Richard Wagner - Tannhäuser (Bayreuth, 2019)
Bayreuther Festspiele, 2019
Valery Gergiev, Tobias Kratzer, Stephen Gould, Lise Davidsen, Elena Zhidkova, Stephen Milling, Markus Eiche, Daniel Behle, Kay Stiefermann, Jorge Rodríguez-Norton, Katharina Konradi
BR-Klassik streaming - 25 July 2019
Not for the first time I'm watching the opening of a new Wagner production at Bayreuth and wondering what the hell has this got to do with the opera. Usually you can at least relate the idea or concept even tenuously to some of the familiar themes of the work, but over the overture Tobias Kratzer's production of Tannhäuser opens with a film of a motley group of wayward circus entertainers doing a runner at a petrol station, running down a police officer in the process. It's this incident, rather than any deep conflict about the nature of his art, that inspires this production's Heinrich to return to that great institution of the musical arts. No, not Wartburg, but Bayreuth.
And therein lies the clue that the production is not so much concerned with the fate and condition of the exiled artist who chooses to set himself up in opposition to conservative notions of musical, social, moral and religious order and instead chooses to explore a personal and profane voyage of the discovery of physical pleasures, but rather it's more of an self-mocking reference to Wagner creating a cult for himself and setting up Bayreuth as a kind of shrine for pilgrims to come in worship every year. There's even a joking reference in the opening film to the closing down of the Biogas plant that was the setting for the last (equally mystifying) Bayreuth production of Tannhäuser that this one is replacing.
It's certainly very much within the Bayreuth ethos - certainly since Katharina Wagner took over the running of the festival - not to treat Wagner's works with sacred reverence, but to continually challenge and question the master's works to see whether they still have contemporary relevance and can withstand a modern outlook. It's rather impressive to see that while some of the ideas, philosophy and nationalistic sentiments can seem outdated, the works always seem to touch on other fundamental matters, not least this central ethos of the role of the artist as a vehicle for challenging and questioning the prevailing social order.
Kratzer's hugely irreverent production doesn't initially seem to have much to offer on that front, and it probably doesn't help that Valery Gergiev's conduction of the overture sounds - in the broadcast performance of the premiere - very erratic in its pacing, rushing through it and smothering melodies. If anything, the crazy bunch careening in a camper van on their way to Bayreuth (their motto from RW - "Frei im Wollen, frei im Thun, frei im Geniessen" - ""Free in your desiring, free in you action, free in enjoying") seems like an open provocation on the nature of the Regietheatre, the team consisting of a dwarf Oskar, a black drag artist Le Gateau Chocolat, with Venus in a sparkly jumpsuit and Tannhäuser dressed as a circus clown. How the pilgrims, seen here in evening dress fanning themselves with programmes on the green hill, are going to react when this mob intrude is at least going to be interesting.
And interesting, rather than anything profound or revelatory, is indeed how it plays out. Act II opens with projected backstage footage of nervous performers preparing for a more traditional, conservative period production in as austere meeting room of Wartburg. The nerves around Heinrich's return seem to be over concern about his abandonment of the sacred tradition for the heresy of the anarchic madness of Regietheater. While the singing contest is going on and going south, Venus and her motley crew - Le Gateau Chocolat in an outrageous yellow puffball outfit - are seen climbing in a window of the Bayreuth theatre to add a further unwelcome intrusion upon the solemn festival proceedings (making fun of portraits of James Levine and Christian Thielemann on the way). Katharina Wagner is forced to call in the police.
It's certainly possible to explore Tannhäuser for more meaningful connections to contemporary situations, so Tobias Kratzer's production feels somewhat self-indulgent, but it's certainly amusing. And, if you consider the true spirit and range of Wagner lies in in something like Die Meistersinger von Nurnburg (essentially a superior reworking of Tannhäuser), where it leavens its solemnity with humour and true human feeling as well as with a spirit of anarchy, then this production does find a way of removing some of the more troublesome outdated principles and sanctimony for 'die holde Kunst' that can often get in the way of the true power and spirit of this work. Act III in particular is beautiful here, the transformation not some religious miracle or glorious sacrifice, but also there in Wolfram learning from Heinrich's inspiration and briefly winning the love and respect of Elisabeth, the conclusion downplaying the transcendence for what is real and human.
The production appears to hit its mark quite successfully. There's huge applause after Act I and Act II, with only audible boos at the conclusion, and most of them appear to be for Valery Gergiev. That's perhaps predictable, Gergiev not the most popular figure internationally for his support of Putin, but it's probably more politically motivated than any commentary on the musical performance. Despite the rather wayward overture - perhaps struggling to keep up with the on-screen visuals - Gergiev's account of the work is well-judged, harnessing the power of the work and not afraid to let its occasional bombast work in favour of the revised perspective. At the same time he captures the contrasting moods of the singing contest well, finding good expression for the deeper conflicts within Heinrich and Tannhäuser, the opera.
