For those in the opera house on January 17^th or witnessing the production via live streaming, the curtain rose on rapturous, gleeful song in the chiaroscuro Church of Sant’Andrea della Valle. In the Metropolitan Opera’s recent production of Tosca, laughter mingled with music as a chorus traded verses of joy with the church’s sacristan. The orchestra backed the celebratory tone in a flurry of trills and lilting melodies firmly in the major mode. The church, a fairly faithful mise-en-scène evoking the notable Renaissance basilica in Rome, seemed to look on in approval of the pomp and circumstance housed within its fluted marble walls and vaulted arches.           

Amidst this sonic and visual bath of merriment, however, hints of a darker reality clung to the recesses. Shadows blacked out the corners. Hard light beams transformed pillars from neoclassical backdrops to imposing stone. A closed gate belied the recently vacated shelter of the political refuge Angelotti.      

A violent and crass triple stab of brass killed the gaiety. A man shrouded in black marched through the pews. Before his face emerged from the shadows, power and magnetism resounded his every step. As a spot highlighted his jowls, the police chief Scarpia, played by Bryn Terfel, grimly revealed himself to the choristers and audience.       

Joined by Sondra Radvanovsky as Tosca and Brian Jagde as Cavaradossi for the Met’s third and final cast of the opera Tosca (Jan 9, 12, 17, 23), Terffel unequivocally stole the show in what might be one of the best modern impersonations of the evil police chief Scarpia; so utterly irredeemable in his actions, he can be played with camp. Cornell MacNeil, with well-coiffed hair, a powdered face, and a streaming dark cloak, did this to great success in his time at the Met in the 1970s and 80s. Camp allows for easily understood signifiers of an antagonist and is likely in line with Puccini’s original intention for the opera. It maintains a divide between fiction and reality in service of the plot and audience enjoyment. Camp does not, however, engender true fear and hopelessness in the audience.      

Terfel, unlike MacNeil, brought reality to Scarpia. We felt his evil viscerally. The key to projecting emotion in a villain is to also endear him to the audience. Terfel’s brilliance came not in his moments of antagonism but rather in his irresistible attraction. His Scarpia is greasy, vacuous, egotistical, and in spite of all of this, I still found myself shamefully enraptured by his charm as I might also be by a Mephistopheles. As Terfel’s Scarpia paraded from one egotistical act to another, I could not take my eyes off of him. Worst of all, I secretly wanted more.         

In his first appearance at the Met in 13 years, Terfel lived up to his reputation as the greatest living interpreter of Scarpia. His vocal virtuosity and sheer power commanded the hall. Most impressive, however, was the effect of his silence: The slight snarls and jeers commandeering his face. The lust and ego so thinly veiled by his eyes. The omnipresent madness and desire in every step. Even his smallest touches simultaneously bewitched and repelled. In his brave and exceptional performance, Terfel made the unlikable character fundamentally irresistible.        

Jagde’s weak-willed Cavaradossi only enhanced the attraction of Terfel’s Scarpia. Many productions of Tosca find their emotional core in the love of the opera diva Floria Tosca and the painter Mario Cavaradossi. The shocking emotional capacity of the Mia Gelosa, the duet between Tosca and Cavaradossi in Act I of the greatest love themes ever written, makes the rest of the opera only more heartbreaking as the lovers are separated. The ear finds itself constantly craving another full realization of that tune which Puccini so rarely gives as the lovers face endless challenges.      

With Jagde as Cavaradossi, however, this was not the case. Mia Gelosa lacked the cathartic passion of a man madly in love. Far from the courageous and romantic Cavaradossi’s that have been played at the Met by such divas as Pavarotti in 1978 and Plácido Domingo in 1985, Jagde’s Cavaradossi read as weak-willed and soft, resulting in a fascinating new interpretation. Rather than focusing on Tosca and Cavaradossi as expected, Jagde’s performance placed the dynamic between Tosca and Scarpia at the core. As weak-willed and soft, Jagde’s Cavaradossi became easily trampled by Terfel’s Scarpia, thereby raising Scarpia’s magnetism.         

