In a fearless and fabulously inventive turn, artist and director Kevin Carillo has done what few would dare: fuse the raging queer activism of Larry Kramer’s Fire Island with the lyrical opulence of Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. The result? A hybrid performance piece that’s as defiant as it is decadent—operatic camp, classical rebellion, and emotional depth all rolled into one.
The project, titled "Furious Figaro", is not merely a pastiche. It’s a cultural remix that blurs the lines between 18th-century European aristocracy and 1980s queer resistance, stitching together two seemingly disparate worlds with a deft hand and a fiercely modern lens.
From Boudoirs to Beaches: A Story Retold
From Boudoirs to Beaches: A Story Retold
Mozart’s Figaro, written in the spirit of revolution, is itself an opera that pokes holes in the facades of power, class, and control. Larry Kramer’s Fire Island, a lesser-known but searing piece of social commentary, turns the shimmering gay utopia of Fire Island into a battleground of identity, denial, and survival amidst the AIDS crisis. Carillo's production doesn’t just juxtapose them—it lets them bleed into each other.
Figaro becomes a firebrand activist. Susanna, more than a clever maid, emerges as a truth-teller unafraid to confront the blindness of privilege. And Count Almaviva? He’s reimagined as a closeted power broker whose own repression contributes to the decay of the very community he exploits.
Carillo doesn't attempt to "modernize" Mozart with cell phones or neon wigs. Instead, he lets the original text of Fire Island slip into the spaces between Mozart’s arias—often in raw, spoken interludes that interrupt the music like protest chants breaking into a formal gala.
Operatic Activism: More Than Aesthetic
What makes this combination work is Carillo’s instinct for emotional resonance. Kramer’s work—angry, messy, and heartbreakingly real—might seem at odds with the precision and elegance of opera. But in Furious Figaro, that contrast becomes its own kind of harmony. Mozart’s melodies soar over scenes of queer disillusionment. Moments of levity crack open into vulnerability. The audience isn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or shout—and that’s exactly the point.
As Carillo said in a talkback following a preview performance:
“Kramer screamed because no one was listening. Mozart composed rebellion so beautiful that the powerful forgot they were being mocked. I wanted to see what happens when those two voices sing together.”
Casting as Commentary
True to his vision, Carillo cast a mix of classically trained opera singers and downtown performance artists—many of them queer, nonbinary, and trans—to push the limits of traditional opera casting. Figaro is played by a drag baritone with vocal chops and a political snarl; Susanna is sung by a trans soprano whose performance melts between genders with ease. The casting isn’t just inclusive—it’s ideological, turning the stage into a literal battleground of identity politics.
Fire Island Redux
The set design echoes both Fire Island’s infamous Pines and the ornate interiors of a Rococo villa. Think gilded chaise lounges on a sand-strewn stage, powdered wigs tossed aside like beach towels. The line between pleasure and performance, between party and protest, is deliberately blurred.
Lighting shifts from candlelit opulence to fluorescent clinic coldness, as Kramer’s AIDS-era fury takes over. In one haunting scene, a group of revelers freeze mid-dance as the names of the dead—spoken in voiceover—replace the music. Then, almost cruelly, the overture resumes.
A Brave, Uncomfortable Triumph
Furious Figaro is not for the faint of heart or the purist ear. It’s messy, loud, heartbreaking, and occasionally offensive. But it is never insincere. Carillo doesn’t ask Mozart to do Kramer’s work or vice versa. He lets them wrestle. He lets them disagree.
In doing so, he gives us something rare: a new kind of opera that’s not just about love and loss but also about activism, memory, and rage. It’s both homage and uprising—Larry Kramer would probably hate it. And that, paradoxically, might be the highest compliment.
If you ever wondered what it would sound like if a gay rights manifesto were sung in a gilded opera hall while the world outside burned—this is it.
Welcome to Fire Island. Welcome to Figaro. Welcome to the revolution.