Magnard - Guercœur (Strasbourg, 2024)

Albéric Magnard - Guercœur

L'Opéra national du Rhin, 2024

Ingo Metzmacher, Christof Loy, Stéphane Degout, Catherine Hunold, Antoinette Dennefeld, Julien Henric, Eugénie Joneau, Gabrielle Philiponet, Adriana Bignagni Lesca, Marie Lenormand, Alysia Hanshaw, Glen Cunningham, Natalia Bohn, Yannick Bosc, Lucas Bléger, Laurence De Cet, Éric Kaija Guerrier, Dominique Kling, Aleksandra Kubuschok, Caroline Roques, Nicolas Umbdenstock

ARTE Concert - 2, 4 May 2024

For my 999th post on OperaJournal, Albéric Magnard's Guercœur presents a fine opportunity to reflect on the nature of opera and its ability to convey the experience of life and death in a way no other artform can match. The existence of Guercœur itself is almost miraculous, the opera a forgotten and almost lost doorway into the past, one that when revived and staged for the first time since its posthumous premiere in 1931 has been allowed to breathe again. Many such works are forgotten and lost, but the fact that some works survive to make this journey across centuries and speak to us from the past never ceases to be a magical and irresistible experience for me. What is special about Guercœur is that its story and indeed the story of its own existence all combine to illustrate and emphasise that it has something important to tell us that needs to be heard in the present day.

The fact that Guercœur exists at all is, if not miraculous, fortunate to say the least. Composed between 1897 and 1901, the story of a knight who has died and gone to paradise but begs to be allowed to return to the world only to be disappointed by what he finds there, the opera was never fully performed in the composer's lifetime. Magnard was killed in 1914, attempting to protect his home from German soldiers, his property destroyed along with most of his manuscripts, including the opera Guercœur. It was reconstructed from memory and a piano reduction by the composer's friend Joseph Guy Ropartz and presented for the first time in 1931. There are many such stories of composers lives and careers ruined destroyed by war and untimely deaths, but it is the fact that Guercoeur actually concerns itself with similar sentiments, about a warrior who has been ripped away from the world too soon and wants to return there to complete his life's work, that makes this even more fascinating.

It's down to the Opéra national du Rhin in Strasbourg now to revive this work from the dead, putting real flesh and bones, real human sentiments, feelings and expression into something that otherwise exists as nothing more than markings on paper. There is even a sense of that longing to be brought back to life in the opening scene of the opera where, in a place beyond time and space, souls live in ideal blissful contentment, no wants, no desires. Except for one spirit, Guercœur who begs to be given the chance to live again. The Shades of a Virgin, a Woman and a Poet are unable to persuade him otherwise, nor Souffrance (Suffering), so Vérité (Truth) accedes to his request  allowing him to "become again the plaything of human weaknesses, of desire, hatred, shame, doubt and fear".

And those human qualities are what the idealistic Guercœur goes back to face. In the two hours since he has died and been in a place beyond space and time however, two years have passed on Earth and the world is already a very changed place from the one he left. Guercœur's love Giselle is now engaged to his faithful disciple Heurtal and the people that the knight freed from tyranny are already calling for an authoritarian dictator to restore order and make their country great again. Hard to imagine something like that happening today, I know. To Guercœur's horror, his friend and disciple. Heurtal is ready to assume that role of dictator, just as he has assumed Guercoeur’s place as the beloved of Giselle.

On the surface, Guercœur is not the most complex of this kind of Orphic myth or morality tale where someone is given a chance to see life and death from both sides. It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol reveal otherwise unrealisable truths just as effectively as the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a story that has been a cornerstone of the opera world in many forms and varieties over the centuries. The moral can be seen as a simple warning about life being for the living and leaving the dead to their place, but it's the emotional beauty and the human tragedy of the story that is attractive and superbly related in Magnard's opera and self-written libretto. It covers the idealism of the spiritual nature of man and questions of our legacy after death, but it also considers the other side of the equation, the day-to-day reality for most people, how they cope on an individual level as well as part of a society in response to the death of an important and influential figure or in the aftermath of a war where death takes an even greater toll. There is the fear that true peace can only be found in oblivion.

In the way that it contrasts our expressed desire for beauty, freedom, peace and a utopian society with the reality of human weakness for earthly material needs, greed, pride, power and ambition, it could easily be an opera written for today. What is fascinating and makes this even more strangely compelling, is the history of the work and the composer itself, its brush with the finality of death and destruction, its 'calling' to be brought back to life. As mentioned earlier, what is special about opera is that this 'dead' work of notes on a page has been reincarnated here, in an expressive manner that can only be achieved through opera performance when it is produced for the stage. Real people pour their heart and soul into these recreated figures and its the efforts of Ingo Metzmacher, Christof Loy and Stéphane Degout here who raise this work from the dead to bring an important message to the world today.

