Visually ugly and dull ‘Aida’ at Lyric Opera relies on music for its charm

One of opera’s most admired staples is Verdi’s “Aida,” a tragedy set during the Old Kingdom of Egypt (c. 2700–2200 B.C.). It’s the story of a love triangle during a time of war that ends in disaster for all three star-crossed lovers. After an absence of over a decade, “Aida” has returned to Lyric Opera of Chicago in a production new to our city, first seen in 2016 in San Francisco.

Aida is an enslaved prisoner of war in Egypt who attends to the King’s daughter Amneris. Both women are in love with Egyptian general Radamés, who returns only Aida’s affection. When Egypt once again goes to war with the enemy, Radamés hopes to lead his country’s forces and win against their enemy, thereby earning the right to marry Aida. He does win, and brings back many prisoners, including (unbeknownst to him) Aida’s father. What the Egyptians don’t know is that Aida is a princess and her father is the King of the Ethiopians, their long-time enemy. Aida’s loyalty is put to the test: does she get intelligence from Radamés to help her father stage a counter-offensive or does she remain true to her love and ultimately assist the enemy of her father and homeland? The denouement is heartbreaking.

The internationally renowned Francesca Zambello, artistic director of the Washington National Opera at the Kennedy Center, directs this “Aida.” I admire her decision to make war her emphasis, because without it, the fictional Aida would have lived happily ever after. Zambello chooses to place the action in an unnamed place somewhere in the 20th century, employing modern military dress and florescent lighting in a military bunker.

But another element to this production visually intrudes at every point, muddling the story. Zambello uses designs by street artist Marquis Lewis (known as RETNA) to fill the stage. These designs are graffiti-like recreations of hieroglyphs and calligraphy molded together to create huge sculptures, as well as depictions of the graffiti-glyphs on banners, flags and other backdrops. (Had there been lunchboxes, we would have seen them there too, I am sure.).

And so a moonlit scene on the Nile ends up looking like a meeting on a dingy New York City Subway platform. The finale to Act II is a huge celebration with the flavor of a tacky yet outrageously expensive party at a drug lord’s Miami compound, with RETNA’s designs splashed about in lurid color. It was hard to gaze upon the stage without having your retina poked with RETNA’s incredibly distracting designs, some of which seemed slightly unmoored and wobbly, making them wonky ankhs. Or maybe it was just my ankh-xiety.

The singers do much to compensate for the visual ugliness of this production, with soprano Michelle Bradley in the title role offering splendid power and a strong emotional depiction. She could be more nuanced, but her “O patria mia” in the fourth act is beautiful and touching. Bradley makes you cheer for Aida, even long after you realize her situation is doomed.

Russell Thomas as Radamés makes his opening aria, “Celeste Aida,” sound tentative when it should be strongly declarative. In ensembles, his voice is sometimes lost. This is an even bigger problem for Jamie Barton as Amneris. She is underpowered and hard to hear throughout the first two acts. Moreover, she seems to have only a single harsh color to her quiet voice, thus providing a lot of bite but no bark. Her confrontation with Radamés late in the opera is much better, where she brings a more animated and detailed depiction of her hurt and rage.

The smaller roles are sung well, with Reginald Smith, Jr. providing a sly Amonasro, Aida’s father and King of Egypt’s enemies. Önay Köse has gravitas and ample vocal power as the high priest Ramfis.

The costumes do little to help clarify and define this “Aida.” The soldiers’ uniforms are boring, or in this case olive drab. The principals are all done up in unflattering garb. Radamés is decked out in duds that make him look as though he has no neck. Amneris sports a matronly canary yellow caftan that adds years to her age. Aida is given a bleak green and purple outfit that fails at all times to even suggest anything remotely alluring. Ramfis struts about carrying a staff with a bright red RETNA glyph plopped on top, making him look more like a Russian surveyor than the most powerful cleric in the land.

Strangely, Lyric Opera made one of their selling points of this opera that it is the first time that music director Enrique Mazzola has conducted “Aida.” Why on-the-job training should be a ticket-seller escapes me, but Mazzola truly steps up. The Prelude was quiet and atmospheric. There were gorgeous moments from harp and oboe. The six players of Aida trumpets on stage were glorious. It would have been nice had Mazzola pulled back from time to time so that the singers were not so often lost under the orchestra, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed his work.

The Lyric Opera Chorus was stunning, offering vocal depth and providing the large human forces to give this production some much-needed heft.

In her program notes, Zambello claims that “Aida” is “a chamber piece with a huge triumphal scene parked in the middle of the powerful story about love and war.” She has made this claim previously, and I find it perplexing. While the definitions of grand opera and chamber opera are loose, even James Conlon, who conducted this Zambello production at L.A. Opera in 2022, calls Aida’s triumphal scene “the apex and the end of grand opera.”

Perhaps what she’s getting at is that the meat of “Aida” is a personal love story. The 19th century critic Hans von Bülow once described Verdi’s Requiem as “opera in ecclesiastical garb.” Maybe Zambello sees “Aida” as chamber opera in grand opera costume.

Yet, it’s strange that Zambello doesn’t make more of the quiet, private scenes. For example, when Amneris confronts Radamés, they are placed at two ends of a long metal table that would not be out of place in “Dr. Strangelove.” This provided neither intimacy nor authenticity.

In any event, this “Aida” is a real mixed bag. The look of it is distracting and off-putting, but the music still reigns supreme. The conclusion, where Radamés and Aida die together, has glistening power as the lights dim and the orchestra quiets to a lingering shimmer. Verdi’s voice still shines through.