Considerations of Cleopatra, and the sung drama
by Julia Bullock
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety…”
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616) from ANTONY & CLEOPATRA
Cleopatra VII (69 BCE – 30 BCE) devoted her life to learning and experimentation; her scholastic interests included science, philosophy, math, linguistics, medicine, religion and art. Cleopatra’s closest confidants and government advisors were two women, Charmian and Iras. She was the mother of four children, birthing first one child, then a set of twins — whom she named after the Sun and Moon (Helios and Selene), followed by another.
She was raised in a Ptolemaic and Hellenistic society where the enactment of violence as an expression of power was an irrefutable and, sadly, commonplace reality (as it was in Roman culture). However, she was also immersed in a society where the exchange of diverse cultures was commemorated, and expressing one’s sexuality and personal desires was openly celebrated, never constrained.
With an insatiable curiosity that was supported by ample resources, in every respect, she became ambitious; which was, of course, perceived as a threat by those concerned about her influence and the power she possessed, or could further gain through political means.
Cleopatra VII may have been calculating, as one would expect a political leader to be, but the numerous accounts that project her as a hyper-sexed manipulator are based in misogyny — a fact that’s simultaneously basic and complex.
To root this in critical context: the Alexandrian library in Egypt was burned and looted a few times; making one of the primary accounts of Cleopatra, that has been referenced and resourced over centuries, penned by Plutarch — whose writing glorified the rise of the authoritarian Roman Empire and scathingly depicted the relationship and demise of Cleopatra and Antony. This written commission was for the consumption of the Roman people, the patriarchal all-male senate, and was utilized as propaganda to support the tyranny of Octavian. Octavian is referred to as “Caesar” in both the Shakespeare play and the new opera by John Adams, because he utilized different parts of his full given name throughout his life to position himself. The use of “Caesar” almost perversely connected him to Julius Caesar — Julius being one of the last leaders of the Roman Republic, Cleopatra’s first love and father to her first child, Caesarion. Although Egypt had already been a province of Rome, Octavian/Caesar/Augustus was the Roman emperor who laid claim to and conquered the independently ruled Ptolemaic kingdom of Egypt — Cleopatra’s Egypt.
Thankfully, the realization of Cleopatra in William Shakespeare’s text and John Adams’ music are as complex as the various histories and cultures that have attempted to remember and memorialize her. Antony and Cleopatra, an opera that may be better characterized as a “sung drama,” has a depth of sonic language, which provides enough space to depict Cleopatra’s ever-expansive personhood and qualities. Her material, in particular, is ever-shifting and mercurial — with her music‘s jagged pointillism balanced by some of the grandest sweeping gestures. But the entire score possesses a pulsating drive that reflects the ways each character is propelled towards their ultimate apex or collapse. This sung drama has a permeating restlessness and unrelenting sense of unease that shows the extreme uncertainty everyone faced.
I believe the first Shakespeare text that John Adams composed was in his previous opera, Girls of the Golden West, which I premiered in 2017. In it, he featured searing soliloquies from Macbeth. During rehearsals, I told him I hoped he’d decide to set a complete Shakespeare play to music… I’m not certain when John began considering Shakespeare as an opera endeavor, or made the final decision to compose, but I was delighted when he told me a year or so later that he wanted to write Antony and Cleopatra with my voice (and temperament) in mind.
Although John didn‘t send any part of the opera to me while composing, he did send “updates.” In the midst of composition, he wrote that he was feeling a bit hesitant and doubtful while setting the iconic playwright. I simply wrote back, “If Giuseppe Verdi can do it, you can do it.” He immediately replied, “But Verdi set Shakespeare in Italian!“ To that I could only smile, because while he was right, I felt certain that Adams would satisfy the demands of Shakespeare.
Of the many Shakespeare plays I had read over the years, I was not familiar with Antony and Cleopatra at all. After reading the involved play with its 30 some characters and dozen story lines, I was admittedly curious how the libretto team would de(re)vise it for an opera format and where they’d focus their attention. This operatic iteration of the story lasered in on the intense and ignited connection between Cleopatra and Marcus Antonio (Mark Antony).
Antony and Cleopatra’s fervid, fun, ferocious, committed love was personal and political; and they aimed to develop a world that demonstrated their ever-expansive mindsets. For a queen who was reputedly capable of anticipating scenarios and almost instantaneously reading people, the only person who seemed to surprise Cleopatra was… her Antony. Maybe that’s what drew her to him, and evidently what led to their shared demise. Although they returned to each other before their deaths — and the true, likely complicated reasons for that remain unknown — according to the dramatization by Shakespeare, Antony was incapable of living up to his potential, and his unfortunate distrust of Cleopatra is what became his dishonor. Although disappointed, she still uncompromisingly loved him.
One aspect of Cleopatra’s character that fascinated me, and which is highlighted over and over again throughout Antony and Cleopatra, was her obsession with security. She would not tolerate her sense of safety to be threatened, or a promise of it to be betrayed. On those occasions when it was, Cleopatra felt compelled (or even triggered) to use whatever means necessary to ensure that it was restored, regardless of the consequences. Security for her children, her people, and her person seemed to be a core preoccupation for this leader.
