Tosca: Metropolitan Opera (New York, New York, USA) - January 12, 2025
I have long been just a mite obsessed with Bryn Terfel, and when I heard he would be singing Scarpia at the Met Opera in January 2025, I promptly talked one of my friends into committing to an opera date with me a full five months before the show. And thankfully, despite how much I'd hyped things up with my slightly extreme enthusiasm, we were NOT disappointed in the slightest by this altogether indescribably incredible production!!!
Back in November, I saw the Met Opera's Live in HD simulcast of Lise Davidsen and Freddie De Tommaso and Quinn Kelsey in the same David McVicar production, so I had some sense of what we'd be getting ourselves into here—a very traditional setting (not necessarily a bad thing for my friend, who had never seen this opera before), with blocking at the beginnings of Acts 1 and 3 that was beat-for-beat the same in both versions. What really made this particular production come alive, though, was the extreme dynamism between the three leads of this cast: Sondra Radvanovsky, Brian Jagde, and of course Bryn. I've come to the conclusion that, dramatically speaking, to be sold on a Tosca, I either need: (1) a Tosca/Cavaradossi dynamic that reads very strongly as two people who are so in love that they would quite literally die for each other (for example, Patricia Racette and Roberto Alagna in the 2013 Luc Bondy production at the Met); or (2) a Scarpia who is so fascinating that I can ignore the fact that the two lovers are falling short of expectations (for example, Bryn in the 2011 Covent Garden production). This production had not one, both BOTH of these elements, and my god, was it compelling the entire way through!
Bryn is not pictured here, sadly, but this at least gets the impressive visuals of the Te Deum across! Photo credit: Ken Howard, Metropolitan Opera.
By the way, I usually feel like anyone who's reading a review of this opera is already aware of the expected content warnings for sexual assault and attempted rape/non-consensual sex. But for this particular production, I'd also add a content warning for the types of physical abuse that are commonly associated with domestic violence situations, because that was what really came to mind when I was thinking about a lot of the onstage violence in Act 2, which was horrifying in its casualness and also upsettingly realistic as a result.
Act 1
It's probably easiest to talk my way through the entire show sequentially, starting with the set! I don't think the McVicar production will ever be my absolute favorite, but it is VERY visually striking, both in its invocations of the locations it depicts, and in the exaggerated, somewhat Mannerist angles used to give the sets a depth they don't actually possess (think Borromini's Perspective Gallery at the Palazzo Spada). Most strikingly, the stage is raked upwards towards stage left for each of the three sets... in the photo above, for example, the camera is perfectly level! I don't have any amazing theory for why the raking was done this way, but it certainly is memorable. At any rate, Sant'Andrea della Valle looked very appropriately grand, as is visible from the above.
We actually had an understudy for Angelotti, William Guanbo Su! (He's the only element missing from the virtual program, which otherwise contains all the info about the other cast members, plus the sorts of long, dramaturgical essays that yours truly loves reading post-show.) He did a very commendable job, singing well and acting appropriately jumpy about being on the lam, like knocking over all the jars left at the base of the Madonna's column in frustration as he searched for the promised key to the chapel. My only objection was that he was far too clean and well-groomed and healthy-looking to be a man who's just been imprisoned in ostensibly terrible conditions for the better part of a year (Scarpia doesn't strike me as a very pro-prisoners rights sort), and it always makes no sense for Cavaradossi not to recognize his old friend when Angelotti looks so, well, normal. But that's all obviously on the production, not on the bass in question.
One of my favorite parts of this entire production was Patrick Carfizzi as the Sacristan. For those of you who saw the simulcast back in November, and were likewise insanely charmed by Carfizzi's performance and delightful intermission interview, he played the role in exactly the same fabulous manner—grumbling loudly in Italian as he entered, accidentally dropping all of the dirty brushes all over the floor and looking even more disgruntled, managing to be hilarious and pompous and sort of pitiful all at once. (When the Sacristan told Scarpia later in the act that he'd put Cavaradossi's lunch aside so he could eat it himself, only it had clearly been eaten by Angelotti instead, my friend audibly went, "Aww!" because Carfizzi's Sacristan was so visibly put out by having been thwarted of a good meal.) For an opera that immediately gets very dark, very fast, and stays that way for the next hour-plus, it was great to have such strong, buffo comedy at the very start.