Whether you look at it as an in-joke or something celebratory, it's not a particularly thought-provoking Tannhäuser, but it is at least well-performed and entertaining. Elena Zhidkova, apparently standing in at short notice as Venus, gives a spirited performance that is a sheer joy, as is Lise Davidsen's soaring and beautifully controlled Elisabeth. Stephen Gould's Heinrich is generally solid, a little stretched in places, showing some nice interpretation and acting in his performance. Stephen Milling's and Markus Eiche are both reliably good in familiar roles as Landgraf Hermann and Wolfram von Eschenbach.
Bayreuther Festspiele, BR-Klassik
Richard Wagner - Tristan und Isolde (Berlin)
Staatsoper Unter den Linden, Berlin - 2018
Daniel Barenboim, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Andreas Schager, Stephen Milling, Anja Kampe, Boaz Daniel, Stephan Rügamer, Ekaterina Gubanova, Adam Kutny, Linard Vrielink
Culturebox - February 2018
Even if the setting is very different from what you might expect, and there are one or two interpolations or diversions from the script, Dmitri Tcherniakov's production of Tristan und Isolde adheres fairly closely to the original specifications in the libretto, much like his last production of a Wagner opera at the Berlin Staastoper Under den Linden, Parsifal. There's always a case to be made for a more abstract setting for both works, which operate more on a spiritual level than a geographical one, and that was certainly the case with Harry Kupfer's production which this new one replaces. Tcherniakov however seems to reject this high-flown abstraction and throw out the Schopenhauerian philosophical elements that one would think an essential element of the opera, attempting rather to bring the work firmly down to earth and see it in purely human terms. Surely this is a mistake with a work like Tristan und Isolde?
Well, you would think so, but Tcherniakov nonetheless managed to introduce other ideas and ways of looking at Parsifal into that production, and if not quite reach the heady heights that the work can aspire to (although Daniel Barenboim, with Anja Kampe and Andreas Schager certainly helped the reach the mystical dimension of the work in the music), he did at least find an alternative and perhaps more relatably human way to address some of the questions that this work poses. The same team of Barenboim, Tcherniakov, Kampe and Schager apply a similar approach with this new Tristan und Isolde.
Act I takes place here in a wood-panelled lounge of a luxury liner, where a group of businessmen in suits sit around enjoying a few post-meeting drinks. They seem to be happy to have conducted a successful deal in Ireland, bringing back a Queen for King Marke of Cornwall. A screen shows voyage updates and video cam footage around the ship, Isolde becoming increasingly irritated as they approach the English shores. Other than the obvious modernisation of the set however, there is little that deviates (and there's little room to deviate one would think) from the original stage directions.
The one area where there is opportunity to establish a character on the work in Act I is obviously the drinking of the love potion and here Brangäne, visibly distressed at Isolde's desire to use a death potion, obviously doesn't add it to the drink, but neither does she switch it for a love potion. Sharing a hefty glass of vodka, you are left with the impression that it's just the alcohol that breaks down Tristan and Isolde inhibitions and reveals their true feelings for each other. It's hardly the most romantic depiction of the love potion scene, but there are other musical and dramatic elements at play here and Tcherniakov superimposes a brief green-tinted projection of Isolde nursing the wounded Tristan from their encounter in Ireland over the proceedings. It's not much but it does achieve the necessary background for the deep shift of overwhelming and uncontrollable desire that defies normal human boundaries.
Those boundaries however in Tcherniakov's vision remain the rather more mundane ones of middle class morality and social convention. In Act II we're in an elegant drawing room, the walls again decorated with wood panelling and images of trees and a lamp to update the original stage directions. It's the same kind of society that we see in Tcherniakov's productions of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, but here Isolde is an outsider in a world of her own, enraptured by the Goddess of Love. I don't know about Tcherniakov, but Barenboim and Kampe raise the game considerably in Act II, peaking to a fury and a force as Tristan not so much slips in to meet Isolde as practically dances in. Tcherniakov shows two people unbridled and enraptured by something greater, dancing with joy, oblivious to the world outside, giving no thought to social niceties that would restrict and bear down heavily on their illicit union.
