Pray for the best and prepare for the worst.

That seemed to be the situation on hand at the Metropolitan Opera as the stage was not only set for a highly controversial opera, but also for a potentially melodramatic evening. The protest was scheduled and featured a number of politicians ready to exploit the situation for political gain. Among them was former Mayor Rudy Giuliani who came, saw and conquered with a speech that spurred supporters into chants of "Four More Years."

Security was at its most heightened with Lincoln Center barred off to the general public. Operagoers were even asked to show their tickets outside the plaza and once inside the house, bags were checked in and drinks were either trashed or withdrawn. But that did not stop some protesters from lambasting operagoers within the house. One man was handing out pictures of the Met draped with Nazi banners. Some people walked around with T-shirts asking whether an ISIS opera would soon follow. At several intervals in the opera, some protesters attempted to interrupt the show. And, yes, there were some boos at the curtain calls--though this seems to be a common feature at the Met these days.

It could have been a disaster, but it wasn't.

John Adams' "The Death of Klinghoffer" is based on the PLO's takeover of a cruise ship known as the Achille Lauro. During their hijacking, the men murdered Leon Klinghoffer, a Jewish man from New York who had been on vacation with his wife to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Klinghoffer was wheelchair-bound after suffering two strokes.

The reason for such pandemonium at the Met was that the protesters were claiming the work to be anti-Semitic. Adams and librettist Alice Goodman present the work in a manner that allows the Palestinians to present their point of view on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. They are thus allowed to justify their acts with such catchphrases as "We are men of ideals." At one point, one of them even makes the rather ugly statement: "America is one big Jew."

But these are nasty comments made in the context of a far larger work that presents the Arab terrorists as the ultimate bad guys. Despite giving the Palestinians an opportunity to justify their pain and reveal their motivations, the composer never actually takes their side. The opening chorus of exiled Palestinians opens in a meditative vein before building abruptly into an apocalyptic crescendo. The final words of the chorus, "Our faith will take the stones he broke and break his teeth," underscored by the aggressive music, emphasize the violent potential of the Palestinian community. Contrast this with the following Jewish chorus that remains tranquil and peaceful.

The Palestinians close the first half of the program with yet another cataclysmic chorus that is even more violent in nature and the music that embodies the terrorists throughout is chaotic, unstable and dissonant. Claims that their music is "angelic" and "heraldic," as some have claimed, is a gross mischaracterization. The only moment where this differs is during Mamoud's solo in which he expresses his love of music. But even here the music he speaks of has violent undertones and even foreshadows the tragedy at the center of the work. And when the captain tells him, "I think if you should talk like this sitting among your enemies, peace would come," he says rather ominously, "The day that I and my enemy sit peacefully each putting his case and working towards peace, that day our hope dies and I shall die." These are not men of reason. These are men of extremes that should not be toyed with. If that is not to be feared, then what is?

The moment in which Omar is tasked with killing Klinghoffer, a Palestinian woman (presumably his mother) appears and goads him on toward his task. Again the music moves from a tranquil state and becomes increasingly violent. Omar, played by the dancer Jesse Kovarsky, seemed like a man possessed and his dance matched the aggressive nature of the work. He looked like a demon onstage, making him all the more horrifying to watch.

There is no heroic music gesture to underline the terrorists or the Arabs for that matter. They have no moral compass and are defined by one word: vengeance. But the same cannot be said for Klinghoffer, who gets arguably the most potent scene and serves as the moral center of the entire work. With his wife at gunpoint, his voice breaks through the orchestra and he lambasts the terrorists for their actions.

"We're human. We are the kind of people you like to kill," he tells the terrorists before listing all their atrocities.

Alan Opie, who had the task of taking on the role, used all of his vocal resources to emphasize the heroic stance of the eponymous character. He relished telling them repeatedly, "You don't give a sh*t," and placed a brilliant accent on the latter word. The moment was made all the more powerful because Opie's Klinghoffer got out of his chair, standing face-to-face with the evildoers and doing precisely what ever person in the audience wishes they had a chance to tell a terrorist. It was visceral. It was beautiful. And it made it clear whose side Adams wanted the audience to be on.

The Palestinians repeatedly talk about ascending to heaven (and they also point upward quite a bit in this production). And yet, resurrection comes for Klinghoffer. He is the one who comes back from the dead for one last time to communicate with the audience in a breathtakingly beautiful lyric passage. Opie's voice was at its best here, caressing every phrase tenderly and nostalgically. Klinghoffer is the one who gives the audience hope of transcendence, not the Palestinians with their fundamentalism.