Enter our Cavaradossi for the afternoon. Brian Jagde was, I regret to say, definitely the weakest vocally of the three leads (even if, to his credit, he was infinitely more consistent about dentalizing his Italianate Ts than his fellow anglophone costars). His loud high notes were extremely strong and stunning, but for anything more delicate, he tended to carry too much weight past his passaggio, which definitely resulted in a few cracks throughout the course of the show. That said, he was a very dynamic actor, immediately entering and beginning to fuss with the shawl draped around that life-sized artist's mannequin you can see to far stage left in the above photo. (The set design made the interesting choice not to show the full painting that Cavaradossi is creating, so Jagde ran around holding a smaller canvas showing just the Maddalena's head for most of the act.) Like De Tommaso, Jagde dropped his coat from the platform straight onto the Sacristan's head at the start of "Recondita armonia," which was a nice moment of physical comedy; and Jagde's delivery of the aria was fine, if a bit pushed-sounding until he could finally let loose with a fortissimo final phrase. (I also didn't love that the English-language titles translated "Scherza coi fanti, ma lascia stare il santi" as, "Joke with your friends, but don't paint the saints," which isn't too far off, but doesn't make measurably more sense than an exact translation and thus is confusing? Really, my problem is that I know this opera a little too well, lol.)
I should add that I got chills at Sondra Radvanovsky's first offstage lines. She has an INCREDIBLE voice—really rich and powerful, and yet she knows this role so well and is able to navigate all the higher bits of the tessitura with ease and without dragging the sound down with too much weight (or, perhaps more importantly, blowing her voice out). It was truly just a pleasure to listen to her sing Tosca, because I felt very secure the entire time that Radvanovsky knew *exactly* what she was doing vocally, and that let me focus purely on what she was doing with the role dramatically.
And I absolutely forgave Jagde for not being the Cavaradossi of my dreams vocally the second Radvanovsky entered the stage, because WOW, they had wonderful stage chemistry together! It helps that Radvanovsky is one of those people who looks extremely elegant, but plays this role with a little bounce in her step, plus occasionally somewhat adorable little pouts (she definitely was sitting on the stage puffing out her cheeks petulantly at one point during this duet, which I totally loved). And Radvanovsky's Tosca really knew how to flirt! She kept sneaking looks at Cavaradossi even while crossing herself before the Madonna, then did a little shimmy when proposing they meet up at his villa "soli, soletti"; and it was just a delight watching her take such control of the physicality of their relationship, like dancing her fingers flirtatiously up Cavaradossi's arm, and at one point tapping the side of her neck that Cavaradossi wasn't actively kissing to make clear she expected her lover to balance things out. (This level of physicality all became particularly striking, in light of how things played out by contrast between Tosca and Scarpia in Act 2—but much more on that later.) Radvanovsky also is a very good comedic actress, so there were big laughs from the audience on all the mutual admonishments about necking in front of the Madonna, as well as on all the "Ma falle gli occhi neri" lines. I totally shipped it. One of two criteria for a successful Tosca already met, by my metrics.
Cuties being cute—actually from a run of this production in 2021, but they provided the exact same vibes this past weekend. Photo credit: Ken Howard, Metropolitan Opera.
Which brings us to the third part of this messed-up dramatic triangle. I should preface this by noting that a friend saw Bryn Terfel sing Scarpia in a different production earlier this year and, having been equally wowed by how terrifying he was in the aforementioned 2011 Royal Opera House production, was actually disappointed in how static he seemed by comparison there. I had SUCH high expectations for Terfel in this production that I was steeling myself for inevitable disappointment, but oh my GOD, I did not need to worry about that at all! From the moment he entered the stage to yell at a bunch of happy choir kids (and after all the wild entrance applause for him died down), Sir Bryn just dominated the stage. I'd forgotten that he's a very tall man, which absolutely contributed to this; I love Quinn Kelsey, but he's not a super large person, and especially when playing opposite an unusually tall woman like Lise Davidsen, he just couldn't tower over his Tosca the way Bryn did. Terfel, by contrast, looked like he was about three feet taller than his Spoletta, and all he needed to do was stride ominously across the stage to be totally terrifying, let alone sing in that still-fantastic voice of his, which he put to really tremendous effect throughout. (I did not blame Patrick Carfizzi's goofy Sacristan for literally hiding himself in the little cutout of the column in which Radvanovsky and Jagde are getting frisky in the above photo... even if I'm pretty sure Carfizzi did the same thing with Kelsey onstage, it was just a very viscerally understandable reaction when it came to Terfel.)