It may take some of the spirituality and philosophical musing out of the opera, but as a reflection of how it relates to Wagner's inspiration and desires and his attempts to elevate them into something more meaningful, Tcherniakov's approach has validity and, whether you find it appropriate or not, it strips away the work's metaphysical pretensions. Tristan and Isolde's love is not some transcendence of human desire, but a defiant challenge to any kind of social convention or middle-class morality that might seek to disapprove of it or refuse to recognise the purity of feeling within it. And yet, as the green projections reappear and the "O sink hernieder" Night of Love duet establishes an otherworldly setting,you still get a sense of being in the midst of something that surpasses the mundanity of everyday existence, of something that we would all strive to be able to reach. An impossible height? Of course, but if anyone can persuade you that such a state can exist, it's in how Wagner makes the impossible possible in his music.
At the stage in Act II however the tragic crash between the ideal and reality is not yet on the radar of Tristan and Isolde or Wagner, so it's still possible to believe in the impossible and there's no need for faux-solemnity and gravity that is customary in this opera, but rather the evocation of a state of supreme sublime bliss. That element of danger crashes in by the end of Act II however, and when it does it ought to be felt viscerally. No matter what else you make of the Berlin production as a whole, it's in the musical expression and performance of those states under the direction of Daniel Barenboim that the work just soars. Barenboim's pacing and drive is superb, the score measured in mournfulness, ecstatically driven where necessary without ever being aggressive, shifting from lyrical to dramatic, from a roar to a whimper. With emphasis (at least in the mix of the streamed recording) on brass and woodwind rather than the darker strings, there is more colour given to those moods, shifting emphasis in ways I've never heard before.
Barenboim also takes care in the conducting to allow space for and support of the singing voices. Accordingly, Act III of this Tristan und Isolde is one of the most complete and impressive I've ever seen. Andreas Schager almost makes Act III look effortless, drawing on inexhaustible reserves. You might think that he is perhaps too lively for a mortally wounded man - although there is no obvious wound struck in Act II - but it's clear that if he's going to expire it's won't be from a sword wound but rather exploding with ecstasy, which indeed is more true to Tristan's fate. It's here that the director interpolates somewhat, showing Tristan lost in memories of his mother and father, or reveries even since his mother is pregnant with him in the acted-out domestic scenes that share the stage with him (and a cor anglais player) in his room on Kareol. Tcherniakov at least attempts to make something more of the words and it's certainly more thoughtful than playing the scene with him just writhing in delirium.
Whether you can rationalise it as being something to do with death and rebirth, somehow the simple image of an alarm clock and the drawing of a curtain over the little back room where the prostrate lifeless form of Tristan has been carried creates an extraordinarily effective and moving finale. I don't know if it's really within Wagner's intentions, whether it just finds another way to approach what Wagner intended, but aligned to that remarkable music, with Barenboim's conducting and Anja Kampe reaching those incredible heights, Dmitri Tcherniakov's production does seem to find its own way to capture the indescribable beauty of the sentiments of the final scene. Whatever else you might think about the production, if it gets you there and makes that kind of impact, it's done something right.
Links: Berlin Staatsoper, Culturebox
Giuseppe Verdi - Don Carlo
L’Opéra National du Rhin, Strasbourg - 2016
Daniele Callegari, Robert Carsen, Stephen Milling, Andrea Carè, Tassis Christoyannis, Ante Jerkunica, Elza van den Heever, Elena Zhidkova, Patrick Bolleire, Rocío Perez, Camille Tresmontant
Culturebox - November 2016
There are some dark operas in the Verdi catalogue - Macbeth and I due Forscari are certainly there and Simon Boccanegra is no bundle of laughs - but none of them are as bleak and pitiless as Don Carlo. What makes it so is that each of the characters is offered the opportunity of love and friendship, but either happiness is snatched from them or they consciously spurn it and make other choices that they feel are for a greater good. None of those choices work out well, but the fact that it could have been so different is what gives the opera a darker edge that Verdi fills with music of overwhelming melancholy and regret.
OK, we get that Don Carlo is dark, so perhaps we don't need Robert Carsen to emphasise it so heavily in his production of the 4-Act Italian version at L’Opéra National du Rhin, Strasbourg. Carsen's idea is to establish the uneasy alliance between the oppressive political regime of Philip II and the merciless persecution of heretics by the Inquisition of the Catholic Church as a kind of death cult alliance. Everyone is dressed in black, wearing dark suits or soutanes, and the set is a black box. Rather more than just visually darkening the work down however, Carsen has a few other ideas and changes that take this a little further.
It's risky to tamper with individual motivations, inner conflicts and the complex inter-relationships in Don Carlo. They already sit on a delicate balance, so you really don't want to be adding additional levels onto them. Verdi's Don Carlo is based on a work by Friedrich Schiller, but Robert Carsen in his Strasbourg production finds a parallel in the work with another of Verdi's favourite writers: Shakespeare, and specifically in Hamlet. In the version without the Fontainebleau scene, Don Carlo opens with the funeral of a king - Carlo's grandfather Charles V - and we see a brooding young man dressed in black with only a skull for company on the stage, reflecting on mortality, as a ghostly voice seemingly from the dead king, calls out a warning to him.
