“Call me Joe. I’m going to be an American.” 

So starts Josef Kavalier’s escape from Nazi-occupied Germany to America, his journey into the land of the free. This season, the Metropolitan Opera’s biggest hit — warranting a coveted encore from February 17th to 21st, 2026 — is Kavalier and Clay, a story of Jewish resilience, immigration, identity struggle, and American idealism. And at the heart of all of these intersecting themes is the Escapist, the production’s fictional superhero, who embodies the good that leaves a lingering trace on every audience member, the man who liberates those in need with his signature golden key. 

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is originally a 637-page novel, written by Michael Chabon and published on September 19th, 2001. Well received and widely praised, it was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction that same year. The book is full of allusions to events within real people’s lives, with the dedication of the book going to Jack Kirby, the creator of the Captain America series, as well as mentions of historical figures such as Salvador Dali, a Spanish surrealist artist. Much of the important imagery within the book is also a reference to something real; for instance, the cover art of the first comic published by the protagonists — and in some cases, the cover art of the actual book itself — is a picture of the Escapist punching Adolf Hitler, the same image that was on the first edition of the real Captain America Comics. Attaching the events in the book to real happenings and people was extremely intentional, a move meant to speak to the reality of the stories, themes, and conflicts within the book; later, the operatic production would use this same imagery. 

Mason Bates produced the Metropolitan Opera’s rendition of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Understandably, both Bates and the librettist — Gene Scheer — had their work cut out for them, having to condense an enormous novel into an understandable two-and-a-half-hour production. “It moves like ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark,’” Bates noted. “It’s like, boom, boom, boom. Nazis. Superheroes.” But more than that, the production had to incorporate music throughout, all of which had to be constructed completely from scratch. “We had to cut an enormous amount and reimagine it in a way that would invite music in. That’s the trick to this: to find a way for the music to distill the story,” Scheer commented. 

Any work of art that touches on real stories and heavy themery must have a feeling of authenticity in order to come across as both sensitive and moving. To immerse himself in Jewish culture as to accurately represent the story of his protagonists, Bates committed to attending services for a year at the Temple Emanu-El in San Francisco, and wove a real Jewish resilience song into the production, “Ani Ma’amin,” a phrase that Jewish people would sing in boxcars on the way to concentration camps. What arose from this effort was a storyline that could feel dramatic yet authentically emotional; Bates mastered this balance almost perfectly. 

Continuing the attempt to draw young audiences into the world of opera, Kavalier and Clay contains a plethora of unorthodox choices. Bates is a multi-dimensional individual; he is a composer by day, a techno San Francisco DJ by night (the latter for which he goes by “DJ Masonic”). As such, the music in Kavalier and Clay is laced with synthesizers and sound effects, paired quite well with the production’s superhero theme. But even more shocking is the production’s use of videos and special effects. There are 737 video clips and 30 digital sets used throughout Kavalier and Clay, a practice unusual (but increasingly not unheard of) in the world of opera. Digital clips are projected on the stage backdrop and include visuals of Kavalier’s sketches, frames of the Escapist punching Nazis, an office backdrop, and a World War II battlefield. This volatility of set design makes the production fast-paced and engaging, with a movie-like quality.

Synopsis

The orchestra commences with a bang of the drums. Dark brass fills the theater with tension, the stage cast in strange shadows and a blue mist, the Charles Bridge looming in the background. White 3D text projected on the backdrop reads “Prague, 1939.” The atmosphere is tense and dark. It is clear — this is Hitler’s Germany.

Josef Kavalier enters with his little sister, Sarah, a schoolgirl in braids and a plaid skirt. Under the cover of night, they begin to practice Josef’s Houdini-esque magic tricks, involving Josef dramatically dropping himself into the Moldau River, straightjacketed, tasked with the feat of freeing himself before drowning. 

While he is submerged, masculine shadows are seen approaching from the tunnel under the bridge. The music takes a militant tone as soldiers grace the stage, red emblems wrapped around their upper arms, white swastikas in immediate view. A dramatic, shadowy video of Josef struggling in the water is projected in the background as Nazi soldiers interrogate Sarah about why she’s roaming the streets at night alone — a clear allusion to Josef’s entrapment under the Nazi regime, and his desire to break free. 

The soldiers leave, and Josef emerges, victorious against his restraints. Sarah presses him about his intentions with his magic tricks, and he reluctantly tells her that he is planning to flee to America, announcing his new American name with pride: Joe. He reassures her that he will send for her and the rest of their family. Her response is curt. “Don’t promise, Joe.”  