At a critical time, when there were no longer any guarantees for her legacy, or her country; Cleopatra ultimately decided to end her life in her own time — on her own terms. Her last play of power prevented any form of humiliation at the hands of another, and served as an attempt to secure protection for her children.
Although she birthed four precious persons in all, Cleopatra was only survived by the three children fathered by Mark Antony — her eldest son, Caesarion, who was fathered by Julius Cesar, was tracked down and executed soon after her death.
Despite Cleopatra’s apparent wish to be remembered as Egyptian by associating herself closely with the goddess Isis and embracing all parts of that identity; her surviving children were raised in a Roman household, and it’s unclear how much Egyptian culture was allowed to be incorporated into their education. (However, it was heartening to read that her only daughter, who also carried the name Cleopatra, went on to become a successful leader.)
I withdrew from the premiere of Antony and Cleopatra at San Francisco Opera (2022), because all rehearsals and performances would have taken place during my last trimester of pregnancy, and after a few weeks of discernment, I determined being in the United States was not how I wanted to spend those last months. (The stunning soprano Amina Edris sang the role in my stead.)
After giving birth, my perspective on Cleopatra became undoubtedly influenced by the realities of my life as a parent. I related to her fearlessness, because that quality has grown in me in ways that are quiet and clarifying.
Motherhood became a surprising, distinct lens through which to consider and honor the vast scope, bold presence and eternal influence of the African Queen: an astute, brave, sensual human being who thrived in pursuits of all learning, didn’t deny herself pleasure, was vulnerably devoted to all she loved, and unafraid of sacrifice.
I was delighted to make my debut as Cleopatra in Barcelona at Teatre del Liceu (2023), and couldn’t imagine a more warm and welcoming theater to help usher me into this piece. And while I never feel that my life in music hinges on physical opera houses themselves, it was of personal and professional significance to sing Cleopatra at The Metropolitan Opera in New York City (2025). Because in 1966 composer Samuel Barber’s opera, Antony and Cleopatra, opened The Met at its current Lincoln Center location with the peerless soprano Leontyne Price in the title role. I would never dare to compare, but it felt so empowering to play this queen on that stage, and embody her legacy.
When I began to prepare for rehearsals, a lot of my attention was focused on internalizing the text and music, but I did some research through reading and watched a couple documentaries about the astounding, and in some ways confounding, Pharaoh Cleopatra VII. In the rehearsal room, before anything was put on its feet for staging, Elkhanah Pulitzer (our director in this premiere production) asked for table readings of the text — which included material from Shakespeare’s Turning of the Screw and Antony and Cleopatra, Plutarch, Virgil and Dryden. Everyone in a scene would be present, read aloud the original source material, and then paraphrase in our own words. This helped us to not only build a relationship with the language we were speaking/singing, but it enabled us to be cognizant of each other’s material, and the scene’s content. To further our comprehension, the historical and political context was also discussed, all questions answered or looked up; and we were given a language glossary for some of the more “archaic” vocabulary or references, a timeline, and a comprehensive background document researched and written by the dramaturge, Lucia Scheckner.
John Adams musically set most of the text at a spoken pace. While the pauses and placement of the music influenced our interpretations, when it came to the staging for my scenes, I wanted to make sure that every decision we made would also be legible if we did it as a “straight” play. So even if the music was not registered or immediately grasped, each interaction and intention would be clear and coherent. Working with this scaffolded frame was precise and extremely fun — and it underscored even more poignantly how connected and convincing the music was to the visceral, vibrant text, thus enhancing our ability to deliver the drama.
Based on the source material of my scenes, I envisioned a lot of — to be utterly frank — fighting and fucking in the staging. To help accomplish this, I requested an intimacy and fight director to be present throughout the process.
Why? Because in a lot of operas the subject matter can be very intense, often violent and sensual or sexual. Depending on a director’s vision and any artist’s willingness, that can be depicted quite explicitly onstage. And because opera usually condenses the most extreme experiences of a person‘s life into a couple of hours, it activates the nervous system of anyone delving into that behavior. Repeatedly choosing to explore extremes in rehearsal and performance is demanding physically, emotionally and psychologically, and it simply requires support.
Over the course of opera rehearsals, performers have access to a music staff, a conductor, diction coaches, a director for staging, and even a choreographer. Most are present from the beginning of rehearsals through the run of the show to help guide singers as we unlock and reveal our potential in every respect. The expertise and importance of that personnel is never questioned or taken for granted. So when there is content that requires intense physical engagement between actors onstage, that core team should undoubtedly include an intimacy and fight coordinator/director.
