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    After Election, Poland’s Art World Calls for Change

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    The Law and Justice party tried to reshape the country via the arts. Now that it appears set to lose office, its critics are split over how to move on.Just weeks after becoming Poland’s culture minister, in 2015, Piotr Glinski began a yearslong effort to shift his country’s cultural life toward the political right.He ousted liberal museum directors, replacing them with conservatives. He created new institutions to celebrate traditional culture and nationalist heroes. And along with other lawmakers from his party, Law and Justice, he launched broadsides against movies, plays and pop stars that criticized the Roman Catholic Church or the government’s policies on issues including immigration.Many artists and cultural leaders opposed Glinski’s actions, and there were protests throughout his term, including outside Poland’s National Museum after a leader he had appointed removed sexually suggestive artworks from the walls.Pawel Sztarbowski, the deputy director at the Powszechny Theater, in Warsaw, said that Glinski had tried to “return Poland to an imaginary past.”Now, that project may be coming to an end. After opposition parties won a majority of parliamentary seats in the recent general election, Polish cultural figures are calling on what is expected to be a coalition government dominated by centrist parties to reverse Glinski’s agenda. But they are split over how to do that without entrenching political interference in the arts, which they have spent nearly a decade protesting.Jaroslaw Suchan, a former director of the Museum of Art in Lodz whose contract was not renewed by the Law and Justice government, said that the party had “treated culture as an ideological weapon.” But if a new government simply fired Glinski’s appointees, “they’d be repeating the last government’s behaviors.”“We have to think of the long term,” Suchan said, instead of seeking revenge.Protesters gathered outside Warsaw’s National Museum in 2019, after the gallery took down a sexually suggestive work.Krystian Dobuszynski/NurPhoto, via Getty ImagesMore than three weeks since the Oct. 15 election, it is still uncertain when Law and Justice will leave office. Under the country’s Constitution, President Andrzej Duda, a Law and Justice ally, has 30 days to ask a party to form a new government, though he has not done it yet. In the power vacuum, Law and Justice supporters have been trying to derail the decision by questioning the legitimacy of the vote.Observers of Polish politics expect that Donald Tusk, the leader of Civic Coalition, the largest opposition party, will eventually be asked to lead a new government in alliance with several other groups.Before the vote, Civic Coalition said in a manifesto that it would abolish the “censorship of Polish culture” and ensure that institutions that presented controversial work kept their grants. The party also promised that it would not appoint political figures to run cultural organizations, though the manifesto gave no further details. A spokesman for Civic Coalition did not respond to an interview request.Current and former museum and theater leaders said in interviews that they were hoping for more significant change.The most pressing issue, according to Piotr Rypson, the chairman of the Polish branch of the International Council of Museums, is the leadership of three important museums, which he said had been handed over to Law and Justice sympathizers: the Ujazdowski Castle Center for Contemporary Art and the Zacheta National Gallery of Art, both in Warsaw, as well as the Museum of Art in Lodz.The Ujazdowski Castle Center for Contemporary Art in Warsaw, one of the museums whose directors were replaced with conservatives under Glinski.AlamyRypson said two of those leaders were “incompetent,” and that the third, the Ujazdowski Castle’s director, Piotr Bernatowicz, had displayed artworks out of step with his institution’s traditions. Bernatowicz, whose contract runs through 2027, has staged several exhibitions featuring artists whose work focuses on conservative political hobbyhorses. He did not respond to emailed interview requests.Malgorzata Omilanowska, who was culture minister in a center-right government before Law and Justice took office, said that the three appointees were a “real embarrassment” and had marginalized their museums within Poland.They had also had an impact on Poland’s reputation abroad, she added, not least because they had just helped choose the country’s representative for next year’s Venice Biennale. Their pick, announced on Oct. 31, was the painter Ignacy Czwartos, with a show focused on Polish victims of German and Russian aggression, events often highlighted by Law and Justice. One of the works he proposes showing in Venice, for example, will depict Angela Merkel and Vladimir V. Putin on either side of a burning swastika.A worker cleaning near paintings by Ignacy Czwartos at the Ujazdowski Castle in 2021. He has just been selected to represent Poland at the next Venice Biennale. Czarek Sokolowski/Associated PressIn an email exchange, Andrzej Biernacki, the current director of the Museum of Art in Lodz, said that Poland’s art world was intolerant of artists with conservative views and its institutions had favored Western artists to the detriment of the country’s own. That’s why, he said, he refocused the museum’s budget to acquire works by Polish, rather than international, artists, buying or securing as donations nearly 1,000 pieces.Janusz Janowski, the director of the Zacheta National Gallery of Art, said in an email that he has also shifted his museum’s focus toward contemporary Polish art, including through “collaborating with eminent artists, even those who might not necessarily align with the artistic ‘mainstream.’”Janowski and Biernacki both said that they would be staying in their posts, and that their contracts ran until the end of 2025. Biernacki added that if the new government tried to remove him early, it would be breaking the law.In an emailed statement, Glinski, the culture minister, said that he had simply replaced museum directors when their contracts expired. “Polish culture was dramatically underinvested” when he came to office, he said, and he had refocused the country’s institutions to foster a sense of national identity and patriotism — something “all wise and responsible states” do. Ukraine would have been quickly defeated by Russia without its “strong Ukrainian patriotism,” Glinski added.The bullish statement summed up the past eight years with pride: “The scale of our achievements — of this great institutional change in Polish culture — has no precedent either in contemporary Polish politics or in contemporary culture.”His critics see it differently, yet even among those who desire a cultural reset, there are some aspects of Glinski’s tenure that few want to lose. Suchan, the ousted Lodz museum director, said that under Glinski culture was “at the center of politics” — a position it never held under liberal governments, for whom it was often an afterthought. The culture ministry’s budget doubled during Law and Justice’s eight years in office, Suchan added, and Glinski secured funding to set up a host of new institutions — including museums, an opera company and various grant-making bodies.The new coalition government should maintain that funding, Suchan added. If nothing else, Law and Justice had showed that “culture isn’t a waste of money,” he said, adding that “it plays an important role in creating citizens, and shaping society.” That, he said, was “one lesson” everyone in Poland, liberal or conservative, could take from the past eight years. More