We cut to a new background, with hovering white subtitles reading “Brooklyn, 6 weeks later.” Sarah, still on stage, begins to walk away — but not without a longing glance back, her arm outstretched for just a second. There is something somber in her gesture, a foreshadowing to something we have yet to discover.

Meanwhile, Josef is now in Brooklyn, New York. He sits in a modest bedroom with his cousin Sam Clay, a young man with a gait affected by his childhood case of polio, who presses him fervently about his travels. Josef, with his thick German accent, struggles with communication in English. “[I traveled in] a box for dead people and…choo choo.” He begins to sketch his journey on a drawing board, as to confirm his broken words; the drawings appear onscreen. “A coffin!” Sam exclaims in the stereotypical New York City accent, making the word sound almost like “coffee.” It is on the nose that Joe made his escape in a box for the dead; his past life falters and dies as he moves into a new land and a new future. But the coffin symbolism also honors those Jews who failed to make it out of Prague and the larger Germany, serving as a reminder of the horrors that gripped the region.

Sam, glancing over the impressive sketches, muses on Joe’s drawing talent. Sam then reveals that he has an ardor for writing, and the two begin to brainstorm a mutual project — which soon manifests into a comic book. Meanwhile, a contrast is drawn: half of the stage is again taken up by Sarah, accompanied by her father, at their house in Prague. As the two men in America begin to doze off, the dad-daughter duo watches as Sarah’s mother is taken to a concentration camp. Thus, the two worlds become parellel: a new beginning for Joe, and a grim future for the rest of his family.

It is a new day in Brooklyn, and the cousins travel to Sam’s place of work: Empire Toys & Novelties Incorporated. Although skeptical at first, Sam’s boss and the office women take a look at Joe’s drawings and come around to the idea of a comic series. Eventually, Joe and Sam begin to draw out their ideas: soon, a superhero by the name of “The Escapist” is born. 

But there are those who cannot escape — and one is Joe’s mother. As Joe and Sam draw and write, giddy as small children, Joe’s mother, imprisoned four thousand miles away, glides towards her son, wearing the striped blue-and-white suit of a concentration camp prisoner. “I want you to forget us,” she sings to him, though he cannot hear. Behind her, a chorus of those dressed the same comes into view as a haunting score plays. “Ani ma’amin,” they sing. “I believe the Messiah is coming.” Pictures of the ghettos and Auschwitz are projected over a dim stage, the only visible lights shining on the cousin duo as they draw on in their blissful ignorance. We find out that Joe’s father, too, has been taken — while Sarah has narrowly escaped.

And then, all at once, the score is triumphant. Electronic, action-filled music swirls as the Escapist is finalized — a blue suit, a golden key. The projections are golden and shining, showing Joe’s creations in real time. A square panel of the set slides upwards, and there he is: the Escapist in the flesh. He whirls, karate-style, into three Nazi soldiers; one by one, they fall. He stands in front of the light, a shadow of muscle and bravery, and holds a glowing golden key up to the heavens. The Escapist is victorious. 

All over the streets of New York City, people are reading the Escapist comics. As various stories from the series are projected on the screen, we see a radio station, with voice actors for the characters in the novels behind the mics. The Escapist is voiced by a young, handsome Tracy Bacon. “I see the world, not as it is, but as it could be,” Tracy reads from the book. 

The Escapist radio programming ends, and a woman named Rosa Saks takes the microphone for her time on air, Joe watching on. We find out she is the head of the Jewish Children’s Fund, which uses donations to ship Jewish children from persecution in Europe to safety in America on a boat called the “Ark of Miriam” — named after the Biblical story of Miriam, who saved baby Moses by putting him a basket and then floating him down the river after the Pharaoh condemned all Hebrew male infants to death. For a brief moment, we return to Prague, where we see Joe’s father captured by soldiers as Sarah runs away. We then return to America, where Saks is promoting an art gallery to raise money for the passage of more Jewish children; Joe, evidently enamored by the woman, agrees to attend.

At the gallery, Salvador Dali, a famous Spanish artist, is wheeled by four mimes, clad in an extravagant robe. He muses aloud on what to paint, and decides on the Ark of Miriam from the perspective of a fish — a comical choice. “Art is not truth, it is a marvelous lie,” he laughs, donning a metal diver’s helmet. But almost as if to counter this declaration, Dali begins to suffocate in the helmet (an event that actually occurred in 1936), and Joe jumps in to pry the helmet off of Dali’s head — to help Dali escape. Slowly, the audience begins to realize that The Escapist is not a character merely of fiction; perhaps it is Joe who is a real escapist, helping Dali escape death and fleeing himself from the Nazi regime. Rosa embraces Joe, and after a moment by the pier, the two share a kiss. Rosa agrees to send for Joe’s sister, Sarah, with the Ark, shipping her to safety. Between the romance and reunion of siblings, all is well.