Using Hamlet as a reference, Carsen in this way establishes the tone and the nature of the work as directly and quickly as possible. Without having recourse to the Fontainebleau scene, Carsen's evocation of Hamlet establishes that the primary reason for Carlo's despair is not the death of Charles V, but a more personal conflict and quasi-incestuous sentiments about his father marrying his new 'mother' Elisabeth, the same woman who had previously been promised to him as a bride in the excised Fontainebleau scene. It's an act of a ruler exercising power in the interest of consolidating that power rather than for the sake of the people, and Carlo's response is the only sane one in such a situation; madness. It leads to Philip having to banish Hamlet-Carlo to a foreign land after he takes up arms against him, and even consider whether he might not be justified in killing his own son.
So, all in all, whether you think all the blackness on the stage is necessary, you have to respect that it is justified by the tone of the work itself. And if Hamlet is used as a reference, it is not a framework that can be imposed on top of Don Carlo. The very idea is absurd and surely unsustainable. Rather, Carsen uses Shakespeare's imagery to draw attention to similar themes in Verdi's Don Carlo, taking it away from the historical and even the personal - the Italian version without the Fontainebleau scene facilitates this - and putting the focus instead on the social and political, on questions of state oppression, on religious fanaticism, and the not insignificant application that this has for today.
Verdi, it's true, wasn't a big fan of religious authoritarianism, so the emphasis in the Opéra National du Rhin production of the state being a theocracy that facilitates the will and the violent means of the church is a relevant one, and it's one that Verdi's dark drama is able to sustain. "Death in my hands can reap a harvest", the Grand Inquisitor tells soutane-robed Philip, and together they represent a formidable force of oppression. The crime of the Flemish delegates when they are brought to the court is not insurrection but heresy for not holding to the faith of their Holy Ruler. The auto-da-fe scene, often so difficult to stage convincingly, is effectively handled by Carson. It's the books of the heretics that are burnt in a conflagration, while the black-robed priests execute the hooded kneeling heretics with pistols.
Carsen consequently brings a strong and meaningful focus to the work. It's not only about state oppression but it's also about crushing personal sentiments for the sake of belief in something greater. It's not just Carlo and Philip who have to struggle with the dilemma of killing someone in their own close family. Elisabeth and Carlo's happiness counts for nothing in the greater scheme of things: even Elisabeth believes that her marriage to Philip as the king is more important. Eboli too belatedly recognises the mistakes she makes. There is perhaps only one beacon of light in Don Carlo where integrity remains unsullied by adversity and ambition, and that's Carlo's friendship with Rodrigo. You think so? Think again.
It's one thing to use Shakespeare's Hamlet as a working template to bring out other elements from Don Carlo, but Robert Carsen's biggest intervention is in his manipulation of the ending and its subversion of the friendship between Carlo and Posa. Posa controversially doesn't die here at the end of Act III while visiting Carlo in prison, but his assassination is faked as part of a plot of the church to overthrow Philip and assume total power with Posa as its figurehead. We're not dealing with history here in Carsen's production, and there's precious little historical accuracy in Schiller or Verdi's version anyway, so that matters little. What matters more is finding a way to making the huge flaw of the ending of Verdi's opera work in a more convincing manner, without undermining the essence of the work and the themes it considers.
At the very least Carsen delivers a shock that is greater than the disembodied voice of Charles V bringing about a deus ex machina. Here Carlo looks on aghast as the uprising falters not at the voice of a ghostly monk, but the voice of the Grand Inquisitor - the people bowing before the far more earthly might of the military arm of the church. But what of the inviolable friendship between Carlo and Posa? Well, it wouldn't be the first time that the sincerity of that friendship has been questioned, and indeed the rousing theme of the two men can sound rather hollow and false in the midst of all the through-composed darkness, so all Carsen is doing is taking this further and pushing the tone of the work towards its natural (as opposed to supernatural) conclusion. At the very least, it can't be faulted for shock impact.
Nor can it be really faulted for musical performance. Daniele Callegari strikes a suitable sombre tone that matches the tinta of the score and the minimal bleakness/blackness of the production, but it never pushes it into heavy overstatement. There's a great deal of light and shade in Verdi's score that belies the melodrama of the situations, and Callegari finds that balance well with the orchestre philharmonique de Strasbourg. As is often the case with such a challenging work, the principal roles pose a few problems to Stephen Milling's Filippo II, for Andrea Carè's Don Carlo and for Elza van den Heever's Elisabetta di Valois, but they still without question get across the essence of the predicament in those confrontational moments that Verdi brilliantly creates. Tassis Christoyannis is an impressive duplicitous Posa, and Ante Jerkunica an imposing Grand Inquisitor. I was most impressed by Elena Zhidkova's Princess Eboli, who delivers a stunning "O don fatale" and manages to gather more sympathy for her predicament and actions than is more often the case.