And Terfel's physicality came into play most strongly when Radvanovsky returned at the end of Act 1. He's such a big man that, when he stood a little too close to her, an innocent bystander could justify the closeness by reasoning that he's a big person and just takes up a lot of space—and, having been in situations where I've given men the benefit of the doubt for standing a little too close for comfort because they *did* just take up a lot of space, that whole dynamic felt very uncomfortably relatable. I also have always assumed I had a very clear idea of which lines Tosca and Scarpia were saying to each other, versus to themselves, in that whole exchange, but something about the way Radvanovsky and Terfel were looking or not looking at each other had me questioning my assumptions, which was kind of fun! (More annoyance with the titles, though: Scarpia has that line about the ostensible lovers being disturbed on Cavaradossi's platform and the Marchesa Attavanti losing her "feathers" as she fled, and I've always loved that image of the Marchesa as a bird taking flight in alarm, and the Met's title system said something much more banal like "and she dropped her fan," which, just, blah.)
Possibly the most revelatory moment of interpersonal dynamics for me came just before the Te Deum, though, in that moment where Tosca tells Scarpia that God will forgive her because he can see her tears ("Dio mi perdona... Egli vede ch'io piango!"), and then there's that big orchestral reprise of the love duet while (usually) Scarpia escorts Tosca from the church in some fashion. Here, Radvanovsky began that entire orchestral moment by collapsing sideways onto Terfel (standing a bit too close for comfort, again), and what got me was that he looked startled, like he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. It really felt to me like that was the specific moment when Scarpia realized that he was willing to do whatever it took to possess Tosca. I guess I'd gone through my entire life assuming that Scarpia had designs on Tosca from the second he entered the stage; but he really spends much of Act 1 purely interested in emotionally manipulating her to get to Angelotti, and lines like "Darei la vita per asciugar quel pianto" ("I'd give my life to dry those tears") can just as easily be externally delivered to Tosca to win her trust, rather than spoken as a private expression of lust. And, while Scarpia had been quite generally creepy beforehand, only after this moment did he do anything overtly threatening towards Tosca—here, kissing her hand really unnervingly, then grabbing the end of her shawl as she tried to leave so that she had to tug it away from him (also in the Davidsen-Kelsey staging, but it hit much harder here). At any rate, I'm always ecstatic when performers and productions give me new things to chew on, especially in works that I know perhaps too well, and this moment was both chilling and weirdly exciting for me.
I feel it's only fair to add that I didn't particularly love how the Met orchestra was playing at this performance, in that they had to do a fair amount of tug-of-war tempo-wise with some of the singers during the typically rubato bits of their big arias ("Vissi d'arte" and "E lucevan le stelle," in particular). The start of the Te Deum was the most egregious moment of this lack of coordination, though, due largely to the fact that the giant tubular bells hanging backstage missed their cue, leaving a big, awkward gap of several seconds of silence before the start of all the "Tre sbirri, una carrozza" back-and-forth. I thought that maybe this was intentional, but the fact that Bryn and Spoletta were clearly playing catch-up once the orchestra suddenly came in underneath the bells indicated otherwise. (And the bells never did settle fully into their correct rhythms within the Te Deum, even though the giant bass drum that played the cannon blasts was spot-on, so I'm not totally sure what was going on there... maybe a backstage camera feed failure, or something.) I'm not sure if all of that distraction was the reason I wasn't nearly as impacted by the Te Deum as usual—I generally consider it one of the best moments of drama in any theatrical medium—but for some reason, it wasn't as much of a highlight for me as I wanted it to be. Clearly it delivered the intended effect for most people, though! Once Terfel had concluded the act with his signature chest-pounding on the last three big chords of the act, and the curtain fell, my friend immediately expressed her horror at the amount of emotional manipulation occurring here, and as I was leaving the auditorium, I passed by an older woman who was saying, "He's a MEANIE!"
