An immense censer hung motionless over the stage, illuminated by four standing candelabras and suspended above the pit orchestra. The scale of it was unsettling. For a long moment, those were the only visible objects. Then, one by one, members of the chorus filed stately into the Pote Theatre, their measured procession lending the scene a ritual air. The archbishop released the censer, and it swung ominously over the orchestra like a pendulum. Then the chorus launched the opening invocation: “Holy, holy!” King Roger and his wife, Roxana, entered. An altar rose silently and swiftly from beneath the stage, drawing the audience into a world of anxious mystery, where certainty begins to lose its grip.

That sense of mystery lies at the heart of King Roger, Karol Szymanowski’s singular masterpiece. It is not a typical opera. Premiered in Warsaw in 1926, it focuses on interior transformation rather than external conflict. The plot follows a medieval king after he encounters a mysterious figure moving among his people like a prophet, preaching a gospel of sensuality and liberation. What follows is Roger’s slow unraveling: he is horrified by the collapse of his own convictions, yet also tempted by the stranger’s offer.

Szymanowski refused to call the work an opera, preferring “mysterium,” a word that hints at its ambiguous nature. The work lacks a clear tragic center or moral reckoning. There is no death, no betrayal in the conventional sense, no catastrophe that forces a resolution. Instead, Roger encounters an alternative way of being and finds his certainties crumbling. The work is not only about desire and faith, structure and impulse. It also raises the unsettling possibility that the systems we build to protect ourselves may also imprison us. This mysterium does not explain its revelation; it simply presents it. Much depends on what its audience brings to it, and on how each viewer answers the questions Szymanowski leaves unresolved.

This year marks the centennial of its premiere. Yet productions remain rare: there are only two confirmed stagings this year, one in Poland and the other in Indianola, Iowa, at Des Moines Metro Opera, in a new production that opened July 4. The rarity is striking. Still, King Roger has begun, slowly, to appear on more stages. The Des Moines production, directed by Chas Rader-Shieber with sets by Jimmy Stubbs and costumes by Robert Perdziola, shows why the work deserves wider circulation.

DMMO’s production does not try to clarify or rationalize Szymanowski’s vision. There is no attempt to impose a psychological framework or a directorial conceit meant to explain what the opera “really means.” Instead, the production trusts ambiguity and leans into it. It allows the work to retain its essential mystery while giving it vivid visual form.

The strategy unfolds across three acts, each distinct in approach. Act I unfolds in a lavish, Byzantine-like church, complete with altar, censer, and costumes in rich reds and golds. Roger appears as the embodiment of order: robed, formal, secure in his authority. His disturber of the peace, the Shepherd, is clad sparsely and simply, yet with undeniable seduction. Act II abandons the ornate spectacle of divine and stately authority for a more austere stage: a few pieces of furniture, a throne, scaffolding, a wall crumbling at the edges, and a gate. The Shepherd appears here in a jeweled cassock, a figure of sensuous transgression. By Act III, nearly everything has been stripped away. Rain falls. Only the broken remains of Roger’s throne remain, illuminated at the end by the rise of a new authority.

The progression mirrors Roger’s inner transformation, from structured certainty toward something still undefined, something approaching dissolution. It is a visual argument about loss and possibility, made without explanation or sentiment. The audience is left to complete the meaning.

But the visual strategy alone cannot accomplish this. The transformation must be felt. It must emerge through the shifts of tone and presence that only a skilled cast can provide. Here, the singers met those demands with sophistication. Alexander Birch Elliott’s Roger was commanding and full-voiced. His baritone had presence, but he allowed it to soften in moments of doubt. Christopher Sokolowski, as the Shepherd, brought a sensuous tenor, smooth and beguiling, inflected with subversive knowing. The role requires an almost feminine allure, a seductive quality that draws others toward dissolution. Sokolowski seemed to understand that instinctively. He moved through the opera with ease and grace, his voice a constant temptation.

Lydia Katarina’s Roxana radiated the interior turmoil that animates the early acts. Alas, the production’s choice to stage much of her famous Act II aria offstage robbed the moment of some of its force. Lucas van Lierop’s Edrisi served as the opera’s voice of reason, his tenor steady and encouraging to his crumbling king. The chorus, prepared by Lisa Hasson, was essential: its mass both clarified and complicated the drama, and the addition of a children’s choir gave the work an added dimension of innocence and loss.

In the pit, David Neely conducted a shapely, colorful account of the score. Szymanowski’s orchestration is luscious, drawing on Debussy and Ravel while maintaining its own modal language. The sound Neely elicited from the orchestra tracked Roger’s psychological journey, moving from the grandiose toward something more fragmented and uncertain.

What emerges from this production is neither clear explanation nor neat resolution. Instead, Des Moines Metro Opera offers Szymanowski’s vision intact: a work about a leader whose certainties dissolve, surrounded by an audience left to puzzle over the world that emerges.

Originally published at Seen and Heard International

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• My preview of DMMO’s 2026 festival season.
• Last week DMMO announced their 2027 season which includes The Tales of Hoffmann (new production), Glass’s Orphée (new production), and a revival of the company’s 2017 production of Billy Budd.

DC Felton’s Reviews of Of Mice and Men and Tosca for Broadway World

“You can’t talk about “Tosca” without mentioning Laura Wilde’s mesmerizing performance as Floria Tosca. Her performance was nuanced and stays with you long after the production. This is especially seen in Act 2 when we see the emotional pain Tosca is going through, and each beat of seeing the knife and then forming the plan to kill Scarpia. It makes her character’s demise even more devastating.” (Tosca)

“The visual brilliance comes in the scenic and projection design of Luke Cantarella. The set is a very clever balance of period and modern, giving it a timeless feel. The way projections are used to let the audience see through Lennie’s eyes pulls them into the story in ways I didn’t expect, including the devastating final moments of the show. All of this is beautifully highlighted by the contrast between Curley’s wives’ colorful costumes and the darker costumes worn by the farmers, designed by Kara Harmon, and by beautiful lighting by Kate Ashton that takes us from dark outside late in the evening to inside the farmers’ quarters.” (Of Mice and Men)

Meghan Klinkenborg for Little Village

“The true star of the opera was the production itself. The costumes, designed by Robert Perdziola, were a somewhat jarring combination of medieval and modern aesthetics, featuring mosaic print fabrics, shimmering hot pants and gold evening gowns. The scenery and lighting designs by Jimmy Stubbs and Connie Yun, respectively, were breathtaking, particularly in the opulent first act. The gilding gradually stripped away as the opera progressed until Roger was left in a barren landscape with an overturned throne. Natural elements were crucial to the opera’s visual language. Smoke poured from a giant thurible. Water rained down as dancers crossed the stage. It all made for a powerful assault on the senses that drew the audience in.”