Conducted by Ingo Metzmacher, the music is drenched in turn of the century post-Wagnerian Late Romanticism, but Magnard's fantastical view of a lost paradise is more than just the extravagant fin de siècle fantasies of Korngold and Schreker (although arguably they also in their own way reflect and confront the reality of the world around them and the philosophical ideas of their time). Guercœur has the same quest for answers to questions on Love and Death and the role of the Artist as some of Wagner’s late works, but it doesn't have the same sense of mythological self-aggrandisement (if I may somewhat unfairly and not entirely accurately characterise Wagner's more nuanced and ambiguous position for the sake of comparison). Although there are recognisable elements and references there, Guercœur belongs more to the French Romanticism of César Franck, but like many composers that followed him in this period, the shadow of Wagner is inescapable. 

Magnard’s own voice however can be heard in this and its primarily in the human rather than the mythological element of the story, the willingness to confront his idealism and humanitarian viewpoint with the truthful reality of the nature of people and society. The opera draws resonance and complexity from how it recognises these issues, and like the period of time that has elapsed in the real world since Guercœur died, the work too has been in a state of suspended animation and needs some form of adjustment, translation or interpretation to reconnect with the new world it finds itself in. In essence, more than a faithful musical or singing performance, that is the principal element that needs to be brought forward into our modern world, and it is the task of the director to 'translate' that into action on the stage for a contemporary audience.

Christof Loy approaches the work with his characteristic attention to detail. Detail in regards to the human experience, that is, reducing the sets and other potential distractions to the bare minimum, never letting the focus drift away from what is essential to make the work feel alive, vital and meaningful. It's not a spectacle, despite the nature of this work seeming to call out for bold contrasts between the otherworldly allegorical and the human reality. Loy treats them equally, a simple plain background - one dark, one light, but seeming to overlap as the set containing really only chairs revolves to slip between one reality and the other. It looks like there has been very little hands-on input, but in truth the power of the work is better expressed by human figures than stage props and Loy is I believe one of the best directors of actors. There are no operatic mannerisms here, you believe in the characters and feel the weight of their predicament.

That goes not just for the extraordinary experience and conflict within Guercœur, a role that is taken with pure heartfelt expression and sincerity by Stéphane Degout, a singer I have admired and rated very highly for a long time, in a perfectly judged performance, but all the roles are perfectly weighted, balanced and aligned with the content, tone and intent of the opera; the 'human' characters as well as the allegorical ones. The conflict of love for one lost and the need to find a reason to live is no less great a dilemma for Giselle, sung with sensitivity and clarity of purpose by Antoinette Dennefeld, and there is even sympathy for Julien Henric's Heurtal, who struggles with the demands placed on him in the role he has inherited. There are choice roles for Catherine Hunold (Vérité), Eugénie Joneau (Bonté), Gabrielle Philiponet (Beauté) and Adriana Bignagni Lesca (Souffrance), all of them with key roles to play in Guercœur coming to an acceptance of his fate.

The opera is also gifted with heavenly choruses that are not only ravishing but necessary to contribute to and support the underlying sentiments and transformation that Guercœur has to undergo, contrasted with the earthly uproar, conflict and violence that he is forced to endure on his return. Loy recognises that the power and true meaning of the work is in its third act credo of Hope for a better future and that it is here that Truth, Beauty and Goodness, with some necessary 'Souffrance', are most needed. There is also an acknowledgement that this is no magical fantasy, that this message needs to go out to all those in witnessing the performance at l'Opéra national du Rhin, and as the cast approach the front of the stage in the lead up to the beautiful conclusion, the camera filming the event takes in that other crucial element for any opera to continue to live and breathe; its audience.

External links: L'Opéra national du Rhin, ARTE Concert

Wagner - Parsifal (Palermo, 2020)

Richard Wagner - Parsifal

Teatro Massimo, Palermo - 2020

Omer Meir Wellber, Graham Vick, Tómas Tómasson, Alexei Tanovitski, John Relyea, Thomas Gazheli, Julian Hubbard, Catherine Hunold

ARTE Concert

The unique nature of Parsifal as a Good Friday celebration, as a consecration for the stage of Bayreuth and as a spiritual journey in its own right, means that there are many ways of exploring it in a stage setting. There's no one way that works better than another but the most effective are those that simultaneously tap into and draw on the work for its unique source of power while also bringing something to it. When it comes to Graham Vick you have a director who is capable of doing just that in his own way, which is in a manner that relates it to the world we see around us. That's not so easy with a work that delves into the philosophical and spiritual and areas of religious mysticism, but Parsifal is a work that remains relevant for all time. Somehow Vick and conductor Omer Meir Welber manage to get all those essential qualities together in this January 2020 production at the Teatro Massimo in Palermo, or at least in some places better than other.

You can never tell if it's a good thing with an opera but in the case of Parsifal it's not exactly a disadvantage that you can't immediately see the direction a production is going to take even when a full hour and a half of Act I has elapsed. If it adheres however to the underlying sentiment of the work then it will hold and move you and Vick certainly manages to make you feel viscerally what the opera is all about. It might sound like an excuse but more than anything this is an opera you need to feel before you can understand it. It's no surprise that Vick uses familiar modern military and war imagery for Act 1 as a way of establishing that the world is in the midst of a deep crisis, one that it is badly in need of a saviour, a healing and renewing force. In Act I, more than anything, you can feel the pain. And it's not just Amfortas who is in agony, but Gurnemanz, the knights of the Grail and ultimately Parsifal too who comes to feel their pain and suffering.

