Opera Icon Joyce DiDonato Revives a Christmas Classic—And Sparks New Holiday Traditions

Mia Reynolds, 12/13/2025Joyce DiDonato revives "Amahl and the Night Visitors" at Lincoln Center, offering a heartwarming take on a Christmas classic. This intimate opera, celebrated for its poignant themes of selflessness and wonder, aims to create new holiday traditions through its relatable story and cozy setting.

Fast-forward to 2025. The world seems to run on caffeine and chaos, with unity more slogan than reality. And yet, in the snug, softly lit Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, “Amahl and the Night Visitors” is preparing to whisper its way back into hearts. Operatic favorite Joyce DiDonato steps out of the grand Met spotlight and into the role of Amahl’s mother—not like it’s a job, but almost as if she’s tracing her own footsteps home. As she recalls, just a shade of Kansas in her accent, “From as early as I can remember my father played the original LP every Christmas morning.” There’s something deeply personal in this history—an opera as Christmas ritual, the soundtrack that stretched her family’s sense of wonder across decades.

Some things need a smaller stage, it turns out. DiDonato’s memories, for instance; Menotti’s gentle score, which prefers intimacy to grandeur; the suspenseful hush of an audience packed close enough to catch the smallest shift of expression. Peter Gelb, at the Met, recognized what most opera houses would overlook: “Amahl” simply breathes better in a chamber setting. The production landed at Lincoln Center's cozier venue, a space just large enough for 300 but with the emotional resonance of a much larger crowd. Here, every sigh and glance between mother and child lands just so.

If the holidays force a kind of self-inventory—What do we hope for? Who do we cherish?—“Amahl” fits right in. The story isn’t complicated: poverty, a boy with a disability, a mother scraping by. Three Wise Men pass through, en route to Bethlehem, and Amahl’s humble crutch becomes a gift. A miracle follows—the kind only children dream up, and adults wish they hadn’t forgotten how to believe in. Joyce DiDonato puts it in perspective: “It’s a story of selflessness and giving from the heart.” Her answer to its relevance today? “How important is that in today’s world? The important-est.” There’s no gilding the lily—just honesty, and maybe a little self-aware laughter.

Director Kenny Leon has an eye for the good stuff: strong feelings, gentle humor, a story with legs (and, yes, a touch of dance.) He calls it a “full evening packed into less than an hour.” Honestly, who could use an extra-long curtain speech when the opera itself never lingers too long or wears out its welcome? Kids squirm less, imaginations run wild, and, if the director has his way, the whole experience feels just as fresh for newcomers as for those returning to an old favorite.

Let’s talk instruments. The purists out there might hem and haw over the absence of a full orchestra, but two pianos (that’s right, just two) and a handful of voices seem determined to prove their point. Lear deBessonet, Lincoln Center’s artistic director, stands by the decision, pointing to the emotional “wallop” of a leaner sound. In an era when “bigger” is so often mistaken for “better,” it’s refreshing to see less deliver more. There was a time when chamber opera felt like a compromise. Here, it feels like a homecoming.

When children arrive—tugging at coats, eyes wide, maybe just old enough to fidget through the overture—the intention becomes clearer still. Live art, in these years, is being asked to prove itself all over again. DeBessonet points out what educators and parents have long suspected: exposure matters. Catch a child in those impressionable years, and there’s no telling where a seed of creativity might root itself. The Met’s child-friendly “Magic Flute” managed it; Balanchine’s “Nutcracker” made an empire out of it. “Amahl,” too, may soon become not just an event, but a seasonal anchor—a December tradition for a new century.

Menotti, by all accounts, found his own inspiration in the “Adoration of the Magi,” a painting by Bosch tucked away in New York’s Metropolitan Museum. Decades later, the cycle repeats—one artist’s childhood epiphany sparking another’s quest to bring a story to life, each passing the torch with just a little more light. In a city often accused of moving too quickly, “Amahl and the Night Visitors” invites an almost old-fashioned pause. Children, parents, seasoned opera-goers—they all gather, if just for an hour, to be reminded that small miracles do still happen.

Step outside the theater this winter, and Lincoln Center’s plaza will be buzzing—car horns, holiday lights, the grind of another New Year just days away. But somewhere underneath the clamor, that soft, enduring melody floats and lingers. “Amahl” may not have the weight of spectacle, but its impact is measured differently. Small stories, after all, are often the ones to return to—each year, each December—like voices drifting from a distant living room, carrying the memory of hope through even the coldest air.