Later, Sam and Tracy share Shabbat dinners with Sam’s mother. The warm scene of candelabras, white-clothed tables, and steaming food is juxtaposed with the dark, grey set of Auschwitz, where Jewish prisoners huddle around a lone candle, taking their own Shabbat. But then, Joe’s mother and father appear on stage, and collapse abruptly — only to be woken by a Nazi-esque man in a low hat and large coat. The officer suddenly flings open his coat, revealing a glowing golden key emblazoned on his chest and a black mask over his eyes. It is the Escapist. Joe is suddenly there, drawing on a sketchboard; this scene is one mixed in Joe’s idealistic drawings and reality. What would have otherwise been a brutal death, Joe depicts as a peaceful end for his parents — with the Escapist there to guide them to the next world. Above the scene, a keyhole is projected, shrinking in size until it closes completely, symbolizing the impossibility of escape for Joe’s parents.

Meanwhile, we return to New York City. After their dinner, atop a building, Sam and Tracy begin rehearsing for Tracy’s role as the Escapist in a prospective film adaptation of the comics to be made in California. The music rings playfully suspenseful as the two bond more and more over their shared project. And as Sam teaches Tracy to be the Escapist, it seems that Tracy teaches Sam to escape societal norms — because as lightning crashes in the background, the two share an ardent kiss. Thus, another theme is introduced into this production: LGBTQ+ acceptance. 

But, as Sam revels over his newfound identity, he glimpses over a newspaper the pair had brought up with them, and learns something horrifying — the Ark of Miriam has sunk, with Sarah aboard. They rush to Joe, who is performing at a revival of the Jewish children’s fundraising art gallery. Rosa delivers the news to him onstage; he collapses, hallucinating and blind with a mix of rage and despair. A ghost-like Sarah appears hanging from strings, floating upwards as to mimic her tragic death in the water, as the chorus of people beneath her delivers a cataclysmic chord.

As time passes on, Joe has disappeared from society completely — isolating himself in a warehouse — as he continues to struggle with the death of his parents and sister. As thrilling music swells, we see him concocting a scenario on his drawing board in which he confronts the Nazi soldier who tormented and killed his family. But the scene doesn’t go in the heroic direction that we are used to; rather, Joe backs away in fear as the guard casts a gaze over him. “Real pain,” the guard says, “is knowing you’ll be alone forever.” Looking at Joe’s drawings, he scoffs. “As if a brush stroke could change the world…there are no heroes in this world.” Joe, evidently in a tremendous amount of pain, spots an enlistment flyer for the WWII effort lying close to his workspace. He grabs it and runs off, shaking. Rosa soon enters, and finds the trashed warehouse with the flyer — and realizes that her lover has left her. We find out that she is pregnant with his child.

Back at Empire Toys & Novelties Incorporated, the boss is in desperate need of a new hit within the Escapist saga. Money is tight during wartime; the company will take anything they can get. Rosa, in the place of a missing Joe, thinks up of a new character for the series with Sam — Luna Moth, a female superhero who dons the wings of a moth; she is a silent savior of lost souls who gives strength to the hopeless. 

Meanwhile, Sam and Tracy are still involved romantically, although Sam is cautious to accept himself and his sexuality. In an attempt to draw Sam out of his shell, Tracy invites Sam to his going-away party, as Tracy is soon to enlist in the military — which turns out to be a party exclusively for gay men. Although tentative at first, Sam eventually finds himself having quite a good time. The party is riddled with topical jokes, such as one that alludes to the closeted gay politicians of the WWII era, with this production’s fictional one named “Dick Johnson” (which warranted many a humorous moment where the male chorus sang the word “dick”). But suddenly, the party is raided by the FBI, who arrest Dick Johnson and many other attendees of the party. Sam, with his bad leg from childhood polio, cannot get away quickly, and a predatory FBI officer takes advantage of this, sexually assaulting him after all partygoers had dispersed.

After the ordeal is over, Rosa comes to collect Sam, and he collapses in front of her. “Rosa,” he despairs, “I’m going to be alone forever.” As she consoles him, he seems to vow to cover up his true nature forever. “I am not strong enough,” he resolves. Together, the duo, both questioning their next move in a love life that seems to have gone all awry, come up with a unique solution — a lavender marriage. “We’ll give this child love in a way we’ll never know,” Sam smiles, touching Rosa’s swelling stomach.