Links: L’Opéra National du Rhin, Culturebox
Richard Wagner - Parsifal
Wiener Staatsoper, 2015
Adam Fischer, Christine Mielitz, Michael Volle, Stephen Milling, Johan Botha, Angela Denoke, Ryan Speedo Green, Boaz Daniel, Catherine Trottmann, Hyuna Ko, Jason Bridges, Peter Jelosits, Michael Roider, Ileana Tonca
Wiener Staatsoper Live at Home - 5 April 2015
It strikes me that there are broadly three ways to approach a staging of Parsifal. You can do it straight traditional with knights in helmets, you can try to impose a more abstract interpretation of the meaning of the work, or you can try to find some middle way that is more attuned to the mood of the piece rather than the letter of it. None of these ways is the 'right' way, none of them are entirely satisfactory, but all of them have something to offer. Such is the nature of Wagner's last opera, Parsifal, neither real world, fantasy nor purely conceptual either. Even 'opera' is an inadequate a word for it.
A consistent approach is made all the more difficult through the way that each of the three acts of the opera has its own distinct tone, each of the acts are linked, but there is no consistent narrative arc or even an underlying conceptual theme or philosophy that brings them together in any meaningful way. It's possible to impose one, highlighting the Christian imagery or looking for the sexual symbolism that runs through the work, but that usually runs into difficulties when it comes to purposefully tying it all together. It's probably better to take each of the three acts individually, find the precise tone that each of them require, and try to let that stand on its own terms.
You could, for example in the case of the Vienna State Opera production of Parsifal, spend a long time trying to work out what the purpose or meaning of the setting is in Act I alone. Monsalvat, the domain of the Grail, looks here like a fencing school where the knights hone their sword skills. Act II leaves that world behind for a living room where a rather less than demonic Klingsor lounges around on a sofa rather than directing forces against Parsifal from his tower. The domain of the Grail in Act III is a different place from the one in Act I, but much has changed in-between, even if we haven't followed it through in a straightforward linear narrative way. Time really has no meaning here.
What does have meaning here is the notion of a journey. Each Act is a stage along that journey, and, much like the three ways you can approach Wagner's opera itself, it makes a journey from real-world, to concept, to myth. Pinning those three stages down to any one interpretation or description isn't particularly helpful, and you could just as easily describe the journey across the three acts as one of innocence through reason leading to enlightenment; sin through repentance leading to salvation; birth through love leading to death (with rebirth implicit); or in its most simple form as waiting through action leading to an outcome. None of these holds true with any consistency or purity of purpose, but the pattern should emerge - and in Christine Mielitz's production it does so very clearly - even if the words/concepts used to describe it will be different for everyone.
Even within each of those individual three acts however, a similar three-stage pattern can be discerned, and the director here finds a way of emphasising and drawing that out, without necessarily imposing a reading on the audience. In Act I alone, for example, the slow opening clearly shows a world in waiting, its people in pain, the knights seeking purpose, gearing themselves for action. Whether you find it meaningful or not, a fencing school does at least give this sense of preparation, of the young knights seeking the wisdom of its elders like Gurnemanz. Interestingly, fitting in with the whole nature of the contradictions within Wagner's philosophical outlook, the spur to action here comes from a holy fool, an innocent who sins in the killing of a swan.
The key moment in Act I however is the leap taken to the third stage - myth, enlightenment, transformation, death - whatever you want to call it. It occurs in Parsifal when Gurnemanz invites him to take that extraordinary journey through time and space. In Christine Mielitz's production, the Christian symbolism is used to spark off recognition of the mystery of transubstantiation, the knights physical needs met through the dispensing of bread, their spiritual strength found in the sight of the grail (deliberately not made visible as a physical object as such here), their fight to continue with their purpose both a literal and a symbolic one. Parsifal is profoundly affected by his witnessing this act of faith and mystery, and Wagner's scoring of it is just some of the most extraordinary music ever composed.
The impact and importance of the act, and the patterns within it, is brilliantly established in this first Act in the Vienna production. Similar attention is given to the respective journeys in Act II (Kundry - 'Bekenntnis wird Schuld in Reue enden, Erkenntnis in Sinn die Torheit wenden' - 'Confession will end guilt with remorse, And the knowledge will turn folly into sense') and in Act III, cumulatively building towards the End itself with its gravity, quiet glory and transcendental healing redemption in death with the promise of rebirth in a dimension beyond time and space. Even as it finds a concrete form to express the action of each of the three acts, in as far as any of them have any real action, the direction leaves interpretation open. You settle on one interpretation to the exclusion of others and to the loss of the totality and the enduring mystery of Parsifal as a whole.
