Set against the paranoia of the McCarthy-era in 1950s Washington D.C., Fellow Travellers is a story about the doomed love story of two men- Timothy Laughlin, a recent college graduate and devout Catholic, and Hawkins Fuller, a self-assured and closeted State Department official. The Lavender Scare chapter of American history is often skipped. It was a time when thousands of LGBTQ+ government officials were persecuted and lost their jobs as they were labelled as ‘sexual deviants’. This opera, music by Gregory Spears and libretto by Greg Pierce masterfully captures the cruelty of that witch hunt, and the tragedy it brought about.
The opera unfolds across a sparse, almost spartan stage- two raised platforms and the occasional desk or chair wheeled on and off. A street scene opens the show: a milkman passes by, pedestrians stroll past in tailored silhouettes, and from this seemingly mundane world emerges a delicate but deeply fraught intimacy between Tim and Hawk, loaded with tension.
Act 1, while sometimes slow-paced, simmers with suspended dread and comedic moments that provide reprieve from the intense moments in Act 2. Oliver Barker as Tommy McIntyre leaves a lasting impression with his swagger and physical presence. On Hawk’s recommendation, Tim becomes a speechwriter for Senator Potter. Played by Charlie Zhang, Senator Potter thunders about the need to “straighten the damn country”, not only because of the ‘sexual deviants’ but also the rise of communism. Charlotte Khan as Mary Johnson shines brightest in her scenes- sharp, present, undercutting Hawk’s duplicity, especially in Act 2. Gloria Namutebi as Miss Lightfoot, although a minor character, is memorable for her subtlety and deceit.
The opera’s already expansive score is further elevated by the addition of a chorus. The script is clever, with moments of emotional clarity. Tim’s removal of his crucifix raises early questions-will his faith waver in the face of forbidden love? He thanks God for sending Hawk, but the divine soon becomes earthly, and Tim begins to worship not God but Hawk himself.
Tim’s line “Last night, I died” reverberates with a quiet poignancy-love and loss are blurred from the outset. Sam Britner puts all his energy into this character and does not disappoint. Stephen Whitford’s portrayal of Hawk is layered- at times tender, at times coldly strategic- and his chemistry with Britner pulses with yearning. Tim’s acceptance however feels misplaced at first when Hawk reveals to Tim his marriage with Lucy. Shouldn’t he care more? Or perhaps this is the moment Tim’s faith collapses entirely- when desire outpaces doctrine. His sudden anger after Hawk describes their honeymoon brings him back to his senses, making him question his morality and devotion to Hawk.
The production toys with discretion: its absence in the first act is mildly disorienting, but quickly finds purpose when Hawk is interrogated for suspected homosexuality. Hawk, possessive and manipulative, plays games of power and vulnerability with Tim, who is naive, yes, but not without agency. It often seems like it is his faith that is a bigger problem for him than the political system set up against him, which can feel inconsistent.
Visually, the production is both restrained and poetic. The set is sparse, but efficient. The stylistic choice of black and white video footage, especially of the Hungarian revolts lent an eerie real-world gravity.
Certain motifs shine through: When Tim lets the bottle fall from the roof of the post office, it’s not just glass that shatters- it’s the illusion of purity, the tie to Hawk, the boyish adoration. The neon pink outline of a milk bottle (there are indeed many milk bottles involved in this opera) descending when Timmy breaks his promise of not contacting Hawk again is garish but striking. The ending, though abrupt, is similar to the first scene, people off to work or with strollers, and Tim and Hawk, once lovers, say goodbye.
Fellow Travellers is a tragedy about love in a time of surveillance, about belief and betrayal. It is about the quiet ways we destroy the things we hold sacred. It ends with resignation, echoing even after the curtain falls.