Photo credit: Metropolitan Opera.
Act 2
Some of you on Operablr have already heard me complain about how upsettingly dark I found the lighting of Act 2 in November's HD simulcast, and while seeing the production live was infinitely better on that front, I still was very disappointed that the set got darker and darker throughout the act, just because that set is SO gorgeous! The audience literally gasped and then applauded when the curtain went up to show all those stunning frescos, and when Sciarrone crossed to open the windows on stage left at the start of the act, the light through the windows threw his enormous shadow up across the frescos on the wall, and I just wish the lighting design had remained more like that throughout the ensuing melodrama. (I suspect the lighting designer was trying to make the stage feel increasingly claustrophobic as the act progressed, and I appreciate the inherent drama in that choice, but I'm still just sad that I didn't get to stare at the pretty walls and everyone's giant shadows for a full 45 minutes.)
Even after hearing the post-show discussion with the three leads (more on that later), I'm still not entirely sure how much they consciously coordinated all of the amazing and pretty brilliant parallels between their physical gestures throughout this show. Act 2 was where this really came out in its strongest form, though. During "Ha più forte sapore," for example, Terfel knelt down in mock prayer before his crucifix, which positioned him around mid-stage right, more or less where Radvanovsky had been earnestly (if distractedly) praying to the Madonna in Act 1. At one point before Spoletta's entrance, Terfel banged his fist on his desk to emphasize something; then, a bit later during all of the torture, Radvanovsky similarly banged her fists in anguish on Scarpia's desk; and finally, in Act 3, Jagde gave up in frustration in the midst of writing his letter and banged his fist on the Jailer's desk (which was set up in the same position on stage left). And, as mentioned, the loving ways in which Jagde touched Radvanovsky's hands and face and hair in Acts 1 and 3 were really effectively twisted into a horrible parody of that very consensual relationship, in the dynamic between Terfel and Radvanovsky throughout this act—much more on all of this in a moment.
To start, though, Terfel was a total creep from the second this act began. When I watched that 2011 Covent Garden production that made me so desperately want to see Terfel play this role, my overwhelming thought was that his Scarpia is especially horrible because he delights in really petty little cruelties, and that trait became so increasingly apparent in this production, as Act 2 wore on. I think the only manner in which Terfel didn't go straight to the expected extreme was in the fact that he didn't yeet his tiny Spoletta in any fashion during all the "Ah, cane, ah, traditore" stuff. So the first moment of the act in which things moved into that category of petty cruelties was when Scarpia was questioning Cavaradossi, and during the "Via, Cavaliere, riflettete" exchange, Terfel literally leaned his head against Jagde's and sort of head-butted him. It was just so incredibly weird and absolutely set the tone for how upsetting of an asshole Scarpia was going to be for the rest of the act.
