Parsifal at ROH (New Langridge Production)

30/11/13

photo copyright ROH/Telegraph

Parsifal is a tricky work. No one I know claims to fully understand it, and of Wagner's mature opus it's the one that gives me most trouble. The work is obviously exceptionally far-reaching intellectually, musically, emotionally, spiritually, but at times it also veers extremely close to utter absurdity. Seen in one light it is a clear summation of Wagner's lifelong intellectual/spiritual/musical concerns, but seen in another it repudiates the message of most of his previous work. All of Wagner's oeuvre is sex obsessed, but before Parsifal erotic love, however anguished, has been a source of salvation and redemption. The character of Parsifal shares many of the same characteristics as Siegmund and Siegfried, but finds himself most fully by rejecting sex, whereas for the previous heroes the opposite was true. That sex causes problems is nothing new in Wagner, but in Parsifal, without exception, sex leads only to anguish and bad consequences, and more than this, is the only source of evil that we witness. Before Parsifal, women have held an exalted position in Wagner's work, but in Parsifal they are figures of fear, temptation and evil. The opera is a comedy in the Christian sense (as in Grimald's Christus Redivivus, a "comoedia tragica", or slightly more tangentially Dante's The Divine Comedy) in that there is a happy ending after all the suffering - but it's the only Wagner opera where this happy ending is a return to society's status quo, a resounding affirmation of the going social order. By the end of the story (the opera starts in the middle of the story of the complete story in its fullest sense), fundamentally nothing has changed: it is implied that we have returned to the state of the good old days of Titurel's reign.

Wagner's musical material is the most fully integrated and closeknit in construction of any of his operas, every leitmotif simply derived from the unaccompanied melody that opens the work, and so by extension related to every other leitmotif. But in performance the themes are so entirely distinct in colour and shape, so characteristic of themselves, that we are aware every time we hear the Kundry motif say, or the Parsifal motif, or the Dresden Amen, to name but three - the result is anything but seamless and calls to mind Debussy's complaint of leitmotifs as "calling cards", though of course their working out is much more far reaching than this glib comparison suggests. Compare the similar usage of leitmotifs in Tristan (i.e. that every one derives from the opening phrase) and notice the very different aural effect that the earlier work has as each leitmotif blends and blurs into the indistinction of the compositional melos.*

This rambling prelude is another way of saying that I'm still trying to make sense of where all of these concerns fit in, and whether they are in fact worthy of consideration at all! And by extension I suppose, that though I enjoyed this ROH production, I'm still waiting for the the production of this opera that opens the gate to the work for me.** I like Parsifal, but I don't yet love it like I do Wagner's other mature operas. I understand some of what the piece is trying to say, but I certainly haven't reached that level of understanding that we reach with works that we really love where finally we discover ourselves within them, and the truth of the work becomes a truth in our own lives. 

Stephen Langridge's production is basically quite plain, though has enough novel touches to raise eyebrows of pleasant surprise or grumpy disapproval. It's updated certainly, but remains ahistorical and allegorical in feel. In Act I the Knights' sacred realm is represented by a clean square of consecrated ground on which a large cube rests, containing Amfortas's sick bed. This cube is lit so that sometimes we can see in, and sometimes not. This is used to reveal some shocking scenes: the moment of Amfortas's lovemaking with Kundry, occuring already in the sick bed he is later to occupy; later, at the mention of Klingor, we see the poor young man hunched on his infirmary bed, looking at his mutilated genitals with horror and loathing. During the prelude, flower maidens are seen watching Amfortas sleep, though they are soon chased away by suited guards.

The grail when it is revealed is not a chalice, but a young boy. I wondered whether this linked in with the modern idea of the grail as the genetic lineage of Christ, rather than the cup used at the last supper. During the grail ritual the child gets an incision in his side where Christ and Amfortas have previously been gored. I'm not sure what this substitution meant or added to the story - it was a strong image, but the symbolism of Parsifal needs clarification if anything, not further obfuscation! Maybe others got more out of this, but I felt like Gurnamenz's admonition of Parsifal when the latter fails to comprehend what he has seen was a bit unfair. I did like that Parsifal runs over to the boy after ritual, and clearly just feels sorry for the child, rather than seeing him as this mystic symbol - but he almost learns compassion too early for the plot, so the child is promptly whisked away. The ritual culminates in Gurnamenz's four young acolytes being armed for a religious war - they are given revolvers and dark clothing and seem to be part of a guerilla group.

