When Philip Glassâs Akhnaten appeared recently at English National Opera, in a spellbinding production by Phelim McDermott, it quickly became a sold-out sensation. Audiences were enthralled not just by the mesmerizing score but also by the glorious, colorful stage pictures and hypnotic dramatic flow. Anthony Roth Costanzoâs gripping performance of the title roleâcomplete with extended opening nude sceneâwas hailed as a triumph. The production even incorporated juggling, with choreographer Sean Gandiniâs troupe bringing ancient Egypt to life with their virtuoso routines.
On November 8, this seminal stagingâwhich the Guardian hailed as âastonishing theatreââhas its eagerly anticipated Met premiere. Considering the response to the London run, itâs little surprise that when Glass discovered the story of the real-life Akhnaten, his course was immediately set. âPractically from the moment [that I first learned about Akhnaten] â� I knew I had found the subject for my third opera,â� Glass recalls in his 1987 autobiography. After the genre-busting success of Einstein on the Beach (1976) and Satyagraha (1980), Akhnaten rounded out what would come to be known as the composerâs Portrait Trilogy, a triptych of operas focused on innovators from across disciplines. âAkhnaten completed the trilogy in many satisfying ways,â� he continues. âIf Einstein epitomized the man of Science and Gandhi the man of Politics, then Akhnaten would be the man of Religion.â�
Originally crowned Amenhotep IV, the 17-year-old pharaoh was only on the throne for a few years before he began to envision and enact a drastically new belief system that fundamentally altered centuries-old social and political traditions and hierarchies. He decreed that a manifestation of the sun god Ra, known as the âAten,â� or âDisk of the Sun,â� be venerated above all else and went so far as to change his own name to Akhnaten, meaning âSpirit of Aten.â� He even had an entirely new capital city hastily constructed and called for the destruction of statues and images of other gods.
This historic first move toward monotheism, two centuries before Moses, quickly captured Glassâs attention, but unlike in the cases of Einstein and Gandhiâ�20th-century figures with well-documented lives and achievementsâ� only fragments remain from Akhnatenâs tumultuous reign. The cause of the pharaohâs untimely death less than two decades into his rule is still unknown. Soon after his downfall, factions opposing Akhnatenâs reforms branded him as âthe Great Criminalâ� and destroyed all but the slightest traces of his legacy. This incompleteness in Akhnatenâs biography only further captivated Glass. âWe needed no more story than was already there,â� he writes. âThe missing pieces, far from needing to be filled in or explained, actually added to the mystery and beauty of our subject.â�
In his production, McDermott draws on this ambiguity to conjure a âmythical, dreamlike version of ancient Egypt.â� Rather than striving for pure historical authenticity, the staging explores Akhnatenâs life through the perspective of early 20th-century archaeologists. âWe wanted to communicate the sense of what it was like for people to rediscover this ancient worldâlike when they opened Tutankhamenâs tomb for the first time,â� he says. âWeâre not being literal or trying to show a naturalistic version of what this world was like.â�
The director first brought his ingenious stagecraft to the Met with a now-legendary production of Glassâs Satyagraha in 2008, utilizing everyday materials like newspaper, corrugated tin, and towering puppets constructed of wicker baskets. But when he decided to set his sights on another one of the composerâs masterpieces, he instead sought inspiration from antiquity. â�Akhnaten in particular is very ritualistic,â� the director says. âItâs very much inspired by the Egyptian Book of the Dead and is, in one sense, a story of what happens to the dead as they progress into the afterlife, or as they believed it, a kind of parallel life.â�
Conceptualizing the opera in the early 1980s (Akhnaten had its world premiere in Stuttgart in 1984), the composer was intrigued by the ancient Egyptian obsession with death and its accompanying rites. âProbably no culture or society has been so death-conscious as the Egyptians. They seem hardly ever to have stopped thinking about it,â� Glass notes. âThis death thinking especially fascinated me â� The more I became involved with the material, the more I began to see the funeral as an overall âimageâ� for the work.â�
âThis isnât your usual linear narrative. Itâs a meditation, more like a poem,â� McDermott adds, âso we needed to find a particular vocabulary to translate the music dramatically.â� To do so, the director turned to choreographer Gandini, whose exceptionally talented troupe of performers provides a surprising but stunningly effective solution: juggling.