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      in Television

      Singing Competition Again Comes Under Fire After Use of Blackface

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      Contestants on a recent episode of a Polish reality TV show used blackface to imitate Kendrick Lamar and Beyoncé. It was not the first time the racist tradition had been featured.A reality TV singing competition in Poland is under fire after two contestants used blackface to imitate Kendrick Lamar and Beyoncé during an episode that aired over the weekend.“Your Face Sounds Familiar” (or, in Polish, “Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo”) appears in multiple countries, including the United States, where it ran on ABC for one season in 2014 and was called “Sing Your Face Off.” The show encourages contestants to recreate the appearance and sound of famous singers as accurately as possible.In Saturday’s episode of “Your Face Sounds Familiar,” the singer Kuba Szmajkowski won with his rendition of Mr. Lamar’s “Humble.” Mr. Szmajkowski performed in blackface and wore his hair in cornrows in order to look like Mr. Lamar.Mr. Szmajkowski posted video of his transformation to his 163,000 Instagram followers, with the caption “get ready with Kendrick.” The video showed the singer in front of a mirror getting multiple layers of makeup applied. A representative for Mr. Szmajkowski did not immediately respond to a request for comment.While Mr. Szmajkowski’s post about his transformation received thousands of likes, hundreds of people commented on it, many of them expressing criticism and anger.“This is top racism. Do you not see how inappropriate this is? Not to mention offensive? Wrong,” one user wrote.Another contestant in Saturday’s episode, Pola Gonciarz, performed Beyoncé’s “If I Were a Boy,” also using blackface in an effort to evoke the look of the superstar.“Your Face Sounds Familiar” is produced by Endemol Shine Poland, which is owned by the French company Banijay. In a statement, the company said, “Banijay condemns Endemol Shine Poland’s local execution of ‘Your Face Sounds Familiar,’ which contradicts our group’s global values.” A spokeswoman declined to provide more details until an investigation is completed.It’s not the first time the program has come under fire for the use of blackface. In 2021, a white contestant wore blackface to portray Kanye West performing “Stronger.”In response to that criticism, the show said the negative comments were surprising. “The Polish edition of the show, seen as exemplary abroad, always tries to show great performances, which strive to be as close to the original as possible,” an Instagram post from the show read at the time.This time around, “Your Face Sounds Familiar,” which is in its 19th season, has not yet publicly responded.The show’s Instagram account indicates that multiple contestants have dressed in blackface to perform as Black singers, including Snoop Dogg, Ray Charles, Bill Withers and Missy Elliott. Mia Moody-Ramirez, a professor at Baylor University in Texas who specializes in how race is portrayed in the media, said Mr. Szmajkowski’s performance was particularly offensive because of the combination of blackface, cornrows and his use of a racial slur, which is among the song’s lyrics.She said the continued use of blackface on the show might be because the stigma surrounding it is smaller in Poland, which has a population that is overwhelmingly white, than it is in the United States. About 97 percent of Poland’s population identifies as ethnically Polish, according to Minority Rights Group International.“We are living in a global society,” Dr. Moody-Ramirez said. “If it is produced in one country, it is going to be seen around the world.”In the United States, blackface dates back to early 19th-century minstrel shows, and the racist tradition — even though widely condemned — has persisted, showing up at bachelor parties, in old photos of politicians and elsewhere. The popularity of blackface was at its height in the early 20th century and has waned sharply since the 1950s, but it has not disappeared around the world.In Europe, too, there has been something of a reckoning. In Britain in 2020, some comedy shows that included blackface or racial slurs were removed from streaming platforms, including BBC’s iPlayer and Netflix. And in the Netherlands, a holiday tradition in which people dress in blackface to portray Black Pete, a servant to St. Nicholas, is slowly changing. More