I don't know if the staging and direction are the determining factors here, or how much of a part Adam Fischer's soaring musical direction of the work plays, but this was a different kind of performance from Johan Botha from the other Parsifals I've heard him sing. His voice has darkened somewhat, there's more gravity in his delivery, and a greater engagement with the character in his demeanour. Botha is never a strong actor, but the director seems to be able to work to his strengths by not getting him to act at all. With this voice, he doesn't need to. Angela Denoke is much the same here as in her other performances of Kundry, scarcely able to keep her slight slip on as usual, fiercely committed in her performance, but inconsistent in her singing. Her pitch becomes increasingly wayward as Act II progresses, but Denoke never fails to bring a sense of compassion (another important characteristic for Parsifal) to Kundry in the third act.
We had another familiar and capable Parsifal performer in Stephen Milling's Gurnemanz, while Michael Volle impressively adds another Wagnerian role to to his recent Hans Sachs in the Met's Die Meistersinger von Nürnburg, with a notable Amfortas. Klingsor needs a little more drama and force than Daniel Boaz can manage, but there was little else wrong with his performance. This was a strong, experienced cast who seemed to adapt well to the considered direction of Christine Mielitz, and with Adam Fischer managing Wagner's sublime score masterfully from the pit, this was every bit as warm and uplifting as an Easter Parsifal should be.
Parsifal was broadcast live on Easter Sunday from the Vienna State Opera as part of their Live at Home programme. This month sees a new production of ELEKTRA with Nina Stemme on the 11th April, Elīna Garanča in DER ROSENKAVALIER on the 12th April and L'ITALIANA IN ALGERI on the 30th April. May sees Juan Diego Flórez in DON PASQUALE, Plácido Domingo in NABUCCO and the beginning of Sven-Eric Bechtolf's production of DER RING DES NIEBELUNGEN, conducted by Simon Rattle. Details of how to view these productions live at home can be found in the links below.
Links: Wiener Staatsoper Live Streaming programme; Staatsoper Live at Home video
Richard Wagner - Tristan und Isolde
Staatsoper Berlin, 2014
Daniel Barenboim, Harry Kupfer, Peter Seiffert, Stephen Milling, Waltraud Meier, Boaz Daniel, Stephen Chambers, Ekaterina Gubanova, Florian Hoffmann, Maximilian Krummen
Staatsoper am Schiller Theater, Berlin - 18 October 2014
How representational do you really need to make Tristan und Isolde? Isn't the journey undertaken by the two protagonists more an emotional journey than one taken at sea from Ireland to Cornwall? Should you not be thinking more about the philosophical content of Schopenhauer and Feuerbach that Wagner is exploring in the opera rather than wondering where the characters are physically located? Can you represent all that, for example, in the huge figure of a fallen angel?
Well, that image - based on a photograph by Isolde Ohlbaum - is the basis of the set for Harry Kupfer's original 2000 production for the Berlin Staatsoper, and it seems to be a powerfully iconic image to build a production around, even if it is difficult to relate it in any direct way to the tragedy of Tristan und Isolde (or Schopenhauer or Feuerbach for that matter). Dominating the stage, the huge angel lies prone, fallen forward, its elbows sunk into the ground, its right wing splayed, the left one shattered. Other than a few headstones scattered on either side of it, this giant is the only set for each of the three acts, occasionally slowly revolved and viewed from 360°. Tristan, Isolde, Brangäne, Kurwenal, King Marke and the others climb over it, lie on it and crawl beneath the broken wings.
There's a post-apocalyptic quality to the imagery which is also reminiscent here of the place beyond space and time occupied by Nikolaus Lehnhoff's production of Parsifal. There is something similarly apocalyptic about the subject of Wagner's retelling of the legend of Tristan und Isolde, the majority of the work taking place far beyond any physical place where the laws of man and rational behaviour hold sway. The forbidden love of Tristan and Isolde, freed from any inhibitions, knows no boundaries, subverts day and night, transcends life and only really finds its purest form in death. This is a work that likewise seeks to destroy the world as we know it and be reborn into something that transcends the physical and aspires to the divine.
That's something of a challenge for any composer to undertake, but I don't think anyone would question the genius of Richard Wagner's ability to convert that into the most sublime musical expression. Much like its abandoned first performances, the work itself still remains a challenge to perform, but the pay-off when it works and when everything comes together is enormous. There really is nothing else like it in all of opera - Wagner's own final masterpiece Parsifal excepted. The Berlin Staatoper, still currently residing at the Schiller Theatre while their Unter den Linden opera house undergoes renovation, with Daniel Barenboim at the helm for Kupfer's production, have one of the best teams in place to do this work justice, and the assembled cast for its 2014 revival certainly impresses.
