's letters are heavily censored—but the opera placed a much higher premium on emotional resolution than the novel, which feels right in many ways. And watching extreme police brutality against a persecuted minority be played out onstage obviously carried a horrifically relevant resonance.
One of the most painful moments in the book for me was when Joe lost his mother's final letter to him, as a result of his nearly becoming the victim of a hate crime attempted by Carl Ebling, a very pathetic U.S.-born Nazi sympathizer with whom Joe develops some major beef. (Ebling doesn't appear at all in the opera, which is a very reasonable cut.) In the aftermath of Ebling's attempted bombing of a bar mitzvah party at which Joe is performing magic tricks, the letter Joe was carrying in his coat pocket goes missing. We, the readers, got to read Dr. Kavalier's final message to her son, in which she tells him that he has to forget about the rest of the family in Prague, and focus on living his fullest life in the USA. But Joe himself never reads this message, and so, in a twist of tragic poignancy, is eaten up with guilt whenever he does anything that he feels constitutes exactly the kind of forgetting that his mother wished for him. The opera, by contrast, decided to do away with this level of emotional pain and lack of emotional resolution by allowing Joe to read this letter from his mother—a lovely and very heart-wrenching little moment for Ellie Dehn as Estelle Kavalier being deported to a concentration camp along with a chorus singing a setting of "Ani Ma'amin," and the message only galvanizes Joe even further to try to save his family. It seems much more in keeping for an opera like this to try to wrap up narrative loose ends, so this alteration felt like the other narrative side of the same emotional coin to the book's lack of resolution.
The opera's staging also provided a little moment that captured really beautifully Joe's feelings of hopelessness, and his use of art to try to keep himself sane in the face of this. The book provides an extended section in which Joe unleashes his grief and anger and feelings of impotence via violent altercations with random Germans living in New York (all of which leads to the aforementioned beef between himself and Ebling); the opera wisely leaves all of this out, for the sake of narrative brevity. But Joe's grief is expressed in a very different and equally heart-breaking manner in the opera. After receiving a letter from Sarah about his parents' deaths, Joe allowed himself to imagine during an interlude in which the Escapist (his Nazi-punching superhero) rescues both of them: after a reprise of the stage choreography used for his father's murder at the hands of Nazis storming the Kavalier residence, Joe imagines the Escapist pulling off a disguise and raising his father from the dead; after his mother is punished for trying to observe Shabbat with other women in the concentration camp, Joe imagines the Escapist rescuing his mother and reuniting her with his father. It was a brilliant means of capturing the same type of haunted and powerless emotional state for Joe, but in a more inherently theatrical manner—and, in keeping with the opera's emphasis on resolution, in a manner that focused on art as a means of self-preservation.
A Few Little Novel-Related Easter Eggs!
Given how much I loved the depth and richness of the novel on which this opera is based, I really appreciated that the creators of the opera added in a few little additional nods to just how complex the world of the novel is, even if they couldn't include every detail in their adaptation! Here are just a few little things I noticed from the first few scenes of the opera, where backstories had to be communicated fairly quickly to get on with the plot...
I actually really adored the entire smuggling-the-Golem-out-of-Prague subplot in the novel, especially the way it book-ended Joe's own narrative in a weird and uncanny and surprisingly moving manner. That said, I truly wasn't expecting the very magical-realist plotline of the Golem to appear in the opera, so I was delighted that so many little references to that whole arc appeared in the libretto, including a nod to Bernard Kornblum (Joe's escapism instructor in Prague, and an integral figure in the whole Golem subplot of the book), and the Golem's coffin appearing in the opera as the means of Joe's escape from Prague.
The scene depicting Joe's arrival in Brooklyn also managed to provide nods to so much character backstory from the novel that the opera didn't have the space to capture! Sammy was depicted in the opera with a brace on his leg that made him walk stiffly, and his mentions of both his childhood polio and his absentee strongman of a father spoke to a much larger story and set of insecurities that any readers of the book will remember only too well. I was only sorry that the opera never managed to sneak in anything about how Tom Mayflower, the alter ego of the Escapist, likewise walked with a limp and could only run free in superhero form, since I really loved how clearly the novel showed how this comic book was a form of transforming personal pain into narrative heroism for both cousins.