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      in Music

      An Orchestra Supports Ukraine, and Reunites a Couple Parted by War

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      “I don’t have a gun, but I have my cello,” a musician says as he joins the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, which is made up of refugees who fled the war and artists who stayed behind.WARSAW — After years of struggling to make a living as musicians in Ukraine, Yevgen Dovbysh and Anna Vikhrova felt they had finally built a stable life. They were husband-and-wife artists in the Odessa Philharmonic — he plays the cello, she the violin — sharing a love for Bach partitas and the music from “Star Wars.” They lived in an apartment on the banks of the Black Sea with their 8-year-old daughter, Daryna.Then Russia invaded Ukraine in February. Vikhrova fled for the Czech Republic with her daughter and mother, bringing a few hundred dollars in savings, some clothes and her violin. Dovbysh, 39, who was not allowed to leave because he is of military age, stayed behind and assisted in efforts to defend the city, gathering sand from beaches to reinforce barriers and protect monuments and playing Ukrainian music on videos honoring the country’s soldiers. “We spent every day together,” Vikhrova, 38, said. “We did everything together. And suddenly our beautiful life was taken away.”Dovbysh was granted special permission to leave the country last month to join the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, a new ensemble of 74 musicians that was gathering in Warsaw, the first stop on an international tour aimed at promoting Ukrainian culture and denouncing Russia’s invasion. Carrying his cello, and wearing a small golden cross around his neck, he boarded a bus for Poland, looking forward to playing for the cause, and also to being reunited with another member of the fledgling ensemble: his wife.“I love my country so much,” he said as the bus passed ponds, churches and raspberry fields in Hrebenne, a Polish village near the border with Ukraine. “I don’t have a gun, but I have my cello.”The bus crossed the border and drove into Hrebenne, in Poland, on its way to Warsaw, where the newly formed orchestra would meet for the first time to rehearse.Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesWhen his bus arrived in Warsaw, he rushed to meet Vikhrova. He knocked on the door of her hotel room, waited nervously, and then embraced her when she opened it. She teased him about his decision to wear shorts for the 768-mile journey, despite the cool weather, a legacy of his upbringing in balmy Odessa. She gave him a figurine of a “Star Wars” creature, Baby Yoda, a belated birthday present.“I’m so happy,” he said. “Finally, we are almost like a family again.”The next morning, they took their chairs in the new Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, led by the Canadian Ukrainian conductor Keri-Lynn Wilson, to prepare for an 12-city tour to rally support for Ukraine. Beginning here in Warsaw, the tour has continued in London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Berlin and other cities, and will travel to the United States this week to play at Lincoln Center on Aug. 18 and 19 and at the Kennedy Center in Washington on Aug. 20.The tour has been organized with the support of the Ukrainian government. Volodymyr Zelensky, the president of Ukraine, said in a recent statement celebrating the founding of the orchestra that “artistic resistance” to Russia was paramount. The orchestra also has the backing of powerful figures in the music industry. Wilson’s husband, Peter Gelb, who runs the Metropolitan Opera in New York, has played a critical role, helping line up engagements and benefactors, and the Met has helped arrange the tour. Waldemar Dabrowski, the director of the Wielki Theater, Warsaw’s opera house, provided rehearsal space and helped secure financial support from the Polish government.CULTURE, DISPLACED A series exploring the lives and work of artists driven far from their homelands amid the growing global refugee crisis.At the first rehearsal, musicians filed into the Wielki Theater carrying blue and yellow bags; instrument cases covered in peace signs and hearts; and tattered volumes of Ukrainian poems and hymns.The orchestra was the idea of the Canadian conductor Keri-Lynn Wilson, who is of Ukrainian descent. “For Ukraine!” she proclaimed at the first rehearsal.Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesAs the musicians began to warm up at rehearsal, Wilson took her place at the podium, locked eyes with the players, and spoke about the need to stand up to Moscow.“For Ukraine!” she said, throwing her fist into the air. Then the orchestra began playing Dvorak.The musicians had arrived mostly as strangers to one another. But slowly they grew closer, sharing stories of neighborhoods pounded by bombs, while the refugees among them recounted their long, tense journeys across crowded borders this winter.Among the violins was Iryna Solovei, a member of the orchestra at the Kharkiv State Academic Opera and Ballet Theater, who fled for Warsaw at the start of the invasion along with her 14-year-old daughter. Since March, they have been among the more than 30 Ukrainian refugees living inside the Wielki Theater, in offices that were converted to dormitories.In March, Solovei, watched from a distance as her home in Kharkiv was destroyed by Russian missiles. She shared photos of her charred living room with her fellow players, telling them how much she missed Ukraine and worried about her husband, who still plays with the Kharkiv ensemble.Our Coverage of the Russia-Ukraine WarOn the Ground: A series of explosions that Ukraine took credit for rocked a key Russian air base in Kremlin-occupied Crimea. Russia played down the extent of the damage, but the evidence available told a different story.Heavy Losses: The staggeringly high rate of Russian casualties in the war means that Moscow may not be able to achieve one of his key objectives: seizing the entire eastern region of Ukraine.Nuclear Shelter: The Russian military is using а nuclear power station in southern Ukraine as a fortress, as fighting intensifies in the region. The risk of a catastrophic nuclear accident has led the United Nations to sound the alarm and plead for access to the site to assess the situation.Starting Over: Ukrainians forced from their hometowns by Russia’s invasion find some solace, and success setting up businesses in new cities.“Everyone has been hurt,” she said. “Some people have been hurt physically. Some people have lost their jobs. Some people have lost their homes.”She reminisced about her days as an orchestra musician in Ukraine, and the deep connections she felt with audiences there. To cope with the trauma of war, she takes walks in a park in Warsaw, where a Ukrainian guitarist plays folk songs at sunset.“The war is like a horrific dream,” she added. “We can forget about it for a moment, but we can never escape it.”Iryna Solovei, left, holding a violin, before the orchestra’s first performance at the Wielki Theater in Warsaw. She has been living in the theater since March.Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesAt the back of the orchestra, in the percussion section, stood Yevhen Ulianov, a 33-year-old member of the National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine.His daughter was born on Feb. 24, the first day of the invasion. He told his fellow players how he and his wife, a singer, had gone to the hospital in Kyiv a few hours before the war started. As she went into labor, air-raid sirens sounded repeatedly, and at one point they were rushed from the maternity ward to the basement of the hospital.“I couldn’t understand what was happening,” he said. “I could only think, ‘How will we get out of here alive?’”Ulianov did not play for two months after the invasion, as concerts in Kyiv were canceled and theaters elsewhere were damaged. The orchestra reduced his salary by a third in April, and he relied on savings to pay his bills. Inside his apartment near the center of the city, he practiced on a vibraphone, taking shelter in a corridor when air-raid sirens sounded.“We didn’t know what to do — should we stay or should we leave?” he said. “What if the Russian army came to Kyiv? Would we ever be able to play again?”‘Half of me is in Ukraine, and half of me is outside.’Before the orchestra’s first concert, late last month in Warsaw, Vikhrova and Dovbysh were anxious.They had spent more than a week rehearsing the program, which included pieces by Brahms, Beethoven, Chopin and Valentin Silvestrov, Ukraine’s most famous living composer. But they were unsure how the audience might react. And they were grappling with their fears about the war.Vikhrova had been trying to build a new life in the Czech Republic with their daughter, joining a local orchestra. But she worried about her husband’s safety “every second, every minute, every hour,” she said. She slept near her phone so that she would be woken up by warnings about air raids in Odessa. She grew anxious after one attack there before Easter, when her husband saw Russian missiles in the sky but had no time to take shelter. To take her mind off the war, she played Bach and traditional Ukrainian songs.On their first evening together in five months, Yevgen Dovbysh and Anna Vikhrova, a married couple who were parted by the war and reunited to play together in the orchestra, attended a welcoming party for the new ensemble at Warsaw’s opera house, the Wielki Theater. Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesHolding her husband’s hand backstage, Vikhrova said she longed for the day when they could return to Ukraine with their daughter, who was staying with her mother in the Czech Republic for the duration of the tour.“I feel like I’m leading a double life,” she said. “Half of me is in Ukraine, and half of me is outside.”Dovbysh remembered the fear in his daughter’s eyes when she and her mother left Odessa in February. He recalled taking time to explain the war and telling her she would be safe. He promised they would see each other again soon.When the tour ends this week and his military exemption expires, he is scheduled to return to Odessa. It is unclear when he will be able to see his family again.“Every day,” he said, “I dream of the moment when we can see each other again.”‘We live with a constant sense of worry.’As the war drags on, the musicians have at times struggled to keep their focus. They spend much of their free time checking their phones for news of Russian attacks, sending warnings to relatives.Marko Komonko, 46, the orchestra’s concertmaster, said it was agonizing to watch the war from a distance, likening the experience to a parent caring for an ill child. He fled Ukraine in March for Sweden, where he now plays in the orchestra at the Royal Opera House in Stockholm.“We live with a constant sense of worry,” he said.“We live with a constant sense of worry,” said Marko Komonko, the concert master, far right. Komonko, who now plays at the Royal Opera House in Stockholm, was joined at a rehearsal by Ustym Zhuk, who plays the viola, far left, and Adrian Bodnar a violinist, center. Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesFor more than two months after the invasion, he said, he felt nothing when he played his violin. Then, in early May, he began to feel a mix of sadness and hope when he performed a Ukrainian folk melody at a concert in Stockholm.For some, playing in the orchestra has strengthened a sense of Ukrainian identity. Alisa Kuznetsova, 30, was in Russia when the war began; since 2019, she had worked as a violinist in the Mariinsky Orchestra. In late March, she resigned from the orchestra in protest and moved to Tallinn, Estonia, where she began playing in the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra.When she joined the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, she initially felt guilty, she said, worried that the other players would see her as a traitor because of her work in Russia. But she said her colleagues had reassured her that she was welcome.“For my soul, for my heart,” she said, “this has been really important.”In European cultural capitals, the orchestra has been greeted with standing ovations and positive reviews from critics.“A stirring show of Ukrainian defiance,” a review in The Daily Telegraph said of the orchestra’s performance at the Proms, the BBC’s classical music festival. The Guardian wrote of “tears and roars of delight” for the new ensemble.The players got a standing ovation, their first of many on the tour, at their first performance in Warsaw. Maciek Nabrdalik for The New York TimesBut the musicians say the measure of success will not be reviews, but their ability to shine a light on Ukraine and showcase a cultural identity that Russia has tried to erase.Nazarii Stets, 31, a double bass player from Kyiv, has been redoubling his efforts to build a digital library of scores by Ukrainian composers, so their music can be widely downloaded and performed. He plays in the Kyiv Kamerata, a national ensemble devoted to contemporary Ukrainian music.“If we are not fighting for culture,” he said, “then what is the point of fighting?”Wilson, who came up with the idea for the orchestra in March and plans to revive it next summer, said she made a point of featuring Silvestrov’s symphony as a way of promoting Ukrainian culture. Near the end of the piece, the composer wrote a series of breathing sounds for the brass, an effect meant to mimic the last breaths of his wife.Wilson, who dedicated the piece to Ukrainians killed in the war, said she instructed the orchestra to think of the sounds not as death, but as life.“It’s the breath of life, to show that their spirits go on,” she said in an interview.Vikhrova said the tour had brought her closer to her husband and her fellow players. She cries after each performance of the Silvestrov symphony, and when the orchestra plays an arrangement of the Ukrainian national anthem as an encore.“This has connected our hearts,” she said. “We feel part of something bigger than ourselves.”Anna Tsybko contributed reporting. More

