Current events and opera seasons have independent orbits, so when a freakish alignment of stage story and street time occurs, it is more powerful because it feels like an omen. Attended at the end of a disastrous November, there is something portentous about Chicago Lyric Opera’s magnificent new production of Berlioz’s Les Troyens. This retelling of the Aeneid is a grim illustration of the Greeks’ belief in the implacability of fate and the tragedies bred by humanity’s struggle against it.
It is also five hours of futile rage, which has recently become a familiar feeling.