Director Kay Castaldo sees Ariadne auf Naxos, the 1916 opera composed by Richard Strauss with a libretto by Hugo Hofmannsthal, as a work about transformation. It isn’t an unreasonable assumption. The German word for transformation, verwandlung, appears throughout the libretto in a number of different contexts, and in the opera itself we see a stage production transformed from a classical tragedy to a slapstick comedy and back again, and we see beings both human and mythical changed by love. In a similar way, the singers and musicians who perform in this show transformed the Lydia Mendelssohn stage into a place where art and love triumph over greed and sadness, where a great harmonic progression says more than words ever could, and where beautiful music plays until the curtain comes down.
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The plot of Ariadne auf Naxos is about a theatrical gala. On the schedule for the evening is a serious opera about the myth of Ariadne on the island of Naxos. However, after the opera will be a performance by a troupe of comedians, led by their glamorous starlet Zerbinetta. The general opinion backstage is that the comedy show will be a sure-fire crowd-pleaser—not like that boring opera. The Composer of the opera is distraught at the thought of his great work of art being upstaged by a frivolous burlesque, and he is downright horrified by the revelation that, due to time constraints, both opera and comedians will be forced to perform at the same time. But the show must go on, and in the second act, that’s exactly what happens. We see the grand tragic heroine Ariadne bemoan her lost love while trying to ignore the clowns, while the clowns in turn try to cheer her up and please the audience. Somehow, the opera characters and the comedians manage to coexist sort of peacefully, and the show ends as Ariadne blissfully finds a new love, while the Composer gains a lovely muse in Zerbinetta.
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Castaldo’s directing style was different for both acts—one wonders if she made a conscious decision to “transform” her style. For the backstage act, the stage action was verisimilar, like a stage play with singing. For the operatic act, the stage action became borderline-choreographic, undoubtedly helped by choreographer Ron de Jesus. The comedians bopped around genially to the beat of their peppy music, while Ariadne and Theseus moved with grace and contemplation, as though the air around them was a fragile substance.
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Castaldo’s proclivity for having bits of silent action happen while other characters are singing has a twofold effect. On one hand, it helps to articulate the contrasts between the characters in the show, as when the Composer sings about the beauty of art while a stagehand flirts with Zerbinetta in the background, or when Ariadne sings about the depths of her grief while the comedians take tumbles and pratfalls behind her; on the other hand, it was often in danger of distracting from the focus of the scene. However, when the stage business worked well, it could be genuinely funny and thrilling, like when the quartet of clowns fought off spectres of death using flashlights (an eccentric image that nonetheless makes perfect sense, or something close to it, when one sees it happen onstage). Her directorial touch showed particular deftness in defining the relationship between Ariadne and Bacchus; they appeared as both statuesque deities and as two imperfect people, people frightened and confused by life, and, yes, transformed by their love for each other. It seemed a bit trickier for her to articulate the relationship between the Composer and Zerbinetta in a meaningful way, but to be fair, their love blossoms over the course of a few bars, whereas Ariadne and Bacchus have the entire final quarter of the opera to fall in love.
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Gary Decker’s scenic design is unsentimental, grounding the lofty ideals of the Composer in stark reality. The first act takes place in a slate-gray backstage area. The second act gives the opera an über-stark design as well: Ariadne’s island is represented by a black disk, and both Ariadne and her fellow nymphs make ingeniously dramatic use of a prop that is essentially a long black sheet, but is much more beautiful than that. One’s imagination transforms the sparse space into something greater. I won’t deny that I thought the choice to make the background of both acts the color of sheet-metal was a bit off-putting, but I do believe there was a reasonable dramatic intention behind it. I was still thankful for the color that was added by both the lighting (designed by Rob Murphy, also minimal yet evocative), and the shazammy costumes that the comedians wore (designed by Christianne Meyers). Another member of the design team I would be remiss not to mention would be wig and makeup designer Dawn Rivard; although most of her work was too imperceptible for me to take specific notice of, I did enjoy the dreadlock-wigs she crafted for the nymphs of Naxos.
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Thursday-Saturday Cast Review
Martin Walsh, head of the Residential College’s drama department, gave a perfectly pompous performance in the speaking role of the Major-Domo. Castaldo chose to christen the first act “The Battlefield of Money & Art,” and Walsh’s Major-Domo is unmistakably on the side of Money. Isaac Droscha gave the Music-Teacher a noble baritone voice and a nuanced portrayal of a harried, intelligent man desperately trying to please both artists and businesspeople. Justin Berkowitz gave a mercilessly snarky performance as the Choreographer; his slender voice often sounded callous but never sounded unlovely, a nifty feat. Katherine Calcamuggio, as the Composer, had a voice that soared to the heights of artistic inspiration and sank into the depths of despair with expressive agility. Yes, the ostensibly male Composer is played by a woman, in the long-standing operatic tradition of having males portrayed with female voices. I was never really convinced that Calcamuggio was a dude, in spite of her wearing a David-Byrne-esque broad-shouldered padded suit, but that’s a small nitpick that has nothing whatsoever to do with her beautiful voice.
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Nicholas Davis, Jordan Harris, Ben Brady and Jonas Hacker were adorable and genial as the quartet of clowns, they harmonized terrifically, and they all appeared to be genuinely having a ton of fun onstage. The trio of nymphs, Meghan McLoughlin, Amanda Cantu and Olivia Betzen seamlessly combined a splendid vocal blend with graceful movements and just a bit of sass. Jesse Donner exuded an unpretentious naïve bewilderment as the young god, Bacchus. Listening to his voice, you’d never guess the difficulty inherent in singing that role (Strauss was not known for writing tenor parts that would be considered singable by normal humans). Leann Schuering was beautifully animated as Zerbinetta—she consciously acted every single note she sang, finding some sort of meaning in each coloratura run written in the score. The staging of her showstopper aria was astounding. She lectured Ariadne on the benefits of finding a new boyfriend, tried vainly to befriend her, and fell into an alternately regretful and unapologetic reminiscence of all her past lovers. It almost served to distract from the fact that she was singing some of the most nastily difficult music ever written for the human voice, and singing it pretty perfectly. Kimwana Doner projected quiet nobility as Ariadne but also had some understated moments of comedy in her reactions to the troupe of comedians. Her vocal tone was simply golden.
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Friday-Sunday Cast Review