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      in Movies

      ‘From Where They Stood’ Review: Auschwitz, as Seen by Prisoners

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      Christophe Cognet’s documentary pores over photographs, some of them clandestine, taken by prisoners, inside the Nazi concentration camp.Christophe Cognet’s “From Where They Stood” scrutinizes an astonishing record of the Holocaust: photographs secretly taken by prisoners within Auschwitz-Birkenau and other concentration camps. Cognet’s analytical documentary adopts the stance of an investigating historian to explicate the pictures, which were made and smuggled out at mortal risk.Unlike many documentaries about the Holocaust, this film hinges on still images rather than archival footage or interviews with survivors. Cognet joins scholars to pore over these pictures and their silent testaments; in one clutch of images, women displaying wounds on their legs are revealed to be subjects of Nazi medical experiments. Other portraits catch people in eerily calm-looking repose.But the clandestine pictures known as the Sonderkommando photographs carry the gravest weight of all. These ghostly images depict nude women on the way to the gas chamber and, afterward, corpses left in the open air (both scenes overseen by the cremation prisoner workers known as the Sonderkommando). Shot from a significant distance, apparently through holes in the gas chambers, these figures are small and not greatly defined, but no less devastating.Cognet (who also made a documentary about artworks created in the camps) visits camp sites to re-create the precise positions and sightlines of the photographers and their subjects. His film can feel overly cerebral—a bit like being plunged into a seminar—and the text cards do a lot of explanatory heavy lifting. But Cognet’s forensic approach does insist on memorializing these events in an important, physically specific way and, intentionally or not, queasily anticipates a world without any living eyewitnesses to these horrors.From Where They StoodNot rated. In French, Polish and German, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 55 minutes. In theaters. More

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      in Music

      He Break Dances. He Pole Dances. He Sings Like an Angel.