In Antony and Cleopatra, we were graced with the opportunity to work with Ita O’Brien, who I initially encountered while making my debut at the Royal Opera House in 2019. Working with Ita was both my and ROH’s first time having an intimacy coordinator on a production. I then recommended her for Antony and Cleopatra, and I’m so happy and proud that her work on this opera made Ita the first intimacy coordinator to ever be hired in Spain.
When we remounted the production at The Met, we were able to further deepen the specificity of our staging, because we were returning to the material with predominantly the same cast, and The Met (unlike any other opera house where I’ve been in the world) engage intimacy and fight directors as dedicated, full time staff. The extraordinary Katherine M. Carter and Chris Dumont attended every staging rehearsal; and given the extent of physicality, we had intimacy and fight calls before each performance began and at each intermission. So if there was ever a development or evolution in what we wanted to recalibrate or communicate with our bodies, we had Katherine and Chris available to assist our entire cast with adjustments and revisions.
Working alongside all of my cast mates — especially the brilliant and bold bass-baritone Gerald Finley as my primary counterpart — was, in two words, utterly satisfying. The support and organized work with intimacy and fight directors throughout the course of this opera enabled us to engage with each other and the material with such potency, because we knew that our agreed upon staging was rooted in a consensual routine that allowed us to remain trusting, grounded, connected, aware, safe and confident.
Cleopatra remains my favorite role to sing to date. Each performance puts me through my paces… and at the end, I’m invigorated — never depleted.
There are many expectations and pressures to present all aspects of Cleopatra’s presumed “character”, and satisfy the multitude of depictions and projections placed upon her. Over the course of the opera, I have only aimed to commit to each interaction, fueled by the considered resources and inspirations at my disposal — and I hope that provided a composite of her, that each person observing can decipher and assess in their own time.
I have found that most human beings who are mantled as icons were (are) simply busy living their lives, while knowing full well they were (are) being observed, and often ruthlessly ridiculed by those who choose to ruminate on them. I’ve been staggered by the realization that John Adams composed a rare and iconic operatic heroine, who encompasses so much, and mimics no one.
I anticipate the moment when this iteration of Antony and Cleopatra will enter the performing arts canon, and more singers will delight and dare to embrace the opportunity. In the meantime, I certainly look forward to every occasion to try on Cleopatra — and live out her “immortal longings” — again and again and again…
“…I have immortal longings in me…”
CLEOPATRA, in the final scene of ANTONY & CLEOPATRA
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
Music by John Adams
Libretto adapted by John Adams, Elkhanah Pulitzer, and Lucia Scheckner
from text by Shakespeare, Plutarch, Virgil and Dryden
Directed by Elkhanah Pulitzer
Set Design by Mimi Lien
Costume Design by Constance Hoffman
Choreography by Annie-B Parson
PAST PERFORMANCES AND FEATURED ARTISTS
San Francisco Opera – Gran Teatre del Liceu – The Metropolitan Opera
Cleopatra Julia Bullock
Antony Gerald Finley
Octavia Elizabeth DeShong
Charmian Taylor Raven
Caesar Paul Appleby
Eros Brenton Ryan
Agrippa Jarrett Ott
Enobarbus Alfred Walker
Critical Acclaim
THE METROPOLITAN OPERA
NEW YORK, NY
“Most important, the relationship of the title lovers snapped into focus. Ms. Bullock’s charismatic acting and vivid range of vocal colorations captured Cleopatra’s mercurial allure”
“Bullock simply devoured her role. She gave us an empress losing control of her emotions—the part swooping up and down between her highest and lowest registers—while the soprano yet held control of her voice, making brilliant sounds at either end of her range. The stage business had Cleopatra rolling around the stage, letting loose with a full-throated scream upon learning of the death of Antony, and otherwise engaging in full-on diva behavior. In one scene, she literally did the RuPaul laugh-then-slap from Season 2, and then threw her martini in somebody’s face, in two separate moments just seconds apart.”
“The stage belongs to Julia Bullock: regal, intense, and dramatically compelling. Her scream at Antony’s death is chilling. Her Cleopatra, visually echoing Elizabeth Taylor in Mankiewicz’s 1963 film, captivates the audience. Her chemistry with Finley is impeccable — from early sensuality to final fury, both embody actor-singers in full.”
“Bullock’s piercing intelligence and expressive nuance made Cleopatra much more interesting than the clichéd seductress: a mercurial strategist who moves fluidly between artifice and raw feeling – improvisational by instinct, always recalibrating. Grounded by a dark-hued, expressive lower register, her voice similarly negotiated the sudden turns and wide leaps of Adams’s writing with emotional bite, meeting Antony’s death with a blood-curdling scream that momentarily exposes the grief beneath her calculated control. Her death scene — tautened for this version and one of the opera’s highlights – became a multifaceted Liebestod blending resistance with resignation.”
“The cast are uniformly excellent. Julia Bullock’s Cleopatra holds imperiousness and vulnerability in a delicate balance (and her scream when Antony dies in her arms is satisfyingly hair-raising). Gerald Finley gives Antony an amorousness to match his hubris, and he and Bullock’s chemistry brings to mind Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.”