It’s odd, and maybe a little wonderful, to think back to 1951—a year when television was a living-room guest, not a pocket-sized distraction, and when something as ambitious as a made-for-TV opera was enough to hush the din on Christmas Eve. NBC staked its reputation (or at least its Christmas lineup) on Gian Carlo Menotti’s “Amahl and the Night Visitors,” trusting that families across America might actually gather, side by side, and watch an original opera unfold live. That initial performance wasn’t just an event; it planted itself in collective memory, replayed through the years until, gradually, the line between tradition and nostalgia all but disappeared.Fast-forward to 2025. The world seems to run on caffeine and chaos, with unity more slogan than reality. And yet, in the snug, softly lit Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, “Amahl and the Night Visitors” is preparing to whisper its way back into hearts. Operatic favorite Joyce DiDonato steps out of the grand Met spotlight and into the role of Amahl’s mother—not like it’s a job, but almost as if she’s tracing her own footsteps home. As she recalls, just a shade of Kansas in her accent, “From as early as I can remember my father played the original LP every Christmas morning.” There’s something deeply personal in this history—an opera as Christmas ritual, the soundtrack that stretched her family’s sense of wonder across decades.Some things need a smaller stage, it turns out. DiDonato’s memories, for instance; Menotti’s gentle score, which prefers intimacy to grandeur; the suspenseful hush of an audience packed close enough to catch the smallest shift of expression. Peter Gelb, at the Met, recognized what most opera houses would overlook: “Amahl” simply breathes better in a chamber setting. The production landed at Lincoln Center's cozier venue, a space just large enough for 300 but with the emotional resonance of a much larger crowd. Here, every sigh and glance between mother and child lands just so.If the holidays force a kind of self-inventory—What do we hope for? Who do we cherish?—“Amahl” fits right in. The story isn’t complicated: poverty, a boy with a disability, a mother scraping by. Three Wise Men pass through, en route to Bethlehem, and Amahl’s humble crutch becomes a gift. A miracle follows—the kind only children dream up, and adults wish they hadn’t forgotten how to believe in. Joyce DiDonato puts it in perspective: “It’s a story of selflessness and giving from the heart.” Her answer to its relevance today? “How important is that in today’s world? The important-est.” There’s no gilding the lily—just honesty, and maybe a little self-aware laughter.Director Kenny Leon has an eye for the good stuff: strong feelings, gentle humor, a story with legs (and, yes, a touch of dance.) He calls it a “full evening packed into less than an hour.” Honestly, who could use an extra-long curtain speech when the opera itself never lingers too long or wears out its welcome? Kids squirm less, imaginations run wild, and, if the director has his way, the whole experience feels just as fresh for newcomers as for those returning to an old favorite.Let’s talk instruments. The purists out there might hem and haw over the absence of a full orchestra, but two pianos (that’s right, just two) and a handful of voices seem determined to prove their point. Lear deBessonet, Lincoln Center’s artistic director, stands by the decision, pointing to the emotional “wallop” of a leaner sound. In an era when “bigger” is so often mistaken for “better,” it’s refreshing to see less deliver more. There was a time when chamber opera felt like a compromise. Here, it feels like a homecoming.When children arrive—tugging at coats, eyes wide, maybe just old enough to fidget through the overture—the intention becomes clearer still. Live art, in these years, is being asked to prove itself all over again. DeBessonet points out what educators and parents have long suspected: exposure matters. Catch a child in those impressionable years, and there’s no telling where a seed of creativity might root itself. The Met’s child-friendly “Magic Flute” managed it; Balanchine’s “Nutcracker” made an empire out of it. “Amahl,” too, may soon become not just an event, but a seasonal anchor—a December tradition for a new century.Menotti, by all accounts, found his own inspiration in the “Adoration of the Magi,” a painting by Bosch tucked away in New York’s Metropolitan Museum. Decades later, the cycle repeats—one artist’s childhood epiphany sparking another’s quest to bring a story to life, each passing the torch with just a little more light. In a city often accused of moving too quickly, “Amahl and the Night Visitors” invites an almost old-fashioned pause. Children, parents, seasoned opera-goers—they all gather, if just for an hour, to be reminded that small miracles do still happen.Step outside the theater this winter, and Lincoln Center’s plaza will be buzzing—car horns, holiday lights, the grind of another New Year just days away. But somewhere underneath the clamor, that soft, enduring melody floats and lingers. “Amahl” may not have the weight of spectacle, but its impact is measured differently. Small stories, after all, are often the ones to return to—each year, each December—like voices drifting from a distant living room, carrying the memory of hope through even the coldest air.