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      The Polish countertenor Jakub Jozef Orlinski has the credits you’d expect for a fast-rising classical music star, and some others you might not.LONDON — When foreign stars visit the Glyndebourne opera festival in the countryside outside London, it’s common for them to participate in some time-honored English rituals, like sipping Pimm’s on the lawn or nibbling on a scone for afternoon tea. But when the young Polish countertenor Jakub Jozef Orlinski arrived to perform the title role in Handel’s “Rinaldo” in 2019, he announced his presence differently: by break dancing on the terrace in front of an audience in ball gowns and tuxedos, as well as a photographer or two.Judging by Orlinski’s Instagram account — 123,000 followers and counting — this wasn’t an isolated incident. To promote his Metropolitan Opera debut in Matthew Aucoin’s “Eurydice” last fall, he flexed his breaking skills in Lincoln Center’s plaza, and the company’s publicity team filmed it in slow motion. During a recent stint at the Royal Opera House here, Orlinski posted a picture of himself on that hallowed stage doing a so-called Slav squat (if you’re over 30, Google it) with the hashtag #LetsBarock.“Dude, these pics are so FIRE,” one commenter wrote.Sure, Orlinski, 31, has the credits you’d expect for a fast-rising star: a recording deal with Warner, a bustling recital schedule, and appearances at prestigious European opera houses and festivals. But then there’s the taste for hip-hop and streetwear, trumpeted on Instagram, and the branding deals and crossover tracks, including a 2020 collaboration with a trio of Polish rappers and pop stars for Pepsi. Though classical music is diversifying, it’s hard to think of another singer who lists break dancing awards alongside concert prizes on their résumé.Whatever is going on, it’s clearly working. Last fall, Gramophone magazine put Orlinski on the cover. The headline was “A Countertenor for Our Times.” This month, he will embark on a North American recital tour — traveling from Georgia to the West Coast and ending in Canada — performing a mixture of baroque arias and Polish song.Julia Bullock and Orlinski in “Theodora” at the Royal Opera House in London.Camilla GreenwellOver lunch in London last month, there were faint smudges of tiredness under his eyes, but he was fidgety with energy. Orlinski’s chief reason for being in town was “Theodora,” a keenly anticipated debut in a rarely staged piece. Based on the story of an early Christian martyr and a notorious flop for Handel when it debuted in 1750, the oratorio had been retooled for a post-war-on-terror, #MeToo world by the British director Katie Mitchell. Theodora (sung by the American soprano Julia Bullock) was portrayed as freedom fighter plotting to plant a bomb at the embassy of her Roman overlords. When the scheme was foiled, the heroine was held captive in a lap dancing club and sexually assaulted.Orlinski appeared as the boyish Didymus, a Roman security guard who converts to Theodora’s cause and comes to her rescue. Though he attracted favorable reviews, some audience members seemed a little shocked at a scene in which he exchanged clothes with Bullock, then performed a solo pole dance wearing her spangled dress and platform heels.“It could have been hilarious, but it wasn’t,” Orlinski said. “People were completely on board.” And he admired the production for its feminist foregrounding of Theodora’s story, he added. “The concept is so good and so well argued,” he said.Characteristically, Orlinski was also keeping several other plates spinning while in London. One was the debut of a film tied to a forthcoming recording of Vivaldi’s “Stabat Mater.” Somewhere between an art-house short and a high-concept music video, it featured Vivaldi’s score in full, overlaid on scenes resembling a Polish remake of “The Sopranos,” in which Orlinski plays a man bent on revenge after his friends die in a gangland killing.Orlinski on set for a film tied to a forthcoming recording of Vivaldi’s “Stabat Mater,” in which Orlinski plays a man bent on revenge after his friends die in a gangland killing.Jakub Czapczy?ski/DOBRO Sp. z o.o.Another project was a concert at Wigmore Hall alongside the period group Il Pomo d’Oro, with repertoire drawn from another recent disc, this one featuring early 18th-century Italian works. Somewhere amid all this, he was preparing for the American tour.Was he managing to get any rest? He closed his eyes momentarily. “I am not sleeping much for the last 10 years,” he said.As a child growing up in Warsaw in the 1990s, a musical career looked unlikely. Though Orlinski’s family is artistic — his father is a graphic designer, his mother an artist — the idea of becoming a professional singer barely crossed his mind, he said. Even though he’d been singing with an amateur, all-male choir since age nine, he mostly spent his time listening to rap, skateboarding and learning parkour.Unlike England or Germany, Poland has almost no countertenor tradition, in which adult male vocalists sing at altitudes usually reserved for boy altos or mezzo-sopranos. Though pioneering soloists such as James Bowman, David Daniels and Michael Chance helped revive long-forgotten operatic countertenor roles in the 1980s and ’90s — many of them originally written for the castrati who dominated the 18th-century opera stage — the number of professional countertenors remains tiny.It wasn’t until his choir asked for volunteers to sing the high parts that Orlinski thought of trying it. To his surprise, the register suited him, and he entered Warsaw’s prestigious Fryderyk Chopin University of Music to study voice in 2009.One of his tutors there, Eytan Pessen, recalled his astonishment at hearing about the new student. “One day, the director of the program told me, ‘There is this strange, beautiful singer, I don’t know if you’ll like him. He’s a break dancer but he also wants to sing countertenor.’ But the voice was absolutely there.”Even so, Orlinski’s early attempts as a soloist faltered, hampered by a lack of confidence. “I would get 10 people turning up for concerts,” he said. “When I started singing countertenor, four of them would leave.”After graduating, Orlinski headed to Juilliard, then returned to Europe and began to pick up recital and opera work, making a name for himself in Handel, a composer he reveres.Orlinski onstage at Carnegie Hall in 2018.Hiroyuki Ito for The New York TimesDespite his ebullient onstage presence, Orlinski has little of the vocal showiness of older countertenors like Philippe Jaroussky or Dominique Visse. Though it’s still developing, his voice is cool and pure in tone.“The color and timbre are so specific,” Pessen said. “It has this angelic, ethereal quality.”Orlinski’s breakthrough moment was a husky live performance of Vivaldi’s “Vedro con mio diletto” from the Aix-en-Provence Festival in 2017, which was broadcast on Facebook Live by the France Musique radio station then uploaded to YouTube. It has been viewed 8.4 million times — far more than might be expected for an obscure baroque aria.Later videos advertised Orlinski’s virtuosity: In footage recorded at a Moscow recital last year, he offers a rendition of Purcell’s “Strike the Viol” so decorated with vocal filigree that it practically sounds like bebop.Bullock, his co-star in “Theodora,” says she admires the freedom Orlinski finds within the structures of period performance. “He’s so inventive with his vocalism,” she said. “There’s this great element of improvisation.”Orlinski is far from the first classical musician to leverage social media, but, coming from a generation that grew up online, he does it with a charming playfulness and lack of self-importance. A zany video posted for the new year saw him playing the recorder deliberately badly, which generated more than 10,000 likes. For Valentine’s Day, he posed wearing a fitted T-shirt and holding an outsized bunch of flowers. (Judging by the comments beneath, his well-developed biceps are a big part of the appeal.)His Wigmore Hall recital, in February, was notable for the youth and ardor of its audience. There were three encores, and in the CD-signing line afterward, one woman, a fan from Instagram, was seen clutching a notebook she’d bought on Amazon whose cover read, “Sorry I Wasn’t Listening, I Was Thinking About Jakub Jozef Orlinski.”“Someone’s really making money off of me,” Orlinski joked.“I am not going to be, like, 60 and still sing as a countertenor,” Orlinski said.  “There are hundreds of open doors.”Anna Liminowicz for The New York TimesBuilding a fan base in this way is still unusual in a classical environment, he conceded, but he was enthusiastic about reaching people who might not have encountered this music before.Yet Orlinski said there were costs to being so easily accessible to the public. “Some of them are a little weird,” he said. “There are a lot of DMs on Instagram.” Inappropriate messages? He grimaced. “There was a period where it was happening a lot.”While his concert and opera schedule is booked through 2024, Orlinski said he wasn’t sure where he would go in the longer term. “When I look at the list of things I already did, I’m like, ‘Wow, this is crazy. I’m 31,’” he said. “At the same time, I am just 31.”Following tradition and available repertoire, most countertenors focus on early music, with occasional forays into contemporary repertoire. But, as with so much else, Orlinski is reluctant to follow the formulas.The new Polish-themed disc — recorded with a regular collaborator, the pianist Michal Biel, and out in May — features songs by Szymanowski and Mieczyslaw Karlowicz: plush, late-Romantic repertoire most countertenors never go near.He wasn’t even sure he would remain in classical, or even stay in his current vocal range, he said. “I already talked with my management about that. I told them right away, ‘I am not going to be, like, 60 and still sing as a countertenor.’”What else would he do? Perhaps run a music festival or make movies, he said, or maybe he’d drop down to baritone range and sing pop. “There are hundreds of open doors.”Things were moving so fast, he said. “Like with the Met and the Royal Opera House, it was so far away,” he added, with a trace of disbelief. “I knew about those projects in 2018, and it’s already gone.” More

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      ‘Three Minutes: A Lengthening’ Looks at Jewish Life Before Nazi Invasion

