Set on a makeshift stage that was strewn with, among other things, confetti, streamers, tables and hassocks that looked like the after-effects of a Liberace-inspired New Year’s Eve party (set design by Prairie T. Trivuth), “Queens” opened with a black-garbed and statuesque Jasmine Albuquerque entering from the rear and taking her place on a velvet divan, her luscious bare legs on full view as she curled up on the settee. 

Then, clad in more sequins than found on a Bob Mackie gown (costumes by Kéelin Quigley), the diva Townsend soon took her place beside Albuquerque. Her first aria, “Dis-moi que je suis belle” (“Tell me that I’m beautiful”) from Jules Massenet’s opera, “Thaïs,” saw her singing to Albuquerque, here as Venus, wanting reassurance that she is beautiful, that “nothing will wither the roses of my lips.” 

This was high drama, both in song and in the slow, deliberateness of Albuquerque’s sinuous moves, before she walked backwards, ceding the scene to Townsend, who then tackled the role of Electra in Act III of Mozart’s “Idomeneo,” crooning “Doreste d’Ajace (“Like Orestes, like Ajax.) Never losing a beat, the powerhouse crooner began pulling down streamers, and in Leontyne Price-spinto soprano mode—warm, rich, dramatic—she continued the aria, intoning as if possessed, “Ceraste, serpenti,” (“You vipers, you serpents”), before moving behind the curtain. 

And who better to melt down next, then, but Anna Bolena, from Donizetti’s opera of the same name, doomed to be beheaded as the second of Henry VIII’s six wives. Here, Townsend was joined by Courtney Starr, with Albuquerque shadowing her, as Townsend began the doleful lines, “Piangete voi?...Al dolce guidami…Coppia iniqua” (Are you weeping? Whence such tears?”). 

Albuquerque then swooped about à la Martha Graham before sitting on a chair and recalling the master choreographer’s “Lamentation.” Leaning back, legs spread, her arms slowly piercing the air, she seemed to be in a trance as Starr crawled towards Townsend, wrapping herself around the ill-fated heroine’s legs, the singer finally donning a crown.

Ah, this was a bevy of eddying limbs, with the dancers worshipping at the altar of Townsend, her coloratura rich and warm, all the while deep in the throes of despair. Vigorously sung, the number was made more so by the addition of the dancers’ otherworldly presence, although they were not in the next mournful selection, “Embroidery in Childhood Was,” from Benjamin Britten’s “Peter Grimes.” 

With Townsend now resting on the chaise, holding a tiny sweater that signified the likely death of Peter’s boy apprentice, she rose up, brandishing the garment and pouring herself into the aria before donning pink gloves and assuming the title role of Puccini’s “Suor Angelica.” Enter then, the terpsichores, bathed in red (lighting design by Azra King-Abadi), and striking a pose.