Jesus Murillo as the Music-Teacher crafted a portrait of a man who was desperately frustrated with the state of affairs backstage and projected a sense of paternal pride in his pupil the Composer; his warm yet authoritative bass-baritone was well suited to this interpretation. Nicholas Nesterak’s portrayal of the Choreographer seemed more pragmatic and less snide, with a characterful voice and a physical comedian’s flair for gesture. Elizabeth Galafa was a force of nature as the Composer, throwing pages of music this way and that, wildly gesticulating and beseeching the gods of music to grant her strength; it was impossible to take one’s eyes off her.

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The clowns in this cast (Austin Hoeltzel, Michael Martin, Glenn Healy and Jacob Wright) seemed less like professional performers and more like goofy slackers, and their stage business seemed to have more of an improvisational character to it. With the nymphs, there was a stronger contrast between their voice types, from the shiny soprano of Mary Claire Sullivan, the smoky mezzo of Stephanie Schoenhofer and the brilliant soubrette of Paige Lucas, and there seemed to be more genuine pity for Ariadne in their performances. The Zerbinetta of this performance, Jilliane Tucker, played up the coquettish side of the character, and had a voice that could go from slight to powerful depending on what was required of her vocally. Tshepo Moagi emitted a transfixing energy and an unbelievably robust voice as Bacchus; he was completely believable in the role of the Young God. Antonina Chekhovskaya’s presence as Ariadne was less queenlike and more like a princess; her Ariadne seemed less totally composed, less sure of herself (in an affecting way, not in an awkward way). Her voice, on the other hand, seemed wise beyond her years, full of power and darkness.

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Strauss’s music remained magical. It was played charmingly and beautifully in equal measure (not very musical terms, but I’m not much of a musician…) by an ensemble that consisted of too many wonderfully talented musicians to name here. Conductor Kamal Khan exerted a powerful amount of control over this protean piece, even though his on-podium demeanor did seem to suggest a prodigious intake of Red Bull, and it was occasionally difficult to hear the singers over the orchestra. Admittedly, both of those observations may be due to the fact that I was sitting in the first row for this performance; I could have literally taken one step and walked into the orchestra pit from where I was sitting, and I was two seats away from being seated directly behind Khan.
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Musically, Ariadne auf Naxos is an event that simply should not be missed. The immediately discernable vigor of the music and the tangible “joie de performance” that the performers radiate also makes it, to my mind, a great show for audience members who are new to opera (side note: you don’t have to wear tails or a ballgown to go to an opera, I went in jeans and a tee and no one looked twice). If you go to this show, it will undoubtedly transform your evening. (zing!)
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Remaining performance dates for Ariadne auf Naxos are:
Friday the 29th, 8 PM
Saturday the 30th, 8 PM
Sunday the 31st, 4 PM