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      A documentary based on a home movie shot by an American in 1938 provides a look at the vibrancy of a Jewish community in Europe just before the Holocaust.AMSTERDAM — Glenn Kurtz found the film reel in a corner of his parents’ closet in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla., in 2009. It was in a dented aluminum canister.Florida’s heat and humidity had nearly solidified the celluloid into a mass “like a hockey puck,” Kurtz said. But someone had transferred part of it onto VHS tape in the 1980s, so Kurtz could see what it contained: a home movie titled “Our Trip to Holland, Belgium, Poland, Switzerland, France and England, 1938.”The 16-millimeter film, made by his grandfather, David Kurtz, on the eve of World War II, showed the Alps, quaint Dutch villages and three minutes of footage of a vibrant Jewish community in a Polish town.Old men in yarmulkes, skinny boys in caps, girls with long braids. Smiling and joking. People pour through the large doors of a synagogue. There’s some shoving in a cafe and then, that’s it. The footage ends abruptly.Kurtz, nevertheless, understood the value of the material as evidence of Jewish life in Poland just before the Holocaust. It would take him nearly a year to figure it out, but he discovered that the footage depicted Nasielsk, his grandfather’s birthplace, a town about 30 miles northwest of Warsaw that some 3,000 Jews called home before the war.Fewer than 100 would survive it.Now, the Dutch filmmaker Bianca Stigter has used the fragmentary, ephemeral footage to create “Three Minutes: A Lengthening,” a 70-minute feature film that helps to further define what and who were lost.“It’s a short piece of footage, but it’s amazing how much it yields,” Stigter said in an interview in Amsterdam recently. “Every time I see it, I see something I haven’t really seen before. I must have seen it thousands and thousands of times, but still, I can always see a detail that has escaped my attention before.”Almost as unusual as the footage is the journey it took before gaining wider exposure. All but forgotten within his family, the videotape was transferred to DVD and sent to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington in 2009.“We knew it was unique,” said Leslie Swift, chief of the film, oral history and recorded sound branch of the museum. “I immediately communicated with him and said, ‘If you have the original film, that’s what we want.’”The Holocaust museum was able to restore and digitize the film, and it posted the footage on its website. At the time, Kurtz didn’t know where it had been shot, nor did he know the names of any of the people in the town square. His grandfather had emigrated from Poland to the United States as a child and had died before he was born.Thus began a four-year process of detective work, which led Kurtz to write an acclaimed book, “Three Minutes in Poland: Discovering a Lost World in a 1938 Family Film,” published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux in 2014.Glenn Kurtz, who found the original footage shot by his grandfather in his parents’ closet in Florida, later wrote a book about the significance of the film.Stigter relied on the book in completing the film, which is co-produced by her husband, Steve McQueen, the British artist and Academy Award-winning director of “12 Years a Slave,” and narrated by Helena Bonham Carter. It has garnered attention in documentary circles and has been screened at Giornate degli Autori, an independent film festival held in parallel with the Venice film fest; the Toronto International Film Festival; Telluride Film Festival; the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam; and DOC NYC. It was recently selected for this month’s Sundance Film Festival.Nasielsk, which had been home to Jews for centuries, was overtaken on Sept. 4, 1939, three days after the German invasion of Poland. Three months later, on Dec. 3, the entire Jewish population was rounded up and expelled. People were forced into cattle cars, and traveled for days without food and water, to the towns of Lukow and Miedzyrzec, in the Lublin region of Nazi-occupied Poland. From there, they were mostly deported to the Treblinka extermination camp.“When you see it, you want to scream to these people run away, go, go, go,” Stigter said. “We know what happens and they obviously don’t know what starts to happen, just a year later. That puts a tremendous pressure on those images. It is inescapable.”Stigter stumbled across the footage on Facebook in 2014 and found it instantly mesmerizing, especially because much of it was shot in color. “My first idea was just to prolong the experience of seeing these people,” she said. “For me, it was very clear, especially with the children, that they wanted to be seen. They really look at you; they try to stay in the camera’s frame.”A historian, author and film critic for a Dutch national newspaper, NRC Handelsblad, Stigter worked on this film, her directorial debut, for five years. She started it after the International Film Festival Rotterdam invited her to produce a short video essay for its Critic’s Choice program. Instead of choosing a feature film, she decided to explore this found footage. After making a 25-minute “filmic essay,” shown at the Rotterdam festival in 2015, she received support to expand it into a feature film.“Three Minutes: A Lengthening” never steps out of the footage. Viewers never see the town of Nasielsk as it is today, or the faces of the interviewees as talking heads. Stigter tracks out, zooms in, stops, rewinds; she homes in on the cobblestones of a square, on the types of caps worn by the boys, and on the buttons of jackets and shirts, which were made in a nearby factory owned by Jews. She creates still portraits of each of the 150 faces — no matter how vague or blurry — and puts names to some of them.An image from the home movie showing Moszek Tuchendler, 13, on the left, who survived the Holocaust and became Maurice Chandler. He was able to identify many other people in the footage of the town where he grew up.United States Holocaust Memorial MuseumMaurice Chandler, a Nasielsk survivor who is in his 90s, is one of the smiling teenage boys in the footage. He was identified after a granddaughter in Detroit recognized him in a digitized clip on the Holocaust museum’s website.Chandler, who was born Moszek Tuchendler, lost his entire family in the Holocaust; he said the footage helped him recall a lost childhood. He joked that he could finally prove to his children and grandchildren “that I’m not from Mars.” He was also able to help identify seven other people in the film.Kurtz, an author and journalist, had discovered a tremendous amount through his own research, but Stigter helped solve some additional mysteries. He couldn’t decipher the name on a grocery store sign, because it was too blurry to read. Stigter found a Polish researcher who figured out the name, one possible clue to the identity of the woman standing in the doorway.Leslie Swift said that the David Kurtz footage is one of the “more often requested films” from the Holocaust Museum’s moving picture archives, but most often it is used by documentary filmmakers as stock footage, or background imagery, to indicate prewar Jewish life in Poland “in a generic way,” she said.What Kurtz’s book, and Stigter’s documentary do, by contrast, is to explore the material itself to answer the question “What am I seeing?” over and over again, she said. By identifying people and details of the life of this community, they manage to restore humanity and individuality.“We had to work as archaeologists to extract as much information out of this movie as possible,” Stigter said. “What’s interesting is that, at a certain moment you say, ‘we can’t go any further; this is where it stops.’ But then you discover something else.” More

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      A Polish Rapper Goes From Scandal to Superstar