The actual directing of Tristan und Isolde, as opposed to the production design, is undoubtedly just as complex as it appears to be simple. The motivation of the characters is to all basic intents that of all-consuming love, but obviously it goes beyond that to life-consuming love. You get a true sense of that in the Berlin production. By the end of Act I, having imbibed the love potion, it's not so much a case here of Tristan and Isolde barely being able to restrain themselves, as much as Brangäne and Kurwenal being scarcely able to prise them apart, even as they (notionally) arrive in Cornwall and King Marke strides up the back of the fallen angel to claim the wife Tristan has brought back for him.
Much intensified then, the same sense of burning ardour seeking consummation has therefore to be correspondingly heightened in each of the subsequent acts. That is undoubtedly the strength of this production and much of the reason for its success is down to Daniel Barenboim, one of the finest Wagnerian conductors in the world today. Barenboim seems to have an unerring ability to navigate the complex tidal surges in Wagner's operas, knowing when to hold back the immense forces, how to measure their release and when to let them completely overwhelm. In Tristan und Isolde, that force is deep, intense and slow-building, occasionally rising to an almost unbearable need for release. It's hard to believe that you can raise the stakes this early in Act I and continue to build intensity, but Barenboim and Kupfer's production does just that.
The complex nature of Tristan und Isolde however means that it also needs space to open up and expand, even as the outer world closes down on the two lovers. It needs a human-aspiring-to-superhuman quality to keep the metaphysical thinking grounded in reality and not merely floating off into the realm of abstract philosophical theorising. It needs great singers basically. I've detected some weakening in Waltraud Meier's voice in recent recordings and performances, but working perfectly with Barenboim's management of Wagner's score, her Isolde here was simply outstanding. It's true that her voice doesn't have the same soaring quality that is evident in the 2007 Barenboim/Chéreau Tristan und Isolde on DVD, and some adjustments have to be made, but she remains one of the foremost interpreters of the role. It was a gripping and utterly mesmerising performance.
Peter Seiffert was an impressive Tristan, the intensity of the performance stretching him once or twice, but he was equal to the challenge. Stephen Milling sang wonderfully and with gravity, but there wasn't great personality to his King Marke. Boaz Daniel was a last minute stand-in for a stranded Tómas Tómasson as Kurwenal, and he made a terrific impression, his singing energetic and passionate, making his presence fully felt. Likewise Ekaterina Gubanova gave us a beautifully sung Brangäne that was warm and heartfelt. If there were any weak link this perhaps mightn't have worked so well, but with such a fine cast and a strong conceptual approach backing up the unbeatable combination of Meier, Barenboim and the Staatskapelle Berlin, this was every bit as emotionally devastating and transcendentally uplifting as you would expect Tristan und Isolde to be.
Richard Wagner - Parsifal
Salzburg Easter Festival, 2013
Christian Thielemann, Michael Schulz, Johan Botha, Michaela Schuster, Wolfgang Koch, Stephen Milling, Milcho Borovinov, Eva Liebau
Deutsche Grammaphon - Blu-ray
The Salzburg Easter Festival production of Wagner's most enigmatic work is not the most attractive you've ever seen, nor is Michael Schulz's strange take on the work particularly obvious in its intentions. Even with the use of actors playing doubles of the main characters, their personalities and motivations remain for the most part remote, flat, mysterious and largely lifeless. If the production is difficult to fathom, it does nonetheless hold close to the mood and meaning of Parsifal. The real insights, innovations and illuminations on the work here however are almost entirely on the musical side. This is very much Christian Thielemann's show, which means that it may not meet the expectations we have of Parsifal, but it is never less than a thoughtful, fascinating and revealing exploration of this remarkable work.
Since there's not much in the way of a narrative line to follow, there's consequently a lot of room in Parsifal for a director to find ways to explore and express its themes, its symbolism and its philosophy. There's no indication here then in Michael Schulz's production of Monsalvat existing in any earthly location, nor of the Holy Grail being protected by any traditional kind of medieval knights. This Parsifal takes place in abstraction, Monsalvat in Act I being a mostly bare stage with plastic tubes, almost glaringly lit with the knights wearing what looks like white radiation suits. Klingsor's kingdom in Act II is just as brightly lit and bare, with broken statues of dead ancient Gods scattered around, while Monsalvat on Parsifal's return in Act III is a barren frozen waste, with bodies lying on representations of shards of ice and a few snarling wolf-like creatures at the sides.