Because once Tosca entered the act, the creepiness of Scarpia's physicality escalated exponentially. When he helped her out of her wrap before any next-door torture became audible, he did the typical Scarpia thing of smelling her wrap, which was expected, if always unpleasant. But then he started getting VERY uncomfortably up in Tosca's space, and Radvanovsky played along just beautifully—by which I mean to say, it was really very emotionally upsetting. For example, right after Tosca was trying to talk to Cavaradossi around this big and very immovable guy blocking her way into the torture chamber, Radvanovsky was leaning up against the doorframe in a state of distress, and Terfel snuck up behind her and sang, "Orsù, Tosca, parlate" RIGHT in her ear, and Radvanovsky literally emitted a soft shriek and staggered away in alarm. And things only got more intense from there. Radvanovsky is a very arms-oriented actor, in that while her face is clearly acting, she expresses a lot through her arm gestures; Terfel, by contrast, is predominantly a face-oriented actor, in that SO much of his expression is within his facial expressions alone. So it was terrifying dramatically when Scarpia began pinning Tosca's hands with his own, first to the desk where she had just been pounding her fists in anger, then between his own hands but in a manner that was clearly torquing Tosca's arms uncomfortably high (major points to Radvanovsky for selling those moments dramatically with her wincing). But on a meta level, it also felt like Terfel's Scarpia was trying to deprive Radvanovsky's Tosca of her typical means of expression, which just felt horribly right for everything that was happening. (Me, by this point in the show: "Bryn, I love you, I literally dragged myself all the way to Manhattan just to see you, but you REALLY need to die, like, right now." 😬)
To return to the plot, though... let's see, Jagde gave a fantastically realistic final scream during all the torture, and Radvanovsky was actually perfectly tragic when betraying Angelotti's location; as soon as Terfel asked, "Là è Angelotti?" she instantly turned away and literally sobbed the response, "Sì," and I feel like most sopranos usually don't reach that level of wrenching regret in that moment, so I loved that choice. (Radvanovsky then immediately shrieked the word, "Assassino!" in the most operatic head-voice manner imaginable, but I was still so pleased with her instant remorse that I was willing to let that slide, even though I actually find operatic-style shrieking very annoying.)
Oh, but THEN the production made another choice that I totally, totally loved, but also found beyond emotionally devastating! Once Sciarrone ran into to announce the news of Bonaparte's victory at Marengo, literally all of the bad guys started EXITING THE STAGE, leaving only a stunned Tosca and a Cavaradossi who was slowly crescendoing a maniacal victory laugh, and who then of course dragged himself upright and started in with the "Vittoria!" business (which Jagde sang fabulously, I should add—again, very loud, high notes are really his thing!), which promptly summoned Scarpia & Co. back into the room. And this all precipitated this horrible, sinking realization that, in this production, Scarpia was so distracted that he might have literally just forgotten about Tosca and Cavaradossi in that moment, and they could have just fled the Palazzo Farnese right then and there and, you know, NOT had to deal with all the attempted sexual coercion and stabbing and not-so-fake executions and leaping from parapets and such. At any rate, I was absolutely internally screaming at Mario that, while of course I will always love him, MY GOD, COULDN'T HE HAVE JUST KEPT HIS BIG HEROIC MOUTH SHUT FOR LIKE 30 WHOLE SECONDS?!?! (I'm absolutely going to be thinking of this moment the next time I watch someone stupidly back themselves into a corner by *insisting* they have the last word on something that they should have dropped ages ago.)
Anyway, all the onstage violence inflicted by Scarpia on Tosca only got even MORE extreme, once things moved properly into attempted sexual coercion plot line. While singing "Già mi struggea l'amor della diva," Terfel was standing just behind Radvanovsky (who was sitting by this point, so her face was at approximately the same level as his midriff), and he started slowly moving his hands down his body and his thighs, and it was just SO uncomfortable. And things quickly progressed from there into actual hair-pulling and pretty brutal-looking face-grabbing (once again, huge props to Radvanovsky for really conveying Tosca's fear and pain in these moments with very realistic gasps and cries and such, it was very difficult to watch). After standing really awkwardly close while Tosca knelt before him, pleading with him after her big aria, Scarpia literally wrestled Tosca to the ground and had her pinned beneath him by the time Spoletta re-entered to announce that Angelotti was dead. (I suppose it might say something about how frequently Scarpia does terrible shit like this that Spoletta didn't even blink upon walking in on his boss like this, which is also horrifying.) Again, I found all of this so frightening because it wasn't violence at the extreme levels of a lot of blood-filled Regie productions of Tosca—it was disturbingly easy to imagine and understand this exact type of violence and harassment, and that made it so much more unnerving.
