Constance: A Confession
The evening’s pleasures derive less from narrative surprise than from tonal dexterity. Sindelar knows exactly how ridiculous this world is, but resists the temptation to become smug about it. The libretto and score gleefully catalogue the linguistic debris of internet spirituality—“divine feminine,” trauma jargon, gut-health evangelism, pseudo-mystical affirmations—yet the satire lands because it is rooted …