It's a fairly lifeless production, with no sense of meaning, and - critically for this particular work - little in the way of mood or atmosphere. Part of that could be down to the nature of the film recording, the lighting boosted to ensure pinpoint detail in the High Definition image, but in the process it almost completely sucks any theatrical ambience out of the performance. The DG recording of the Vienna Anna Bolena, also directed by Brian Large, similarly suffered from the same over-brightness of the image. I usually at least find Large a solid and reliable television director, but in this respect and in the camera work he fails to do justice to the stage presentation here. There's no rhythm or approach consistent with the work and the cameras often miss the action or look to the wrong characters when there are both singers and actors on the stage. It all feels very static, forced and artificial, more like an art installation or a piece of performance art.
While the appearance might be a little unsettling, unfamiliar and alienating, it's clear nonetheless that the production addresses many of the themes in Parsifal. There are five young boys and then five young men who shadow Parsifal; a bruised and battered Jesus who appears to be a physical representation of Kundry's curse; and a dwarf actor who represents the evil of Klingsor (who is sung moreover for extra significance here by the same singer who plays Amfortas). Two almost naked dancers meanwhile clinging to Amfortas are credited as Nike here may be representations of the pain that clings to him in his eternal torment. Whatever the meaning, there are clear references here to youth and innocence, age and experience, death and rebirth, suffering and redemption, and together with the musical expression, the meaning in this imagery does come through in those key moments with immense power.
Much more significant and much more interesting in the expression of the work however is Christian Thielemann's musical direction. Whether Parsifal can work as effectively outside of the very specific design of the Bayreuth stage that it was written for is debatable, but Thielemann's most unusual approach attempts to redress the balance of the instruments for the very different acoustics of the Grosses Festspielhaus in Salzburg, and it really is an extraordinary account of the work. You really have never heard a Parsifal like this. Between the strangeness of the production and the unfamiliarity of the sound, it's hard to know what is going on in Act I, but the two come together to powerful effect at the conclusion of the act that they have clearly been building towards.
Act II however reveals the true nature and the merits of the approach. This is a Parsifal delivered with delicacy and sensitivity, the reduced orchestration not only working for the requirements of the auditorium and the singers, but finding another way to deliver the extraordinary beauty of the compositional elements so that they reveal the true brilliance of the work. Act II might appear too delicate then for the dark content and drama of Parsifal's encounter with Klingsor and Kundry, floating aimlessly and almost evaporating, but Thielemann's conducting of the orchestra finds the warmth and Romanticism within the work and still commands tremendous force. Act III is still familiar but in an entirely new way. Nothing sounds like a routine account of the work, but every note is carefully delineated, measured, weighted and balanced. It's extraordinary, the delicacy actually revealing even greater force of expression in this most enigmatic and unique of musical works.
It's not just a matter of toning down the orchestration to prevent it overwhelming the singers either. All of these singers here are capable of singing with considerably more strength, but the choice seems to have deliberately made to allow them to sing the words softly, sweetly and soothingly, avoiding any sense of declamation. The sweet tones of Johan Botha are perfect for this Parsifal then, but he moves around awkwardly and the suit is most unflattering for his very large frame. Michaela Schuster is not a typical Kundry either and difficult to fathom, but her interaction with her own "personal Jesus" and with the other characters can be utterly shattering in its intensity. Wolfgang Koch has a very difficult task by taking Amfortas and Klingsor as a dual role and does tremendously well. Stephen Milling's soft cooing Gurnemanz lacks the traditional authority and wisdom, but his beautiful timbre and the staging really does bring another dimension out of the character.
It's not how you expect to hear Parsifal then, but it is surprisingly effective. The abstraction of the production design often makes it harder to relate to the characters, or at least difficult to see them in their traditional roles, but each act seems to be paced quite deliberately for effect, building in intensity, leading towards moments of almost transcendent release, and when it gets to those moments, the impact is fully achieved. That's largely down to Christian Thielemann, and his contribution and that of the Dresden Staatskapelle orchestra is fully recognised at the curtain call with the orchestra even invited onto the stage. For the musical interpretation alone this Parsifal a very worthwhile experience, but that doesn't mean that it should be separated from the stage presentation, which may be unusual but exercises a strange fascination of its own.
The High Definition presentation of the opera on Blu-ray from Decca is also exceptionally good. I don't think the production is well served by the lighting or the filming, but the image quality is flawless and the audio tracks - LPCM stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.0 - are superb at capturing the warmth and detail of the orchestration and the singing. There are no extra features on the disc, but there's a synopsis and an essay in the enclosed booklet. Subtitles are in German, English, French, Spanish, Chinese, Korean and Japanese.