âJugglers first existed in ancient Egypt,â� McDermott explains, âso Seanâs pattern juggling is a natural expression of the rituals that weâre creating.â� For Costanzo, the juggling is a perfect match for Glassâs intricate musical lines. âThe first time I saw it and heard the music at the same time, tears streamed down my face,â� he recalls. âIt was as if the music was visible. It creates such a visceral effect on stage.â� (To read more about the juggling in Akhnaten, visit .)
Starring alongside Costanzo, two exceptionally talented artists with strong connections to Glassâs music will make their Met debuts. Mezzo-soprano JâNai Bridgesâ� whose recent performance in Satyagraha at LA Opera was hailed as âgorgeously resonantâ� by the Los Angeles Timesâ� appears as Akhnatenâs queen, Nefertiti. And on the podium, Karen Kamensek, who conducted the productionâs original London premiere, brings years of experience with Glassâs work. âShe knows this music inside out,â� Costanzo says. âImagine the precision it requires to keep this whole show together. She is fearsome and strong, but she also radiates such warmth from the pit.â�
But even under Kamensekâs expert leadership, adjusting to Glassâs musical language proved a major undertaking for Costanzo. âIt was nearly impossible to memorize,â� he laments. âThe only way to do it was to make it a part of my bodyâ� almost a ritual. And thatâs what this whole show is, more than anything: a beautiful and meaningful ritual.â�
In casting his lead character as a countertenor, a voice type more typically found in the performance of 18th-century music, Glass sought to set Akhnaten apart not only from the rest of the characters on stage but also from other figures in history. âThe effect of hearing a high, beautiful voice coming from the lips of a full-grown man can at first be very startling,â� he acknowledges. âIt was a way of musically and dramatically indicating in the simplest possible way that here was a man unlike any who had come before.â�
The choice also emphasizes a peculiar aspect of the lore surrounding the pharaoh. Due to multiple images depicting Akhnaten with wide hips, enlarged stomach, and full breasts, early scholars speculated that the young man was possibly intersex. Current thinking, however, offers a different explanation. As Danish Egyptologist Paul John Frandsen points out, these representations likely show the pharaoh as âthe god of creation â� containing both the male and female creative principle.â� For Frandsen, this symbol finds its musical analogue in the countertenor voice. âThe iconography of Akhnaten is the visual rendering of a theological dogma, and the musical rendering could hardly find a more apt expression than a voice that is neither male nor female.â�
This musical decision is but one of a number of unique facets of the operaâs score. Another is its complete lack of violins. At the time of the workâs 1984 world premiere in Stuttgart, the cityâs main opera house was undergoing a renovation, and the performances were instead scheduled for a nearby theater with a smaller-than-usual orchestra pit. Rather than reduce each of the string sections by an equal number of players, Glass chose to eliminate the violins altogether, producing âa low, dark sound that came to characterize the piece and suited the subject very well.â�
Even with the violins absent, the composer succeeds in painting with a broad palette of colors. Ravishingly lyrical scenes such as Akhnatenâs âHymn to the Sunâ� (set to a text believed to have been penned by the pharaoh himself) and the love duet that he shares with Nefertiti contrast sharply with what Glass describes as the âraw, primitive, quasi-militaryâ� Act I funeral music for Akhnatenâs father, with its âblaring brass and pounding drums.â�
For McDermott, this âpercussive, rhythmicâ� quality of the piece only further contributes to the operaâs âincredibly exciting ritualistic feelââeven if, as he admits, Glassâs distinct musical approach requires that listeners âbe in a certain place to be receptive to it and to respond to it.â�
Costanzo concurs. âGlassâs minimalism creates such a depth of emotion and experience, itâs completely unlike anything else. It washes over you like hypnosis. The effect that it has on you is something I canât describe. Youâll just have to come to the Met and experience it for yourself.â�
