Terence Blanchard’s first opera, Champion, has arrived at the Metropolitan Opera in an expanded version, having first been seen in St. Louis ten years ago. It comes on the heels of Fire Shut Up in My Bones, his second opera, which premiered at the Met last year and was a brilliant success, both critically and at the box office. Bones, musically blending jazz and classical in the best possible way, was an exploration of abuse, sexuality, hurt and healing, and it packed quite a wallop. It’s just that wallop that’s missing from Champion, about the Black boxer Emile Griffith, a closeted gay man who, after being called a homophobic slur by competitor Benny Paret, pummeled him unconscious in the ring. Paret died ten days later. Griffith eventually married a woman but spent his years confusedly trying to reconcile his guilt, anger and bisexuality.
Allen Moyer’s attractive and practical sets, along with Greg Emetaz’s projections move the action among three timelines, with the Elderly Emile in a boxy apartment near the rear of the stage which closes up easily. There are flashback to the Virgin Islands, where Emile was born; to a jolly, exciting gay bar, chock-filled with drag queens and some sexy dancing; and of course, to the ring. Transitions are slick, quick and tell the story, although by Act 2, lots of it seems hectic. Director James Robinson, fresh off Met successes with Porgy and Bess and Fire Shut Up in My Bones, scores somewhat less well here. The scene in St. Thomas early on, where Emile goes to find his mother Emelda, who abandoned her seven children and doesn’t even know which one Emile is when he finds her, is dramatically potent. Yet it is undercut with a colorful dance number, added for the Met by Camille A. Brown, whose frat-boy stomp in Fire stopped the show. Here it stops the flow. The fights are handsomely staged with slo-mo for the big punches, but there’s little suspense; the moment of the knock-out is punctuated by a loud offering from the orchestra. Not very clever.
And - and this is incomprehensible – the trauma of the fatal fight on Emile is never dealt with in “real time” (only with the aged Emile, in hazy memories). Neither is his trauma after he’s bashed outside a gay bar, nor does he ever soliloquize or apostrophize over his sexual issues. These missteps lie at the feet of librettist Michael Cristofer, who misses opportunity after opportunity for us to get into the young fighter Emile’s consciousness. Without experiencing Emile’s inner and outer tensions, what we have is merely a good story rather than a character study with conflicts. Emile’s aria, “What makes a man a man?” is fine, but in a generic sort of way. It’s not specific to this character or opera.
Ryan Speedo Green is splendid as the central Emile. He looks buff, moves gracefully and sings with full rounded tone, clarity and a fine sense of the melodic and textual line. If only he’d been given more depth to express. The elderly Emile is touchingly sung by Eric Owens, in better voice than the past few seasons; he acts with reserve and care. Latonia Moore, wonderful as ever as Emile’s selfish, loose mother has a good aria with stand-up bass, which is memorable despite some earlier vocal strain. Paul Groves as Emile’s trainer is given too much to sing and is not well introduced into the action. Eric Greene as Benny Paret – both in the ring and much later, as Benny Paret Jr who comes to visit the decrepit Emile – has an impressive voice and certainly differentiated the two ages of Paret successfully. Mezzo-turned-contralto Stephanie Blythe almost stole the show as the campy, more-than-risqué gay bar owner Kathy Hagen. Two fine cameos – a studly dude Emile gets close to at the bar, and Sadie, the younger, gum-chewing woman Emile unadvisedly marries – are taken by Edward Nelson and Brittany Renee, respectively.
Blanchard's orchestrally sophisticated score has the addition of a jazz quartet (piano, bass, drums and guitar), which occasionally take the spotlight most welcomely. Yannick Nézet-Séguin leads the Met orchestra, chorus and soloists with what can only be called passionate swagger – rarely have I seen a conductor having such a good time. The score alternates public and private moments; only in the grander scenes did the players occasionally bury the singers. The excitement was palpable. Both of Blanchard’s operas deal with trauma and sexual confusion and repression, but Fire faces the subjects down. Champion seems as if it is less interested in emotional confrontations and more in spectacle. It received an animated positive reception at its second performance; I, for one, look forward to the return of Fire next season.