But I'm absolutely not to going to skip over talking about "Vissi d'arte," of course! As mentioned, I felt the orchestra was struggling to match Radvanovsky's tempo at the start, and I didn't absolutely love what she did with the aria physically—not that one has to do anything big or innovative, but I just didn't feel like Radvanovsky was making any real choice dramatically, other than turning to Terfel (seated across the stage at his desk) during her first, "Perché me ne rimuneri così?" which didn't entirely make sense to me. HOWEVER. After the big B-flat, Radvanovsky decrescendoed so dramatically on the subsequent A-flat that you could barely hear her, and then she crescendoed the following G from that pianissimo back to full volume, and it was ABSOLUTELY THRILLING. She did a similar giant crescendo on the very last note of the aria, and it seriously brought down the house. (I missed this personally, because I was too busy staring at Sondra doing things with breath support that I did not know were humanly possible, but apparently Bryn actually leaned in on her first crescendo, which I love because I suspect that was a Bryn reaction rather than a Scarpia reaction.) At any rate, Bryn's Scarpia often sardonically slow-claps at any given Tosca after "Vissi d'arte," but he didn't here—possibly because he'd already done a mocking clap (on "Mai Tosca alla scena più tragica fu"), but also possibly because the audience applause for Radvanovsky went on for an excessive but totally justified length of time, and she miraculously maintained character that entire excessive length of time because she is a freaking champion.
Despite the lengthy audience applause, the plot did continue after this, somehow. Terfel was perhaps overly obvious on the Palmieri lines to Spoletta about the fact that Something Was Up (although one could reasonably argue that Tosca was too agitated about literally everything going on to notice). I feel like some Scarpias play the line "Partir dunque volete?" for laughs, and Terfel played it absolutely straight, and that also felt completely right, because he was just a SCARY Scarpia, through and through. There was also a very unpleasant moment—which I'll bring up again later—where Tosca was watching from the other side of Scarpia's desk as he wrote up the letter of passage, and when he started asking her about Civitavecchia, he ran the end of his feather quill up Tosca's arm, and it was just so creepy and gross. Definitely could not blame Radvanovsky's Tosca for chugging some wine, then noticing that knife and stabbing Terfel's Scarpia a solid three times—twice in the stomach, and once from overhead straight into the heart. It really felt like long-overdue payback for the particularly nasty sort of physical violence he had inflicted on her personally all act, setting aside what he'd done to Cavaradossi and Angelotti.
Although, funnily enough, I didn't feel like the actual "Muori!" sequence was as intense as it could have been? I definitely don't think everyone is obligated to do a straight-up Callas at this moment, but given that Terfel was delivering these wonderfully drawn-out, belabored lines as he slowly bled out on the floor, Radvanovsky's lines sounded strangely matter-of-fact, even though she had the knife at Terfel's throat throughout all of this. (Another weird Met titles moment here, too, in that they translated "Ti soffoca il sangue?" as "Are you choking on the blood of your enemies?" which was an unnecessary and kinda confusing embellishment, meh.) I also felt like Radvanovsky's "È morto... or gli perdono!" moment was a bit too hasty and didn't give Tosca a full beat to really forgive Scarpia's corpse; but she was appropriately panicked in the expected drop-knife-and-wash-bloody-hands moment right after. Oh, and I also didn't quite know what to make of the fact that, when she knelt down to pull the letter of passage from Scarpia's cold dead hand, Radvanovsky then delivered, "E avanti a lui tremava tutta Roma" while leaning waaaaaay over Scarpia's dead body so she could gloat at him in pretty much the position from which she watched him die... only to then go into a maniacal laugh that quickly became distressed. I've watched filmed productions in which Tosca goes crazy after murdering Scarpia, and spends all of Act 3 completely off her rocker, and I thought that maybe that's where Radvanovsky was taking things, which would have made this very trad production interestingly Regie, despite all the classic trappings? But the candelabra-placing bits quickly went back to being very conventional, with the only surprise being that, when that snare roll came in at the very end of the act and startled Tosca, Sondra dropped that crucifix from a height of probably 18 inches, straight onto Bryn's chest—and to his great credit, he did not sit bolt upright at the impact and yell, "HEY!" which absolutely is what I would have done in that situation.