We open up to a dramatic Western Front, with projections of a grim forest coated in mist. As bullets ring and grenades explode, we see Joe touting a gun with a full camouflage outfit, surrounded by fellow soldiers. He has, once again, escaped—but this time, not for the better. 

All the soldiers sit around, opening the letters they’ve received from their sweethearts, family, and friends back home. “I miss you…” they all sing. Meanwhile, Joe holds his letters from Rosa, refusing to open them, as he has since they began to arrive. But we, the audience, see the contents regardless. On the projection, we see beautiful cursive handwriting, pictures of a house, a moth. For Joe, Rosa seems to want to embody Luna Moth — to bring him hope, with the hope that he’ll return home. “I draw our world,” she writes, drawing their child growing up without him, whom she has named Sarah. But he refuses to acknowledge the letters. “To remember is to feel it all again. To lose it all again.”

All of the sudden, the war scene is split in half, and the women working the desks at Empire Toys & Novelties Incorporated come to light. It seems that these are the sweethearts that the soldiers have been receiving letters from. “Is he coming home?” the women sing solemnly. And almost in response, the men at war sing back. “Am I coming home?” But more heartbreaking is the sight of Rosa and Sam, reading bedtime stories to little Sarah. The lavender couple lives in a pretty house with a white picket fence — the American ideal — yet neither one is completely happy, having lost their love in some way. It is a far cry from the optimism and hope that the Escapist series once brought them; a juxtaposition, if you will, of a fake world and a real one.

We return to Joe, who has met Tracy on the battlefield. After a brief conversation, an embarrassed Tracy admits that he’s carried the Escapist’s mask around with him during wartime, in the hopes that it would give him some form of protection. In an act of camaraderie, he gives the mask to Joe, hoping it’ll invigorate him to want to return home someday. But then, as if to continue the scene’s sentiment of lost idealism, Tracy is shot and killed. 

Devastated, Joe finally opens Rosa’s letters and sees the drawing of the moth. Suddenly, Rosa’s superhero creation, Luna Moth, appears to Joe, flying through blue mist with translucent green wings, and begins to guide Joe to Rosa and Sam’s house on Long Island. 

We cut to Joe’s return, where he stands outside the door to the house, seeing all of those in his life who have died. They all sing to him, pushing him to return to the love of his life and his child, pushing him to escape war. As his deceased younger sister, Sarah, sings to him lovingly, we see his daughter with the same name running out to Joe, curious to see who the man outside is. And at the door appear Rosa and Sam, ready for his return.

As Joe takes his place as Rosa’s partner and Sarah’s father, Sam is now free. He knows he wants to continue writing; it used to be the way he escaped himself and his identity, but now it will be an outlet for expression of his true self. We watch as he boards a train to California, ready to start his new life. And as an orange and red sunset shines through the train window, Sam pulls out a pen and writes in spiraling cursive the title of his new book, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. 

End Synopsis

Andrzej Filończyk debuted at the MET this season as Joe Kavalier. His tone was consistent and young, but a little devoid of emotion and variation, leaving the audience glancing to the subtitles for clarification. Miles Mykkannen, however, who sang Sam Clay, brought the needed animation, performing both his lively and despairing scenes in a way that could bring one to tears. Similarly good was Edward Nelson as Tracy Bacon, who radiated charm and confidence, and Sun-Ly Pierce as Rosa Saks, who sang with a chronically somber yet beautiful voice. Finally, also making her debut was Lauren Snouffer as Sarah Kavalier, whose voice was pretty but, like Filończyk’s, had a slight lack of variation.

One would not often pin a production with comic books, superheroes, and synthesizers as one of great depth. But Kavalier & Clay is breaking the norms of opera, spearheading the movement to bring both topical themes and younger audiences to productions. Grappling with one of the darkest times of human history, Kavalier & Clay keeps the audience reckoning with the ideas of good and evil, hope and despair. And as the chandeliers descend, and the curtain closes, each member of the audience departs the halls of the Metropolitan Opera with their own glowing golden key — emblazoned on their eyes, ears, and heart.

This season, the Metropolitan Opera’s biggest hit — warranting a coveted encore from February 17th to 21st, 2026 — is Kavalier and Clay, a story of Jewish resilience, immigration, identity struggle, and American idealism. And at the heart of all of these intersecting themes is the Escapist, the production’s fictional superhero, who embodies the good that leaves a lingering trace on every audience member, the man who liberates those in need with his signature golden key.