[Spoilers *really* abound for the second half of the opera, from here on out, just as a warning.]
The Act 1 finale. Photo credit: Metropolitan Opera.
A Disturbingly Visualized Moment
I can't say I *enjoyed* the choices made by the folks adapting the novel that are discussed in this section, but I thought they were incredibly effective for a number of reasons. The moment in question occurred in the middle of Act 2 and concerns the police's disruption of a party of gay men, with really horrific consequences for Sammy. This entire scene happened in the novel and was disturbing enough then, but the opera's full dramatization of the events in question forced the viewer to grapple with things in a way that the novel didn't.
First off, I would be remiss not to mention the party scene itself. In the novel, it's a dinner at a beach house where Tracy and his friends—all gay men—are spending the weekend with their partners. In the opera, it's a farewell party for Tracy held at the recording studio, the night before he deploys with the U.S. Army. Of note at this party is a candidate for Congress by the name of Dick Johnson... and yes, I did do a double-take at the character's name in the program because of the deliberate Fanciulla del West reference (made even more amusing by the fact that one of the following scenes at the battlefront was very reminiscent of the gold miners receiving letters from home). Scheer was very unafraid to go where Puccini and his librettists did not, however, and wrote an entire doo-wop chorus in which Tracy, accompanied by backup singers, sang for several minutes straight about how much everyone at this party loved Dick, while suggestively stroking his microphone's stand. It was so. much. (Truly, I think the joke would have landed much better as something the audience could have laughed at once, rather than extending it out into a full chorus.)
But maybe this chorus was designed to be as much as it was because of the extremely dark turn that the scene took a moment later. As in the novel, when the police break up the party and arrest most of the attendees, one police officer offers to spare Sammy the shame of arrest and being publicly outed, in exchange for sexual favors. (Yes, it was a *lot* to see a production of Tosca only 24 hours later, in light of how this scene struck me in operatic form.) In the novel, the reader sees the policeman's offer and then the immediate aftermath, with Sammy's shame and disgust somewhat distanced because of his narrative refusal to engage with the details of what he's been forced to do, even if his refusal to head west with Tracy in the following scene clearly is a direct consequence of this sexual assault. In the opera, however, the audience watches this police officer force Sammy to his knees while Sammy begs him not to do this, and then Sammy stumbles out from behind the police officer a little while later and *immediately* finds Rosa and tells her that he isn't brave enough to live as an openly gay man. It made the entire moment hit home really differently for me, first to have to live through the horror of the assault with Sammy, and then to hear him verbalize his shame to Rosa (in the novel, the conversations that lead to Sammy and Rosa's mutually advantageous marriage occur during a time skip). It certainly made me understand Sammy's decision to marry Rosa in a much more vivid light, especially since, within the opera's timeline, it's a means of protection for Sammy, as much as anything else.
Again, this wasn't a dramatic choice that I enjoyed, per se, because it was actually very difficult and painful to watch. But I'm glad that the adaptation didn't side-step this entire incident in Sammy's arc, since it did help me view his actions in a really different manner. And upping the emotional stakes for the audience in this scene helped fill the gap left by the fact that the opera completely cut the scene at the end of the novel, in which Sammy is forced to testify before a congressional subcommittee accusing the comic book industry of indoctrinating young boys with Batman-and-Robin type relationships. (Although, interestingly, that testimony scene also was echoed in a line Tracy sang in the Dick Chorus about how all superheroes and their sidekicks were gay—an accusation leveled at Sammy during the hearing in the novel that, here, was softened into an ironic joke right before this particularly horrific sexual assault scene.)
Contrasting the battlefields and the home front. Photo credit: Metropolitan Opera.
Major Plot Changes That I Understand But Didn't Love: Basically All of Act 2
Speaking of which... the entire second half of the opera.