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      Michal Matczak, better known as Mata, has been called the voice of Polish youth for songs about teen struggles that have grabbed the attention of his politically divided country.WARSAW — The vast fields of Warsaw’s Bemowo airport have hosted concerts by some of the world’s biggest stars. Michael Jackson played there. So did Madonna. Metallica, too.But last Saturday more than 30,000 people — many young teenagers, with their parents acting as chaperones — crowded together next to the runway waiting for a new star to get onstage: Michal Matczak, a 21-year-old rapper with bleached-blond hair and a constant grin, better known as Mata.“He’s like the representative of our generation,” said Joseph Altass, 20, a student who’d traveled from Gdynia, more than 200 miles north of Warsaw, for the concert.Zuzia Waskiewicz, 19, sharing a bottle of flavored vodka with a friend, agreed: “He’s the first person talking about real things about us.”More than 30,000 people wait for Mata to take the stage at Warsaw’s Bemowo airport. Anna Liminowicz for The New York TimesMata staged the show with the help of a theater director. Anna Liminowicz for The New York TimesWhen Mata appeared at 8 p.m., it was clear he was speaking to the younger generation in the audience: One of the night’s first tracks, “Blok,” was about moving out from his parents’ home and annoying his new neighbors by partying. Then Mata played an ode to marijuana, followed by a tune about drinking on the concrete steps that line the Vistula River in Warsaw. The crowd rapped along to every word.Mata’s impact in Poland has been inescapable. Earlier this year, one of his tracks, “Kiss Cam,” was streamed so frequently, it appeared on one of Billboard’s global charts — a first for a Polish act. When last Friday he released “Mlody Matczak” (“Young Matczak”), his second album focused on his early adulthood, it instantly topped the country’s Spotify chart. Several of his songs have over 50 million views on YouTube.But one specific track marked Mata’s explosive entrance into Polish cultural life two years ago: “Patointeligencja” (an amalgam of the Polish words for pathology, and intelligentsia). Over spare production, Mata paints a picture of life as a student at Batory, an elite high school in Warsaw where many students are expected to push for admission to the world’s best universities. In his telling, few of the students are quietly studying for their final exams. Instead, they’re using drugs, alcohol and sex to deal with the pressure. “My friend wanted to spend his father’s whole salary on drugs,” Mata raps, “but his old man was making so much he would have killed himself trying.”“Patointeligencja” was a sensation almost as soon as it appeared on YouTube in December 2019. Cyryl Rozwadowski, an editor at Newonce, a popular Polish-language culture website, said “it was such a groundbreaking event, I hardly think of it as a song anymore.”Newspapers and TV shows started using the track to debate both the pressures on Polish youth and issues of privilege, like whether an apparently rich kid like Mata should be rapping at all. Their takes often reflected political divides in the country. Poland has for years been in a culture war, with liberals on one side and the ruling populist Law and Justice Party and its conservative supporters on the other, facing off over issues like gay rights, abortion and even the rule of law.Some conservative sections of the media, including the country’s main government-run TV station, presented Mata’s track as showing the dysfunctions of the liberal elite. They regularly pointed out that Mata’s father is Marcin Matczak, a lawyer and academic known for his fierce opposition to the ruling party’s policies.On his new album, Mata has a tribute to him called “Papuga,” or “Parrot,” slang for lawyer in Poland. His father has welcomed the association, this year releasing a book called “How to Raise a Rapper.”Mata said he was enjoying fame in Poland, but hoped to find success outside the country, too.Anna Liminowicz for The New York TimesA few hours before the airport concert, Mata said in an interview at his record label’s plush office that he liked causing scandal. “I’m a bit addicted to adrenaline,” he said, adding that as an only child he craved attention. Sometimes, he feels “like an internet troll more than a rapper,” he said.But he insisted he hadn’t written “Patointeligencja” when he was 18 to cause a stir. He typed it on his phone during his final year at Batory when he’d “just had a big breakdown.” A three-year relationship had ended, he said, and he was overwhelmed with stress about exams and his teachers saying he was heading for failure.One day, he skipped class and went to a Caffe Nero, where he poured alcohol into a coffee while searching for a beat on YouTube. When he found the music for “Patointeligencja,” the lyrics angrily spilled out of him. “It was just stream of consciousness, all these bad emotions coming out of me,” he said. “Even now, I’m excited when I think about that moment. I felt alive.”When his father picked him up later, Mata rapped the tune to him. He said the song was like “the cure” for his breakdown. Soon he was writing his debut album, “100 Dni Do Matury” (“100 Days to Finals”), which reviewers later called a farewell to his childhood. He managed to graduate.“Mlody Matczak” — released last Friday — is mainly about his new life as an adult, he said, but it also includes a track cursing Polish political figures who’d criticized him and his father. There’s a song about his grandfathers, who both died this year, one of complications from Covid-19. At one of their funerals, Mata got up to sing, and the piano player asked for his autograph, he said.The crowd — many of whom were teenagers with their parents as chaperones — rapped along to Mata’s songs. Anna Liminowicz for The New York Times“I want to go global,” Mata said, “but I believe it’s easier to do this by getting inspirations from my own culture than trying to fit into global pop.”Anna Liminowicz for The New York TimesCritics in Poland are talking about his new album as being far more than scandal mongering. Bart Strowski, the co-author of a series of books on Polish rap, said he liked Mata’s duality. On one hand, he “is an angry young rapper filled with booze and weed.” On the other, Strowski said, he’s “a soulful and sensitive kid” writing unusual songs filled with “incredible sociological detail.”Mata said he was enjoying fame in Poland, but hoped to find success outside the country, too. He’d been thinking about whether to try rapping in English, he said, but if he did, would keep a “hard Polish accent” to stand out.At the concert on Saturday, Mata’s ambition was clear, with the show staged with the help of a theater director. During one song, he was joined by about 20 dancers in Polish folk costumes and red balaclavas. For another about submissive sex, he stood in the middle of a huge block of lights while a group of dancers took his top off and sprayed him with cream.After almost two hours, it seemed there was little spectacle left, and the only hit left to play was “Patointeligencja.” But instead of performing the song, Mata ran offstage, jumped into a blue helicopter and flew away. The crowd waited around for 10 minutes, asking whether he’d really gone, but Mata had left to find his next controversy. More

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      Teresa Zylis-Gara, Plush-Voiced Polish Soprano, Is Dead at 91