Anyway, all silliness aside, Act 2 really is the dramatic heart of this opera, and how it plays out can pretty much make or break the entire production. And I think it will be a long time before I see another production whose Act 2 is this dramatically sensitive and downright horrifying, which is *entirely* complimentary to how excellent both Terfel and Radvanovsky were throughout, and to how much trust they clearly have in each other as performers to be able to take such extremely intense dramatic risks.
Act 3
I deeply appreciate that, at the top of this final act, Puccini was going all in on pure "Rome circa 1800" vibes—a song in Romanesco! sung by one of the shepherds that would have been out in the fields that once lay around the area that, by 1900, had been urbanized into the "Prati" neighborhood! all the tonally accurate bells from the churches that are audible from the Castel Sant'Angelo at 3 in the morning! That said, I don't think I've ever seen a production of Tosca that knew completely what it was doing with the beginning of Act 3, and this one was no exception. I did enjoy watching the curtain rise on the Sergeant delivering the coup de grâce (by sword, grisly!) on a different prisoner who's just been executed by firing squad—nice foreshadowing, there—and then watching another soldier mop up all the blood after the corpse had been carried away. But things did become pretty static after that until Cavaradossi reappeared, when everything was just bells and soldiers milling about on an admittedly GORGEOUS set.
I've already mentioned the intriguing staging parallel of Jagde pounding his fist on the Jailer's desk, in an echo of both Scarpia and Tosca in the previous act; and I was hoping that he was going to do something equally interesting dramatically with "E lucevan le stelle" (my fave tenor aria of all time, and possibly my fave aria of all time, period?). Alas, as I should have expected, Jagde put too much vocal heft into all of the opening bits of this notoriously delicate aria, and visually he just walked across the stage with his hands clasped, before finally falling to his knees at the end. Not the most heart-rending rendition, but I was sort of prepared for that.
Fortunately, Radvanovsky was back a second later! And especially because the physical dynamic between her and Terfel in the previous act had been so extreme and horrific, it made the gentleness with which Jagde held Radvanovsky's hands throughout "O dolci mani" all the more striking. (The one moment I didn't love was when Radvanovsky fell to the ground just before "Voi deste morte, o man vittoriose," and Jagde kept ahold of her hand, and it just didn't look comfortable and brought to mind that moment of Terfel yanking Radvanovsky's arms above a reasonable shoulder height... but I'm sure there's a way to work out that awkwardness, and make Cavaradossi's continued holding of Tosca's hand look more supportive than like a weird echo of that Act 2 moment.) At any rate, these two remained ridiculously sweet together throughout this act, and because singing high notes loudly is Jagde's wheelhouse, the big "Trionfal" moment was pretty stunning vocally. Jagde and Radvanovsky actually kept looking at each other just when the other had looked away during their a cappella lines, which was kind of charming in and of itself—and I suppose one could also read a meta interpretation into it, about how Cavaradossi and Tosca are experiencing this moment of unity in profoundly different ways, and not really seeing things eye-to-eye, based on what Cavaradossi knows is about to happen and Tosca hasn't yet realized.
Also, Radvanovsky really was hamming it up in the moments where Tosca is telling Cavaradossi how to fall realistically once the gunshots are fired—Radvanovsky kept doing this adorable thing where she'd put the back of one hand to her forehead and then give this melodramatic groan while pretending to fall. I presume she even did it when everyone was lining up for the "mock" execution itself (I was watching Jagde, but half the audience laughed, and I have to imagine that that's why), and her Tosca did seem unusually giddy and bouncing about the whole execution situation. Which didn't last, of course. And there was nothing objectively unusual about the very ending of the opera—Radvanovsky struggling to her feet and then running around all the soldiers who had just appeared onstage, then singing her big closing challenge to Scarpia (a touch flat, but I honestly am still reeling from those crescendos in Act 2, so I will forgive this woman literally anything). But for some reason, I cannot stop thinking about the way Radvanovsky then gracefully spun around on that parapet and dropped effortlessly and unhesitatingly over the edge in what I can best describe as the world's classiest pencil dive. I don't think I was the only one in the audience who gasped. And I have no idea what made it such a striking moment... maybe the complete and unflinching decisiveness of the gesture? At any rate, even if the final image of the opera was Spoletta standing dourly over Cavaradossi's corpse, it was thrilling to leave the overall story with such a familiar gesture made somehow strikingly new.
