By CB Adams

Set in Harlem’s iconic Sugar Hill—once home to luminaries like W.E.B. Du Bois, Thurgood Marshall and Duke Ellington—”This House,” the new, commissioned opera by composer Ricky Ian Gordon and librettists Lynn Nottage and her daughter, Ruby Aiyo Gerber, arrives at Opera Theatre of St. Louis with sweeping ambition and a world-premiere spotlight.

Its strengths lie in OTSL’s commitment to new works, a fully committed cast, inventive staging and design, and evocative playing by members of the St. Louis Symphony under the direction of principal conductor Daniela Candillari.

The production, directed by James Robinson, features a fine ensemble led by soprano Adrienne Danrich as matriarch Ida and mezzo-soprano Briana Hunter as her daughter Zoe. Baritone Justin Austin brings supple emotional nuance to the role of Lindon, Ida’s son, while Christian Pursell lends warmth and pathos to Thomas, Lindon’s lover.

Tenor Brad Bickhardt portrays Zoe’s husband Glenn, and bass Sankara Harouna takes on the role of Ida’s husband, Milton. The cast is rounded out by soprano Aundi Marie Moore, tenor Victor Ryan Robertson, soprano Brandie Inez Sutton, and mezzo-soprano Krysty Swann.

One of the most compelling presences in the opera is the Walker family’s brownstone itself—less a backdrop than a central character. Over more than a century, it bears witness to couplings, births, betrayals, addiction, activism and grief – among a litany of other human experiences .

(top to bottom) Adrienne Danrich as Ida and Brandie Inez Sutton as Young Ida, with (background) Krysty Swann as Beulah in This House. Photo by Eric Woolsey

It is a house imbued with memory, both sacred and unsettling—a place that might, in real-estate parlance, be labeled a stigmatized property or psychologically impacted. But in family gossip, media headlines or the real talk of buyers and agents, this would be known bluntly as a murder house. And it’s precisely this fraught legacy—how spaces carry the spectral weight of history—that “This House” tries to explore, if not fully resolve.

Composer Ricky Ian Gordon underscores the house’s haunting role by assigning the orchestra’s reed section an eerie vocalise, a ghostly exhale that recurs like a memory trying to resurface. Scenic designer Allen Moyer, video designer Greg Emetaz and lighting designer Marcus Doshi create a visually rich, immersive world that roots the opera’s fragmented narrative in emotional atmosphere.

Moyer, known for “Grey Gardens” and his longtime collaboration with Gordon (“The Grapes of Wrath”), outfits the home with dignified wear and subtle detail—its furnishings shifting over time like the emotional residue of those who’ve passed through. The use of a carousel to move from interior and exterior scenes was as effective as it was impressive.

Emetaz’s excellent cinematic projections add a lyrical visual language that binds characters to time and place. Doshi’s lighting moves seamlessly across eras, illuminating past wounds and present tensions with emotional fluency. And Tony-winning costume designer Montana Levi Blanco’s work grounds the characters with clarity and texture, often accomplishing through wardrobe what the script cannot.

(L to R) Krysty Swann as Beulah and Victor Ryan Robertson as Uncle Percy with (background, L to R) Aundi Marie Moore as Lucy, Adrienne Danrich as Ida, and Sankara Harouna as Milton in This House. Photo by Eric Woolsey

Director Robinson guides the sprawling libretto with attention to pacing and emotional clarity, though the sheer number of narrative threads makes cohesion elusive. The staging is precise, yet the storytelling remains episodic, moving from decade to decade with little connective tissue other than the house itself and the family’s lineage.

The house, for all its beautifully rendered symbolism, ends up standing in for a history that the libretto doesn’t fully explore—a repository of vignetted trauma, legacy and memory that’s often gestured toward rather than meaningfully unpacked.

The cast delivers deeply felt performances that do the best they can to elevate the material. Hunter’s Zoe, a frustrated millennial searching for answers, brings grit and lyrical finesse to a role that could easily feel schematic. Danrich’s Ida exudes quiet strength and vulnerability, her soprano capturing the tension of survival and sorrow.

Austin and Pursell form the opera’s emotional core with understated yet resonant chemistry. Victor Ryan Robertson’s Uncle Percy resonates with presence, embodying the lingering complexities of family and memory.

(L to R) Christian Pursell as Thomas and Justin Austin as Lindon in This House. Photo by Eric Woolsey

Yet despite these achievements, “This House” buckles under the weight of too many competing ideas. Gentrification, addiction, queer identity, generational trauma, cultural legacy—each theme has potential, but none are given enough narrative space to mature.

Characters appear, hint at depth and vanish. Even moments of violence—presumably pivotal—are staged with such abruptness that their emotional impact feels blunted. In this way, the opera mirrors its title too well: a house with many rooms, stories left half-told behind closed doors.

The creative pedigree behind the work raises the stakes. Nottage, a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner in playwriting, is known for emotionally rich, structurally disciplined writing. Gordon, celebrated for his genre-fluid scores and nuanced theatrical sensibility, draws here from a wide palette: ragtime, jazz, gospel, and more.