Yet Jagde sang his role well, save a very few moments that his voice lost sync with the orchestra. We prefer reserved and accurate to over-emphatic tenurial high jinks. Jagde’s more reserved moments projected strongly. Though he had the power to fill the vast space, he chose never to do so when singing about his love for Tosca. Almost comically, Jagde’s Cavaradossi is at his most passionate when pursuing his republican values and learning of the political advances of the French against the monarchy of Italy. In these moments of politics he became the stereotypical leading man.        

Terfel’s Scarpia filled the vacuum of passion left by Cavaradossi. Tosca, as a result, finds herself completely isolated. If Cavaradossi never truly seems in love with Tosca it is hard to believe he will come to her rescue when Tosca is trapped by Scarpia in Act II. This isolation affords Tosca greater agency and increases the catharsis of her “kiss” that ends Act II.        

Sondra Radvanovsky stood out strongly in the titular role. Much like Terfel, she is widely considered among the greatest living practitioners of her part. Her electric moments with Terfel made this production a highlight of the season. The hatred and disgust that Terfel built met a rage filled catharsis from Radvanovsky in Act II. Much as Terfel’s Scarpia seethed with lust, the despair of Radvanovsky’s Tosca felt palpable as she realized the reality of her situation: no one would be coming to save her from the lascivious grasp of this ugly, horrible man.

In an opera loaded with powerhouse and canonical arias, Radvanovsky’s rendition of the Vissi d’Arte in Act II was the best. Leading up to it, Tosca finds herself at a crossroads of choices that will forever change her. The only way to save her lover Cavaradossi is to either accept Scarpia’s sexual demands in what would amount to rape or attempt to murder Scarpia. Either option would irrevocably change and traumatize her. Before tempting her fate, Tosca sings the Vissi d’Arte, a last appeal to a life lived for “art” and “love” before she is permanently forced to leave this life behind. Radvanovsky tapped both into this pain and independent agency. She built up phrases to the moment of final dynamic catharsis before suddenly pulling back. At the emotional climax, when the phrase would be expected to be loudest, Radvanovsky hauntingly floated the high B flat, earning the longest standing ovation of the night.

Why does Tosca matter now? With the rising popularity of right-wing authoritarianism and the fall in the faith of a republic, Tosca takes on added weight and significance. The plot centers on an authoritarian police chief hunting down republican sympathizers. The despicable attractiveness of Terfel’s Scarpia brings to mind the many strong-arm populist men leading countries in the modern world. The set of Tosca is adorned with marvels of classical and neoclassical art that have been corrupted to service the ego of the powerful. The first act revolves around a famous Renaissance church, the second is set inside a famous Renaissance palace (Palazzo Farnese), and the third takes place atop a Roman castle (Castel Sant’Angelo). In every setting, masterworks of art attesting to the values of reason and the republic look on in shame at the complete abuse of power and realization of vanity that happens before them. The clever forced-perspective set of David McVicar’s traditional production only reinforces this perversion of spaces. The stage is on a tilt, causing the world to be both figuratively and literally askew.

Tosca does not bring escapism or optimism to our tumultuous times, yet it can feel cathartic in a time when people often feel the need to scream at the world. Radvanovsky seemingly encouraged all of us to spiritually scream in communion. The living, breathing orchestra led by Xian Zhang reacted to the characters on stage, and more broadly, the thousands sitting in the audience. We shared in an exquisite communal catharsis on this night.

Aida reprises in Boston theaters* Jan 29^th and Feb 1^st, Fidelio on March 15^th and 19^th, Le Nozze di Figaro on Apr 26^th and 30^th. 

*Assembly row 12 in Somerville, Majestic 7 in Watertown, AMC South Bay Center 12 in Dorchester, Showcase Cinemas in Woburn (MET Theater Finder)

Matthew Winkler is studying music and history at Tufts university. He is a composer and researcher who also plays jazz and classical trumpet.