Curtain Call
And the curtain call, because we all love pics of our faves getting the kudos they're due! (With apologies for the fact that my phone's camera is so inadequate... hopefully it captures the gist of things, if not the particulars.)
Sir Bryn Terfel, taking a VERY well-deserved bow.
Sondra was THIS LEVEL OF EXCITED through the entire curtain call, especially when someone tossed her a bouquet of flowers and she caught it! (She then handed said bouquet off to Bryn while she went offstage to bring on conductor Xian Zhang, and Bryn tossed the bouquet across the stage to Brian, and everyone was clearly feeling very happy and silly.)
Full cast with tiny conductor!
And a bonus post-show discussion!
EDIT: Someone recorded this entire post-show discussion and put the video online, so you can watch it yourself instead of reading the below, if so desired!
I certainly didn't take down everything that was said during this post-show discussion with the three leads, but here were the points that I found most interesting:
When asked whether he agrees that Scarpia is probably THE worst villain in opera, Terfel replied very deadpan, "I think he's really just a connoisseur of wine and women, who's surrounded by people who do really bad things." 😂
The three performers said that one of the best things about working with each other, and with a score as dramatically driven as this one, is that so much of what they're doing onstage is reacting (more than proactively acting) to the music and to each other. This means that every show is different, which is exciting! And apparently that thing where Scarpia leaned his head up against Cavaradossi's and kind of head-butted him while he was interrogating him at the top of Act 2 was completely improvised this performance, so Jagde was like, "Bryn had never done that before, even in rehearsal! So if I looked surprised and pissed off, it's because I genuinely WAS surprised and pissed off that he was doing this!"
Radvanovsky—who was just as adorably giggly and delighted with everything post-show as she seemed during curtain call—described Tosca's perspectives on suicide as "getting straight on the 2 train to Hell" (because cardinal sins and devout Catholicism and all).
That thing towards the end of Act 2 where Scarpia creepily ran the end of his quill up and down her Tosca's arm apparently was borrowed directly from that iconic recording of Maria Callas and Tito Gobbi performing these roles at Covent Garden in 1964. (The post-show discussion moderator's opinion on the quill thing, along with most of the other blocking in Act 2: "It was dirty.")
Terfel also explained that pounding his chest three times at the end of the Te Deum is Scarpia's (rather unrepentant) "mea culpa" moment within the whole opera. My friend who saw Terfel a few months ago in a different production of Tosca had been wondering then what was going on with his chest-pounding there, so now we know!
Jagde brought up an interesting point about character relationship continuity, in that in both Act 1 and Act 3, Cavaradossi is in a sense placating his rather volatile girlfriend—first, trying to convince her that he’s not cheating on her, and then trying to reassure her that everything is going to be OK, even though he knows far better than to trust Scarpia.
Someone (Terfel?) mentioned that there was a "great Scarpia" in the audience that afternoon, but no one explained who this was, which just isn't fair to the rest of us inquiring minds!!!
Similarly, when the moderator asked Radvanovsky where Tosca falls within her general repertoire, she replied, "She is me," bringing up the point that Tosca is the only (major) opera written about an opera singer, so she gets to play different variations of herself through the role, based on what she's going through in real life during any given production. In this production, she was saying she was playing true to life as "a little more playful, and a lot more in love," and I was like, OKAY, YOU CAN’T JUST TEASE US LIKE THIS, SONDRA, WHO ARE YOU DATING??? (The internet is being no help at all on this point, alas... Operablr, if you can shed any light on this mystery, I will be eternally grateful.)
Bryn said that this Met run was the last time he intended to perform Scarpia in full production, although he still would probably perform the role in concert. He added that, in contrast to less-stressful comedic roles like Figaro or Falstaff, Scarpia *still* makes him nervous as a role, and he always comes offstage wanting to do even better in the next performance, so he's ready to retire it. I absolutely respect that, but this makes me all the more grateful to have seen him live in a truly, TRULY unforgettable performance that I feel he made absolutely his own.