His ambition is to “place words like a jewel in a ring.” But too often, the music recedes into the background, more atmospheric than dramaturgical. The score supports rather than shapes the action, and its emotional cues—while sometimes lovely—rarely surprise or challenge.

(L to R) Briana Hunter as Zoe and Brad Bickhardt as Glenn in This House. Photo by Eric Woolsey

There are glimpses of brilliance: a melodic motif that pierces, a costume that reveals a character’s arc, a lighting shift that clarifies a ghost’s presence. But the opera’s structure—sprawling and impressionistic—ultimately dilutes its impact. If that was a deliberate choice – and presumably it is – its effect does not satisfy.

In real estate, buyers might walk into a home like the Walkers’ and wonder: Who lived here? What happened in these rooms? “This House” the opera wants to address these questions—the idea that buildings remember—but it gets lost in the hallways. Despite noble intentions and undeniable talent, the result feels less like a unified meditation on lineage and place and more like a haunted, curated scrapbook of ideas—rich in atmosphere, scattered in focus and ultimately more whispered promise than resonant legacy.

Opera Theatre of St. Louis’ production of “This House” continues in repertory at the Loretto-Hilton Center of Performing Arts at Webster University through June 29. For more information, visit https://opera-stl.org.

The Harlem brownstone that is the family home of Minus Walker for more than 100 years. Set designed by Allen Moyer. Briana Hunter as Zoe and Brad Bickhardt as Glenn in This House. Photo by Eric Woolsey

By CB Adams

“Carmen” is no stranger to controversy. As far back as its premiere in 1875, audiences and reviewers were put off by the opera’s depiction of the lifestyles of commoners and bohemians, and their supposed immorality and lawlessness – not to mention the onstage death of Carmen herself. Flash forward to Opera Theatre of St. Louis’s 47th season opener, “Carmen,” at the Browning Theatre in the Loretto-Hilton Center, and there may be a bit of operatic controversy afoot as well.

That’s because Director Rodula Gaitanou has updated the setting and Carmen herself to appeal to more modern sensibilities. Gaitanou has moved the mid-19th century Spanish setting to the 1950s and, correspondingly, uniformed the original army into Franco’s Guardia Civil. 

But it is Carmen herself, initially seen dragging a bloody bull’s head across the stage, who is distinctly reimagined in OTSL’s production. Carmen is often presented as a stereotypical, exotic, Spanish seductress – as hot as the “Habanera” she sings early in the opera. Not so in this production. Gaitanou provides a headstrong, independent Carmen – one that doesn’t need to prove her ability to turn a man’s heart and head with a flashy red dress, a provocative sashay or even stiletto heels. The audience is challenged to accept Carmen’s ability to inspire the men around her, as well as to witness her fatal attraction to the ideals captured in her final duet with Don José: “But whether I live or die / No! No! No! I will not give in.”

That idealistic inflexibility leads, even in this interpretation, to her inevitable demise.

Yunuet Laguna. Photo by Eric Woolsey

Gaitanou’s Carmen, as sung by Sarah Mesko, is more formidable, though no less unforgettable. She even rides through some scenes on a motorcycle, like a sort of Daughter of Anarchy. In other scenes, she sports a matador jacket, a visual metaphor for a woman who – ultimately fatally – runs and fights with men rather than the bulls.

To spend more time explaining Gaitanou’s artistic choices for the presentation of Carmen is to risk providing a lopsided review of the rest of this fine production. To Gaitanou’s credit, this production elevates and balances the role of Carmen with her love interests, Don José, sung by Adam Smith, and Escamillo, sung by Christian Pursell. Both are strong, masculine and believable – and Mesko’s Carmen is up to the challenges posed by these two males.

The standout performance among this strong cast is provided by Yunuet Laguna as Micaëla. Clad throughout as a dowdy, frumpy (and even pregnant by Don José) village maiden, Laguna’s “Je dis que rien m’epouvante” shines forth as a potent, if plaintive, Jiminy Cricket counterpoint to Carmen’s shinier persona. That a supporting role can rise to such showstopping prominence proves this production’s overall high quality and integrity.

Under the baton of Daniela Candillari, Opera Theatre’s new principal conductor, the Saint Louis Symphony impressively projects as if it were a larger ensemble of musicians and more than does justice to Bizet’s score.

Also noteworthy is the subtle-yet-profound sets and costumes by Cordelia Chisholm and lighting by Christopher Akerlind. “Carmen” is often associated with a fiery red and other brash, bullfighty colors. In contrast, this production evokes a Spain dusted in a drab desert palette, which is perfect for the most important splash of red at Carmen’s culminating death scene.

Opera Theatre’s “Carmen” continues at 7:30 p.m. on Jun 8, 12, 16, and 25 and at 12:30 p.m. on Jun 4 and 22. For more information on the 2022 Festival Season or for tickets, visit: https://opera-stl.org/

The ensemble of “Carmen.” Photo by Eric Woolsey.