A few days ago, I came across the text below on Facebook, in which Matěj Hollan (a public figure, particularly well known in Brno) enthusiastically reflects on a performance of Handel’s Agrippina at the National Theatre in Brno, which he attended. The text struck me with its freshness, originality, and genuine enthusiasm, which it manages to convey immediately to the reader (especially if the reader happens to be a devoted admirer of Handel, as I myself am). Although its style diverges somewhat from the conventions typically observed on our website, I came to the conclusion that it would be worthwhile to share some of that enthusiasm with our readers, and—with the author’s consent—we have decided to publish it. In view of the author’s distinctive style, we have done so without any substantial linguistic modifications (it applies to the Czech version, of course).
The author holds a bachelor’s degree in musicology from the Faculty of Arts at Masaryk University.

Jan Kučera, webmaster

Handel’s Agrippina in Glaser’s Production Is Operatic Olympus

24 April 2026

The comparison was obvious from the start. Can Glaser’s Agrippina stand up to Heřman’s Alcina, the previous Handel production by the Janáček Opera with Collegium 1704 that shot the company straight into the ranks of the world’s leading opera houses? (And no, you’re reading that right — it was a total smash. From about the third reprise, once word spread, it was completely sold out all the way through, including the performances with Magdalena Kožená. Several singers basically grew into stars on the back of it — Pavla Vykopalová, Doubravka Novotná, Monika Jägerová. It was co-produced with Versailles and Caen, and went down brilliantly there as well. Honestly, the biggest hit ever.)

After the premiere, there was nothing left to debate. The audience exploded with uncontrollable enthusiasm — performers, musicians, conductor Václav Luks, the whole team along with them. The celebrations went on long into the night, and the atmosphere genuinely felt like after winning the Super Bowl — which is exactly how I described Alcina back in 2022.

That production doesn’t actually need comparing — it stands completely on its own — but I’m bringing it up because Glaser has deliberately staged Agrippina as a kind of visual dialogue with Alcina. Where Heřman conjured up that magical, shifting space full of mirrors and clever stage tricks, Glaser gives us a gigantic palace set on a revolving stage. It spins constantly, and for quite a while you’ve got no idea how many corridors, bedrooms and salons are packed into it, or how scenographer Petr Vítek even managed to fit it all into what looks like a limited space. Unlike Alcina’s magical shrinking house, the palace here stays the same size — but thanks to the rotation you feel like you’re on a Möbius strip, or like that line from Švejk: inside the Earth there’s another one, only bigger.

On top of that, there are occasional visual nods to Alcina’s house, appearing as smaller set pieces within the palace.

And that’s where the connection ends — from there on, it’s purely Glaser’s Agrippina.

This time there’s no double casting. Alcina had a “world cast vs Czech cast” setup, but thanks to that production those Czech singers have basically become international baroque stars, so now most roles can be confidently cast locally.

The premiere was flawless in terms of staging, but vocally just slightly less settled. Doubravka Novotná’s Poppea and Wojtek Gierlach’s Claudius both showed signs of nerves or fatigue — but honestly, given how insanely demanding the rehearsal process must have been (especially with that technically complex set), it’s completely understandable.

From Act Two onwards, though, it really took off — and it was already obvious that the second performance (and everything after) would be an absolute 110% knockout.

Which is exactly what happened. By the first reprise, the nerves were gone, and from now on it’s going to be like that every night — you’re basically melting with joy at every sound any of the singers makes, because every single one of them has worked their role down to the last accent.

A huge part of that is down to Václav Luks, who worked through every note with every performer. And who leads Collegium 1704 in such a way that the orchestra becomes part of the staging itself. His conducting is deeply theatrical — he has a real sense for dramatic shape and bends the orchestra to serve the whole. Recorders accompanying the singing, oboes in the lively opening, strings, continuo — everything…

The harpsichord is especially crucial, because the whole opera is built on recitatives — and that brings us to the direction.

Because even if you think you’re going to some grand Roman drama about Claudius and Nero, what you actually get is a conversational comedy. It’s kind of shocking how brilliantly Vincenzo Grimani wrote it. The text is razor-sharp, almost Shakespearean — light, punchy, constantly funny. You keep thinking: why couldn’t 19th-century librettists write like this? 🙂

At the same time, it’s basically a detective story. Constant plot twists, intricate schemes, suspense — you’re always waiting to see how it all plays out (unless you already know the opera). It’s like reading Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie. And the relationships between the characters are incredibly timeless — strip away ancient Rome and it could easily be happening today.

