Met Opera 2024-25 Review: Ainadamar
Daniela Mack and Angel Blue in Ainadamar (Marty Sohl/Met Opera)
“That. Was. Glorious,” an anonymous voice behind me gushed as soon as the curtain dropped on opening night. Indeed, Ainadamar’s genre-bending combination of great voices, historical elegy, and explosive flamenco dancing is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Osvaldo Golijov’s opus tells of the real-life actress Margarita Xirgu and her memories of her friend Federico García Lorca, Spain’s illustrious poet/playwright who was murdered by the fascist Falange party in 1936, as she prepares to go onstage in Mariana Pineda, Lorca’s play about the execution of a 19th century rebel. Ainadamar prioritizes emotion and spectacle over strength of plot, which suits opera just fine. The worst that can be said of it is that it doesn’t sufficiently flesh out Lorca’s backstory (how was he or his work revolutionary, why was he marked for death) or Mariana Pineda’s (what rebellious act did she commit), and that it has too many endings despite its 80-minute runtime. Both statements are true, and both should deter nobody from going to this gorgeous, visceral, intoxicating experience.
From the first moments of the show, director Deborah Colker and her team knocked the production out of the park. The staging is simple but compelling, and Colker, herself a choreographer, wove movement into every possible fiber. One particularly stunning moment was when a quartet of statues of Mariana Pineda “came alive” and danced delicately with their marble shawls during Lorca’s aria “Desde mi ventana”. The Met got real flamenco dancers, who mesmerized with each step, and the singers who play the Niñas, Xirgu’s acting students, dance with ardent beauty. The Sevillan Isaac Tovar, a former soloist of the Ballet Nacional de España, set the tone for the performance during his solo in the Water and Horse Overture: exhilarating.
Daniela Mack in Ainadamar (Marty Sohl/Met Opera)
Argentine mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack’s dusky contralto and robust chest voice make her perfect for the trouser role of Lorca. She disappeared into the poet, exuding his headstrong idealism and joie de vivre. Contrary to what some think, a mezzo-soprano’s casting as Lorca has nothing to do with the idea that gays are somehow of inferior masculinity; when Golijov was commissioned to write an opera for the Tanglewood Festival, only female opera singers were available, and Kelley O’Connor turned out to be ideal. That’s all.
Alfredo Tejada in Ainadamar (Marty Sohl/Met Opera)
Ainadamar features authentic cante jondo, a style of flamenco singing native to Andalusia. Lorca adored it, dubbing it el duende (a mythical creature in Spanish folklore), which is why it is a touch of supreme irony that it is here used by Ramón Ruiz Alonso, the Falangist politician who sent Lorca to his death, arrestingly played by Alfredo Tejada. Each cry of “¡Entréguenlo!” (Hand him over!) was blood-curdling, sending pulses of electricity through the theater. The Gunshot Interlude was much less disturbing than I had been dreading, since it was accompanied by the orchestra and Tejada, but still effective. I’d take it over pickleball noise. Tejada could hardly have executed his assignment better (pun intended), but I was uncertain how the audience would respond to a sound so foreign to an operatic stage. I needn’t have worried. Raucous cheers greeted him at the curtain call.
Elena Villalón and Angel Blue in Ainadamar (Marty Sohl/Met Opera)
Golijov is one of Argentina’s ~200k Jews and made aliyah to Israel in 1983. L’dor v’dor (לְדוֹר וָדוֹר) is an expression in Judaism meaning “from generation to generation,” about the passing down of traditions, knowledge and culture. It is also a central theme of Ainadamar. Though Lorca is dead, and Margarita is dying, Lorca’s legacy and indeed the very future are safe with Margarita’s pupils and those whom they will inspire and teach. Nuria, her favorite student, is the smallest of the three principal roles, but Elena Villalón seized every moment. Pure-voiced like a spring, brimming with youth and energy but treating Margarita with respectful tenderness, she represented hope. Elena sang with her body too, dancing during the Act 1 Balada with no less commitment and urgency than the Niñas. Her final scene, in which Nuria delivers Lorca’s poem “Balada de la placeta,” was a showstopper. It was all parlato (spoken), and Elena sank her teeth into each word with thrilling and escalating ferocity. (Incidentally, the subtitles ended up three sentences behind.)
Angel Blue in Ainadamar (Marty Sohl/Met Opera)
Still, the heart of Ainadamar is undoubtedly Margarita Xirgu. For most of the run, she is sung by Angel Joy Blue, who has by now firmly established herself as one of the company’s leading stars. Last season, she was Micaëla in Carmen and then Magda in La Rondine, both HD transmissions, and she will sing the title role of Aida there, opening on New Year’s Eve. Her voice has grown and matured, enabling her to sing heavier roles, but remains sweet and luminous. As Margarita, she was warmly appealing with an occasionally magisterial touch. Her pain at Lorca’s death, crying out in a loose imitation of Alonso’s cante jondo, tore at the heart. At times, unfortunately, the projections of her face behind her for much of the first act made it hard to know who to look at: prerecorded Angel or live Angel.
Gabriella Reyes in Ainadamar (Beth Bergman/Met Opera)
On October 30, Nicaragüense-American soprano Gabriella Reyes took over Margarita for one night only, but she slipped into the show effortlessly. Her sound is powerful and sumptuous and she has impeccable Spanish (unsurprising, but welcome). I had the added pleasure of running into The Ailyn Pérez after the show, who flew in to support Gabriella, her Florencia en el Amazonas co-star.
Ainadamar’s creators didn’t study with Xirgu, but they have played a major part in making newly relevant Lorca’s poetry and plays, which I walked away with a strong desire to read. Federico would have been proud.