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      She took on a wide range of roles in her long international career, which included a stretch as a stalwart of the Metropolitan Opera in the 1970s.Teresa Zylis-Gara, a Polish soprano who displayed a plush voice, impressive versatility and beguiling stage presence during a three-decade international career that included a stretch at the Metropolitan Opera during her prime in the 1970s, died on Aug. 28 in Lodz, Poland. She was 91. Her death was announced by the Polish National Opera. In her early years, Ms. Zylis-Gara was essentially a lyric soprano who excelled in Mozart and other roles suited to a lighter voice. But as she developed more richness and body in her sound, she moved into the lirico-spinto repertory, which calls for dramatic heft along with lyricism, including the title role of Puccini’s “Tosca,” Tatiana in Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin” and Elisabeth in Wagner’s “Tannhäuser.”Her repertory ranged from the Baroque, including works by Claudio Monteverdi, to 20th-century fare by the Polish composer Krzysztof Penderecki. She also championed the songs of her countryman Chopin, works that had been surprisingly overlooked.To some opera fans and critics, Ms. Zylis-Gara’s voice, though beautiful, lacked distinctiveness. And in striving for refinement, she was sometimes deemed overly restrained. Peter G. Davis of The New York Times described this mixture of qualities in a mostly glowing review of her performance as Pamina in Mozart’s “Die Zauberflöte” at the Met in 1970.Her “cool, silvery voice does not possess a wide range of color nor any special individuality,” Mr. Davis wrote, “but it is a lovely thing to hear in itself, and she sculpted Mozart’s melodies gracefully and stylishly.” In addition to “naturally feminine warmth and charm,” Mr. Davis said, she “interjected a pleasant note of humor into her early scenes and a genuine tragic pathos later on.”Two years later, reviewing a Met production of Verdi’s “Otello” presented on tour in Boston, the critic Ellen Pfeifer wrote in The Boston Globe that Ms. Zylis-Gara’s Desdemona was “a spirited and mature young woman instead of the usual adolescent clinging violet.” Her singing, Ms. Pfeifer added, “was beautiful, ample in size, with the requisite transparency and flexibility.”In a revealing 1974 interview with The Atlanta Constitution, Ms. Zylis-Gara spoke about the risks of being too emotional in performance. At the time, she was in Atlanta to sing the title role of Puccini’s “Madame Butterfly,” and she recalled crying onstage during one particularly intense scene while performing the role as a student.“It was terrible,” she said. “When you cry you can’t sing. Since that time I’ve never allowed myself to get this far, but it’s still a danger for me.”Ms. Zylis-Gara in the title role of Puccini’s “Manon Lescaut” at the Met in 1981. The tenor Giuliano Ciannella sang Des Grieux, Manon’s lover.J. Heffernan/Metropolitan Opera ArchivesTeresa Geralda Zylis was born on Jan. 23, 1930, in Landwarow, Poland, now Lentvaris, Lithuania, near Vilnius. She was the youngest of five children of Franciszek and Jadwiga Zylis; her father was a railway worker, her mother a homemaker.After the postwar political reconstitution of the region, the family settled in Lodz, Poland, in 1946. The 16-year-old Teresa decided to devote herself to singing and began nine years of study with Olga Ogina.She won first prize in the 1954 Polish Young Vocalists Contest in Warsaw, which led to engagements with Polish National Radio and, in 1956, her professional debut with the Krakow Opera in the title role of “Halka,” by the 19th-century Polish composer Stanislaw Moniuszko, a staple of the Polish opera repertory. Further prizes during the next few years in Toulouse, France, and in Munich led to engagements with opera houses in Oberhausen, Dortmund and Düsseldorf in West Germany.Determined to advance her career, she made professional decisions that affected her personal life, as she explained in the 1974 interview.She had married Jerzy Gara, the director of a technical school in Lodz, in 1954. The next year their son, also named Jerzy, was born. But it proved “impossible to be a wife, mother and artist of international fame all at one time,” she said.“I chose to be the artist,” she added. “I accept my choice and everything that has happened in my private life as a result.”When her son was 6, she left him in the care of her own mother in Lodz and settled in Germany to pursue her career, which quickly prospered. (Her marriage ended in divorce.)“It is something special to have a talent,” she said. “It brings a responsibility with it.” She added, referring to her son, “I saw sometimes he was not happy; and this is difficult.”He survives her, as does a granddaughter.Ms. Zylis-Gara in 1968, the year Donna Elvira in Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” became, as she put it, her “destiny role.” Evening Standard/Hulton Archive, via Getty ImagesMs. Zylis-Gara had a significant breakthrough in 1965 when she sang an acclaimed Octavian in a production of Strauss’s “Der Rosenkavalier” at the Glyndebourne Festival in England, which led to her debut with the Paris National Opera the next year. In 1968, a banner year, Donna Elvira in Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” became her calling card — or, as she put it in a 1969 interview with The Los Angeles Times, her “destiny role.” She sang Elvira for her debuts at the Salzburg Festival (with Herbert von Karajan conducting), the San Francisco Opera and, in December, the Met.Of the San Francisco performance, the Los Angeles Times critic Martin Bernheimer wrote that Ms. Zylis-Gara “sang a Donna Elvira that easily withstood comparison with the finest recent exponents of that difficult role, Sena Jurinac and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf.”At the Met, the cast included the formidable Cesare Siepi as Giovanni and Martina Arroyo as Donna Anna. In a 2015 article in Opera News in which various opera professionals were asked to pick their favorite “diva debuts” at the Met, Ms. Arroyo chose Ms. Zylis-Gara’s Donna Elvira. “She sang so well, a pure voice just right in style — one of the very best Elviras,” Ms. Arroyo said.The Met’s general manager, Rudolf Bing, promptly engaged Ms. Zylis-Gara for future bookings. She went on to sing 232 performances with the company over 16 seasons, taking on 20 roles, including the Marschallin in “Rosenkavalier,” Wagner’s Elisabeth and Elsa (in “Lohengrin”), Puccini’s Mimi, Butterfly and Desdemona, and Tchaikovsky’s Tatiana.Through the 1980s, Ms. Zylis-Gara continued to sing in the world’s major houses. In later years, she divided her time between a home in Monaco and visits to her native land, sat often on competition juries, and eagerly taught emerging singers. Asked in a 2009 Opera News interview whether she would ever say farewell to opera, she asserted that this “would never take place!”“The stage lights won’t dim for even a second,” she said, “since I transmit to my gifted pupils all my artistic soul, my knowledge and my experience.”Anatol Magdziarz contributed reporting from Warsaw. More

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      How 8 Countries Have Tried to Keep Artists Afloat During Panemic

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Coronavirus OutbreakliveLatest UpdatesMaps and CasesA Future With CoronavirusVaccine InformationF.A.Q.TimelineAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyHow 8 Countries Have Tried to Keep Artists AfloatGovernments around the world have tried to support the arts during the pandemic, some more generously than others.While South Korea largely contained the spread of coronavirus last year — “The Phantom of the Opera” in Seoul closed for only three weeks — the government still provided some $280 million in pandemic relief for cultural institutions.Credit…Woohae Cho for The New York TimesJan. 13, 2021Updated 5:23 a.m. ETIn December, owners and operators of theaters and music halls across the United States breathed a sigh of relief when Congress passed the latest coronavirus aid package, which finally set aside $15 billion to help desperate cultural venues. But that came more than six months after a host of other countries had taken steps to buffer the strain of the pandemic on the arts and artists. Here are the highlights, and missteps, from eight countries’ efforts.FrancePresident Emmanuel Macron of France was one of the first world leaders to act to help freelance workers in the arts. The country has long had a special unemployment system for performing artists that recognizes the seasonality of such work and helps even out freelancers’ pay during fallow stretches. In May, Mr. Macron removed a minimum requirement of hours worked for those who had previously qualified for the aid. He also set up government insurance for TV and film shoots to deal with the threat of closure caused by the pandemic. Other countries, including Britain, quickly copied the move.GermanyGermany’s cultural life has always been heavily subsidized, something that insulated many arts institutions from the pandemic’s impact. But in June, the government announced a $1.2 billion fund to get cultural life restarted, including money directed to such projects as helping venues upgrade their ventilation systems. And more assistance is on the way. Germany’s finance ministry intends to launch two new funds: one to pay a bonus to organizers of smaller cultural events (those intended for up to a few hundred people), so they can be profitable even with social distancing, and another to provide insurance for larger events (for several thousand attendees) to mitigate the risk of cancellation. Germany is not the first to implement such measures; Austria introduced event insurance in January.BritainIn July, the British government announced a cultural bailout package worth about $2.1 billion — money that saved thousands of theaters, comedy clubs and music venues from closure. In December, several major institutions, including the National Theater and the Royal Shakespeare Company, were also given long-term loans under the package. Even with the help, there have already been around 4,000 layoffs at British museums alone, and more in other sectors.The National Theater in London was one of several major institutions to receive a long-term loan from the British government in December.Credit…Lauren Fleishman for The New York TimesPolandEuropean cultural aid hasn’t been enacted without controversy. In November, Poland announced recipients of a $100 million fund meant to compensate dance, music and theater companies for earnings lost because of restrictions during the pandemic. But the plan was immediately attacked by some news outlets for giving money to “the famous and rich,” including pop stars and their management. The complaints prompted the culture minister to announce an urgent review of all payments, but the government ultimately defended them, and made only minor changes.The Coronavirus Outbreak More