Anthony Dean Griffey Sings Peter Grimes at the Met

For many people, operas can be an intimidating experience–they can be quite long and are almost always sung in an unfamiliar language. Yet I think the stories themselves are often the biggest obstacles. They all project fundamental human emotions, but through characters and events with whom the average person cannot easily identify. Mozart's lothario Don Giovanni is dragged off to Hell by a vengeful statue that comes to life; Verdi's forbidden lovers Aida and Radames live against the backdrop of pyramids and Egyptian pharaohs; Wagner's monumental Ring cycle is set in a mythical land of gods and mortals. No matter how powerful the emotions of the voices and the orchestra, it can be hard to sympathize with a one-eyed god who carries a spear.

Peter Grimes, however, is no such experience. It's story is startlingly real: Peter Grimes is a lonely fisherman who is the target of his community's deep mistrust. He is prone to extreme mood swings–at one moment pining for his beloved Ellen Alford; at another violently throwing a child about the stage. After two of his apprentices die under suspicious circumstances, the townspeople turn completely against him, banishing him from the Borough, sending him on a final voyage out to sea.

The Metropolitan Opera unveiled its new production of Britten's harrowing masterpiece on Thursday night staring tenor Anthony Dean Griffey. Since the opera's premiere, two radically differing approaches of the title role have emerged: Peter Pears, the role's originator, viewed Grimes as a man driven to terrible acts by an unforgiving, oppressive community; Jon Vickers, on the other hand, saw Grimes as a brute, bringing out the character's anger and resentment.

Performances of Grimes are measured against these two legendary interpretations, and Griffey adopted elements of both. His beautiful lyric voice was sympathetic and, at times, even appealing. But he dashed any goodwill with shocking violent outbursts. The emotional instability Griffey set up made his Grimes compelling and powerful.

I've always been able to tell how engaging a concert is by listening to the crowd; the less noise, the better the performance. During Act III, one of the darkest in all of opera, held the audience transfixed. Silences usually filled with coughs and sneezes were completely motionless; people
were seemingly too afraid, or too shocked, to move. The enraged townspeople resolving to march on Grimes's hut–culminating in the shattering cries of "Peter Grimes!"–was chilling. Colder still was the following scene, an emotionally-raw monologue in which Grimes is cast adrift within his own delusions, haunted by his inner demons and the voices of the distant, faceless mob, now hidden behind the claustrophobic walls of his hut.

The story of his downfall strikes at the core of many human fears–someone who's different, misunderstood, an outsider. It's no challenge to place yourself in the shoes of either the townspeople or Grimes; we see this scenario unfold in countless ways all the time, and many of us have probably experienced it from both perspectives. In the end, Grimes is led out to sea, and the people of the Borough resume their normal lives. Yet the desolation and despair of Grimes's final moments will be hard to forget.

(Photo by Nick Heavican)