Most importantly, the opera ends on a note of despair, not triumph for the terrorism, but the grief of a woman who is now lost in the world. Marilyn Klinghoffer, played by the wondrous Michaela Martens, chides the Captain for embracing the Arabs in music filled with torment and fury. And Martens relished every phrase with an aggressive bite on every consonant. And one could not help but side with her. But halfway through, she switched gears. The anger subsided and was replaced by intense grief. Martens' voice had a fragility to it that contrasted heavily with the potency showcased earlier. Here was a woman who was on her last legs. With no more will to fight. And the final words of the work, "I just want to die," sum up the pain and suffering at the center of the work. How can this possibly be anti-Semitic when the last thing the audience witnesses is loss and suffering? If the idea was to sell an Anti-Semitic agenda, why not end it with a triumphant departure for the terrorists? Because they don't matter as much as this woman whose life has been destroyed by terrorism. She was a real-life person, but she also embodied many others who have shared similar grief at the hands of heinous actions. Adams wants the viewer to connect with that.

The production by Tom Morris is absorbing in its use of visual technology to constantly blend the multi-layered structure together. Viewers get to watch a montage of a dry region during the opening chorus with years flashing in the center. The numbers emphasize the enduring conflict from year to year, reminding the viewer that this problem has yet to reach a conclusion. The panels continually shift their imagery, allowing for brilliant juxtapositions. For example, the Palestinians are never associated with water the way that the Jews or Klinghoffer (in his final aria) are. Instead, they are constantly associated with arid landscapes. Morris emphasizes this in some of his mis-en-scene choices. During the opening chorus of exiled Palestinians, there is a dead tree on stage of right. When the chorus of exiled Jews arrives, the characters are shown with branches and greenery. This juxtaposition is shown two more times, emphasizing the Jewish communities' association with growth and life and the Palestinians' with death. In the final scene of the first half, the Palestinians' chorus is set against a series of changing images, each more lewd and explicit than the last. It creates a vulgar and chaotic effect that seems to highlight the erratic nature of this group.

Morris also wisely showcases photos and timelines of the actual events to contextualize the story.

Opie and Martens were the true highlights in the group, but Paulo Szot must also be acknowledged for his powerful portrayal of the captain. He sang with lush sound that rang with desperation during his introductory monologue. His defining moment however comes late in the opera when he takes his stand against the terrorists and asks them to take his life. Szot pushed his voice to limit and his singing reached truly violent heights. And yet, there was weakness in his portrayal, a stark contrast to the confidence imbued in Klinghoffer's confrontation with the terrorists. Szot thus emphasized the captain's own tragic fall from a man in control to one who is unable to ultimately complete his responsibility honorably. The fact that he shakes hands with the terrorists at the end (and one of his other sailors refuses to do so) only highlights his weakened state.

The hijackers also put in terrific performances. Aubrey Allicock was gentle at times as Mamoud, but could turn into the most conniving of the terrorists. Sean Panikkar gave a virile rendition of Molqi, his ascension to the role's terrifying high notes was fearless and full of violence. Ryan Speedo Green was the embodiment of terror as "Rambo." He moved about like a big tyrant and his voluminous voice filled the house. Maya Lahyani was visceral as the Palestinian woman, though she seemed to be running out of vocal resources by the ending of her excruciatingly difficult aria. Kate Miller-Heidke made a solid and comic debut as the British Dancing Girl, while Maria Zifchak's voice resonated during narrative.

Conductor David Robertson was also fearless in the pit and showed considerable patience when the performance was interrupted by one protester shouting "Klinghoffer's death will not be forgiven (who said anything about it being forgiven in the first place)." But he was not afraid of giving it his all through the work, pushing the orchestra to greater and greater heights. The moments right before Klinghoffer gets shot, a fragile string passage was filled with tremendous tension and suspense. The climaxes of the Palestinian choruses were laden with brutality.

So what did this pandemonium actually achieve? The Metropolitan Opera got more publicity from these protests--it is a shame that there will be no HD transmission of this masterwork. The protesters got to say their bit. The politicians even got some new supporters.

But when all is said and done, the protests that Adams' masterpiece unintentionally created actually achieved something beautiful. They reminded the world that opera is still as relevant today as it ever was. That opera can remind us and help us explore the most painful emotions of our modern day world. Whether it be through myth or fictional dukes or even current events, the art form is thriving and still capable of eliciting passionate responses. By the end of the night, there were barely any people protesting or interrupting. There was even a massive ovation for the composer.

The protests might have aimed at killing an opera production, but they have ironically reinvigorated it. They have reminded the mainstream world about the art form when it was looking away. They reminded everyone that opera can spur conversation and debate.

It is still a powerful art form. And "The Death of Klinghoffer" is one of the finest in the repertoire.

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