Glaser leans into that fully, focusing on detailed character work and tiny acting nuances.

Everything is taken all the way. Every scene, every situation. Including Narciso’s deliberately clumsy little dance (Monika Jägerová), every recitative exchange — and since the whole piece is built on those dialogues, they’re given maximum attention musically, vocally, dramatically, visually.

And that’s something worth highlighting, because it’s the core of the whole production — the key to it. Over four hours (with intervals), Glaser and the cast manage to sustain that level of detail and stylistic consistency, which must have been an insane amount of work. Luks’s orchestra helps massively, driving everything forward with relentless momentum and never letting the inner rhythm drop for a second.

The costumes by Martin Chocholoušek are absolutely brilliant — deliberately historically vague, more like a playground of costume ideas, constantly changing, exaggerating the characters into caricatures.

There are also four male and four female dancers, again in humorous costumes. But unlike Alcina, where the ballet was technically polished, here it’s intentionally awkward and caricatured — the dance doesn’t so much animate the music as underline the absurdity of the story, where these “historical figures” are portrayed not as grand icons but as very human, often petty and undignified.

The overall directing concept is really unusual for opera. A mix of many elements, but anchored by the single, compact set — always the same palace, just seen from different angles as it rotates. The revolve isn’t used for traditional scene changes, but to show what’s happening elsewhere at the same time — who’s sneaking through corridors, who’s plotting with whom (Agrippina’s henchmen Narciso and Pallante feel straight out of The Emperor’s Baker), and the constant motion creates the illusion of unity of time and space — as if everything happens within those four hours, even though the story itself spans longer.

Combined with realistic acting, this creates a fully immersive micro-universe with no distancing tricks — no breaking the fourth wall, no stylised alienation. It’s not hyper-stylised either, like in Heřman’s work. Instead, Glaser builds a completely believable world that you observe almost like through a peephole, and for those hours you accept that it’s really happening.

That immediacy is strengthened by the fact that things are actually physically happening. When Claudius (Wojtek Gierlach) tickles Agrippina (Pavla Vykopalová) with his armoured hand, you feel it too — because you can see she’s not pretending, it’s real. The performers fully commit physically, and because the characters are written so convincingly, it all lands perfectly.

The acting and singing are at a level that might feel like “standard” for Brno these days — but trust me, it isn’t. What you’re seeing here is genuinely world-class, and this production is top-tier even within that. Honestly, at that moment, you’re sitting in the best possible place you could be in this or any nearby galaxy.

Opera simply doesn’t get better than this. When a great work meets perfect musical and theatrical execution, that’s the absolute peak.

And it needs to be said: the reason Brno keeps delivering opera at this level is largely down to dramaturge Patricie Částková, who works closely with directors to shape each production. Last year’s “opera Oscar” for Carsen’s The Excursions of Mr Brouček is very much her achievement as well.

You’ll enjoy it more and more with each reprise. Agrippina is from Handel’s early Italian period (1709), while Alcina comes from his later English period (1735).

What connects them is a brilliant libretto and Handel’s sense of drama — but stylistically they’re very different. Agrippina isn’t built on arias so much as on recitative dialogue, and even the arias are different — drawing on folk-like Neapolitan tunes, with tambourines and castanets. If the recitatives were spoken, it would almost feel like a Singspiel. And with each performance, those tunes get more and more stuck in your head until you find yourself humming along.

For all the singers involved, this will be a career milestone. Brno is now firmly established as a world-class baroque stage — and I mean that quite literally.

Vojtěch Pelka’s Nero will almost certainly get picked up elsewhere. Doubravka Novotná’s Poppea is vocally and dramatically outstanding. And Pavla Vykopalová in the title role?

From the very first second, with total confidence and that unmistakable “bitch face”, she portrays Agrippina as a ruthless schemer and manipulator. The sheer intensity she throws into pushing her intrigues forward radiates through the entire auditorium — a masterful mix of caricature and menace.

(Interestingly, this is the one place where the production slightly brushes up against breaking the illusion — because some moments are so absurdly funny that even the performers struggle not to laugh. And honestly, that just adds to it. As the production settles in over time, there’ll probably be even more little improvisations and playful touches — and thanks to Luks, the music will always keep it all moving with the right energy.)

Just go and see it.

Handel’s Agrippina in Glaser’s Production Is Operatic Olympus

24 April 2026

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