So, again, I'll just caveat this by saying that the opera was seeking closure for all of the characters in a manner that the book really was not. But I LOVED the fact that the final third of the book was about Sammy and Rosa and Joe all struggling to fit back together as a family, after a dozen years of separation and loss and emotional isolation. I'm such a sucker for dynamics concerning the gradual mending of broken relationships, and @derring-do beautifully described the last third of the book as being about different types of loves—platonic, familial, romantic, etc.—which is exactly right. It was also just really interesting watching Joe slowly approach his own 11-year-old son and figure out how to relate to him as a person, and then as a parent; while, meanwhile, Sammy (whose true love died offscreen during the war years) grappled with his simultaneous love for his family and his sense that his destiny had been robbed by his having to pick up Joe's responsibilities. Everything is so messy and emotional and painful and deliciously unresolved by the end of the novel, when Sammy (publicly shamed during the aforementioned subcommittee hearing) decides to leave Long Island and pursue the professional ambitions in Hollywood that he and Tracy always discussed, letting Joe fill his place, even though Joe and Rosa don't want Sammy to leave them.
The opera does away with basically all of this. I'm not at all surprised that it went for a structure less jarring than Joe's eerie and isolated interlude in Antarctica during the war, and in the context of this opera, it actually made sense that he ended up in the same military unit as Tracy. I even accept the opera's decision to have Tracy die in Joe's arms, even if @derring-do justifiably had qualms with the final outburst of revelations from Tracy ("You have a kid! I'm dying! I'm gay! I'm in love with your cousin!"). But the opera ended with Joe coming straight home from the war and *immediately* inserting himself into the life of his 3-year-old daughter, and Sammy *immediately* picking up and leaving, just like that.
And I get it, this is the easy resolution that the opera offers, in lieu of the book's messiness, and it perhaps fits the medium better than an unresolved, painful ending would—as @derring-do pointed out, to properly give voice to everyone's feelings would have required all of Act 2 to be back-to-back arias. But the very tentative, faltering journey that all three leads have to take in the novel towards any sort of proper reconciliation is just completely lost in the structure of the opera. It skips over the fact that Joe spends years avoiding his surviving family in the novel; it skips over Rosa and Sammy's fraught but loving relationship as a married couple who also work together; it skips over everyone trying to parent Tommy (Joe and Rosa's bio kid), who is a stubborn pre-teen and keeps cutting class to go learn magic tricks from Joe during the day. It was still a very moving ending, and folks all around us were sniffling by the final curtain! But I just really missed the struggle of the trio trying to figure out how to be a trio again.
I also felt like the ending, by trying to simplify everyone's emotions, instead just muddied Sammy's emotional arc. The opera made Sammy a very enthusiastic parent to Joe's daughter, so when Joe returned and Sammy immediately left, it felt like Joe's mere presence had driven Sammy out, This stands in strong contrast to the book, where Sammy's decision to leave is the result of years of discontent and resentfulness that he's gotten trapped with Joe's familial responsibilities, and the whole congressional hearing and his fall from the comic book world of Manhattan merely provides the final straw that drives him towards Hollywood at last. (I was especially disappointed that, in the opera, Tracy told Joe with his dying breath to remind Sammy that the future would not just be blank pages for a man like him... and then Joe didn't even relay that message to Sammy? Which, y'know, also could have been a good explanation for Sammy's abrupt departure.)
I'm sure I have other thoughts, but this review has gotten way too long as it is. In short, it felt like the ending of the opera would have been terrific if you hadn't read the book, but it misses something really fundamental about the book's meaning without that slow and painful process of reconciliation in the book's third act.
Curtain call as viewed from the nosebleed section!
Concluding Thoughts
Anyway, since the Met will be screening a Live-in-HD recording of this opera in January 2026, and adding additional live performances in February 2026 (info here), this entire post is really just propaganda to try to convince all of you to go see the opera yourself! Truly, this opera was about 80% exactly what I wanted it to be, and even if it's my nature to pick a million nits with any media I consume, I really hope this adaptation continues to be as popular as it has been, and as resonant and meaningful to viewers as it has to date. Would love to hear others' opinions on everything and anything, especially from those who maybe aren't as hung up on the adaptation-related aspect of things as I am!
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