The setting of Act I is visually simple and minimalised. There's a sandy-looking floor of chipboard with a canvas screen behind, giving the impression of a contemporary Middle Eastern military base with troops in army uniform and Kundry wearing a burka. Vick doesn't appear to intend to impose any political commentary, he just uses images that you will be familiar with as a way to get through to the idea of pain and feeling compassion. As such, the progression of Act I is straightforward but there are unusual touches that stand out. The first is the very Christ-like image of Amfortas, which isn't anything new he makes the first striking impression here wearing a brutal crown of thorns. Gurnemanz's story of the spear is played out in shadows on the canvas, showing images of war, victory and submission. The procession of troops lining up for the unveiling of the grail is not ineffective for it being a tin cup, as the symbolism of what it stands for is fully felt in Amfortas shedding a blood sacrifice. More than that, the shedding of blood is also endured by the troops/knights who painfully open up cuts on their arms. Set to Wagner's miraculous score, it's an immensely powerful first Act.

I've made no mention of Parsifal in Act I as he is purposely nondescript here, which is no reflection on Julian Hubbard who sings the role well here, but this is not his time, nor space for that matter. He's not even 'Parsifal' yet. That comes in an Act II which when it opens quickly undercuts any sense of Klingsor being an otherworldly agent of evil and instead depicts him as a very human one. He's a rogue soldier in fatigues, smoking a cigar, dropping his trousers to reveal the bloodstain of his emasculation. You might expect the flowermaidens to also be wearing burkas in Vick's contemporary Middle Eastern setting, and indeed that is how we see the chorus, but initially the maidens are semi-clad in underwear only, looking on as Parsifal cuts his way through their men, later coming to him seductively in coloured wraps.

The strangest scene in Act II however is the appearance of Kundry as a head only, buried under the sand, positioned in the same place as the grail buried under the sand in Act I. Establishing the nature of Kundry is vital in any Parsifal and here she is not so much the temptress and seductress as having a surrogate motherly quality, bringing an Oedipal edge to her encounter with Parsifal. An iconic image of Mary Magdalene opening up from the floor hints at another side, and Kundry as a woman of course has many sides and many incarnations, weaving a web of illusion that Parsifal brings crashing down with his newly gained wisdom and the power that such wisdom conveys on him.

Just as you can't expect Parsifal to come to knowledge and understanding without undergoing the whole laborious process of learning, you can't expect to know what direction Vick is pointing towards until you get to the conclusion of this Palermo production. It is of course a variation on the idea of a return to the paradise, a return to lost innocence, but Graham Vick depicts this persuasively as the need to become like a child again, throwing off the artificial constructs of religion, war and racism that have led to a corruption of true nature of humanity, and aspiring to be something better. It's there in the Easter message of healing, of Death and Resurrection, wiping away the sins of mankind. In Act III the salvation is that the Knights are no longer called upon to fight wars and bleed. They no longer have the spiritual nourishment that the Grail once provided, a gift that was used in a corrupted way to sustain nationalistic pride and wage war. Now it is turned towards healing and compassion.

Again, this is something that has to be fully felt in order to be fully understood. Some of the shadowplay imagery in Act III is consequently quite shocking, the result of a world thrown into chaos, where coldness and horror hold sway. Amfortas, as a leader of men is tired of it all, even more unwilling to continue to wage an endless war; reluctant to give sustenance and countenance to its continuance he topples Titurel out of his coffin. In the healing of the wound, Parsifal opens up a new way guided only by love and compassion. That is the Holy Grail.

In order to feel that the production obviously needs rather more than visual references and cues, and fortunately it's a beautiful interpretation in terms of musical and singing performances. Omer Meir Wellber rushes it along a little fast in places, or maybe I've been listening to too many slow versions recently, but there is a deep flow to the performance, completely Wagnerian, and it supports and helps bring out all those undercurrents that Vick hints at in his direction. Catherine Hunold doesn't quite get under the skin of Kundry the way another interpretation might, but she proves to be a fine replacement for Eva Maria Westbroek, providing some lovely lyrical singing in Act II with Parsifal, but she is also able to bring an edge of chilling drama when it's needed.

I've seen Julian Hubbard a number of times - he's a regular in Irish National Opera productions - but I've never seen him take on anything as big as Parsifal. I believe he also was engaged as the understudy before having to take over the main role and he acquits himself exceptionally well, making it look almost too easy, but also essentially human. The other principal roles are all superb. John Relyea is a fine Gurnemanz, his solemn intoning warm and reassuring, his storytelling compelling, his belief unshakable, his joy at the end overwhelming. Tómas Tómasson is wholly enveloped in the painful distraction of Amfortas, and Alexei Tanovitski's Klingsor is one that shows up the weak foundation of his blustering menace in the face of a greater power.  Strong singing and good characterisation all around, the Good Friday message of the Palermo Parsifal hits home exactly the way it should.

Links: Teatro Massimo Palermo, ARTE Concert