Klingsor's realm in Act II is very similar to the Knights' realm - it also comprises a cube structure surrounded by very large trees. This time Klingor himself remembers his self castration as we once more witness the image I mentioned above. The lighting changes to a lurid magenta for the garden scene, the gaggle of flower maidens in tacky cocktail dresses. For me there wasn't enough contrast in the design between the glowing purity and sterile grandeur of the outer acts and voluptuary seductiveness of the garden, but the change is obvious at least, and we get the gist. There's a tiny moment of levity when the captivated Parsifal asks whether the girls are flowers, which here becomes another touchingly innocent moment for the character in the context of the modern dress. During Parsifal's moment of realisation after Kundry's kiss, we see Amfortas in his hospital bed, suddenly illuminated at a distance. Kundry's curse on Parsifal blinds him. When Parsifal reclaims the spear, Klingsor dies as his power is vanquished, but disappointingly his realm remains fully intact. Parsifal shuffles slowly offstage, unable to see his way back to the grail.

Parsifal's blindness is cured in Act III only after he is crowned by Gurnamenz and Kundry has washed his feet. Where the swan was buried in Act I, new shoots are growing. The Christ-child-grail has grown up, though is not here literally reunited with the spear. The temple has fallen into disrepair and the Grail Knights now dress slobbishly where they were previously in suits. After Amfortas is healed by Parsifal, the flowermaidens make a return, now dressed as respectable, dowdy frumps - maybe they'll start their own order, because the abstinent Knights show absolutely no interest. Finally a surprising moment: the healed and absolved Amfortas and Kundry leave hand in hand for pastures new. No death and no dove.

When this cast was announced I was worried because it sounded half excellent and half bad, but everyone proved much better than expected.

First and foremost Gerald Finley as Amfortas. This was simply one of the finest assumptions of any role I've ever seen. I can't imagine this beautiful, tortured music being more expressively sung, Finley's diction crystal clear, his legato flawless, the range of vocal colours enormous and subtle. He is a very fine actor too, and after his superlative Sachs at Glyndebourne, this great Mozartian seems to have joined the select group of great Wagnerians almost in one stride. A triumph and a privilege to hear.

René Pape makes an exceptionally fine voiced Gurnamenz - like Finley, he is capable of enormous dynamic and colouristic range, though this time the voice is a category or two larger. He must be the the most vocally accomplished Wagnerian bass working today. If I was quibbling I would say that he doesn't have the charisma or acting ability of a John Tomlinson, but perhaps his heart was not in this production - there have been rumours of tensions with Pappano during rehearsals. I also find his diction muzzy. 

Now onto the two singers that had been cause for concern based on their recent performance history. Simon O'Neill's voice has been pinched and nasal (though always rock solid) in every performance I've seen him in from the last two years, but this represents a real return to form for him. The sound is heroic again, it has more colour, and he's as secure as ever. Still not the most luscious tenor, but this was very decent indeed. Even better was Angela Denoke as Kundry, whose well acted 2012 ROH Salome had been vocally close to disastrous; here she sounds like she has a new set of vocal chords, and does a very fine job overall in this exceptionally difficult role. In the first act, she brought a gruff, mezzo like darkness to her racked vocal lines, the voice never pushing or wobbly, and the chest voice satisfyingly present. In Act II, she manages to sound very seductive, the sound burnished, large and liquid - the transformation from Act I is remarkable and again the wobble of old excised. Only in the final stretches of the act, some of the most extreme vocal writing in all of Wagner, did she come to occasional grief on the high notes. It's unfortunate that this is the last significant stretch of music that the character sings (In Act III she has just two words) because it's also what one inevitably remembers, and though this passage was basically fine here, before it she had been quite excellent. A delightful surprise to find both in such good form.

It seems that bad guy roles in Wagner attract two sorts of interpretations - bellowing, and whining. Willard White tends strongly towards the former as Klingsor, but his voice is holding up very well for a singer of his age, and though the fundamental sound of his voice is now hard and loud, he actually does far more with the role than bellow. He makes an effort with the diction, but it never sounds truly idiomatic, and like Papé he remains difficult to understand. Robert Lloyd is impressive and orotund as Titurel, a pleasure to hear him sounding so good. The smaller roles are all well taken. The ROH chorus are uncharacteristically wobbly in places, but generally make an impressive sound.

Antonio Pappano is perfectly fine in the pit, holds everything together, and the orchestra make a lovely sound throughout. The singers are always extremely audible and well supported. But that's it. The moments of true wonder just never seem to arrive. Considering the level of the artists on stage, and that the ROH is meant to be one of the greatest houses in the world, this doesn't feel like enough. Pappano was better in the earthier realm of the Ring last season, but Wagner is not his natural territory.


Recommended for an excellent cast and a decent, if not opinion changing production. Amazingly, it's the only Wagner at the major British houses this season so get your fill.

*It should also be noted that the leitmotifs in Tristan mostly refer to abstract nouns rather than characters.
**I've yet to see Herheim's...

Don Carlo at the Royal Opera House with Jonas Kaufmann, Anja Harteros and Ferrucio Furlanetto

04/05/13

With its superb cast this production has been possibly the most eagerly anticipated ROH show of the season, and despite a slightly tepid start, it soon completely lives up to the highest expectations.

Director Nicholas Hytner (revival direction by Paul Higgins) takes an interesting approach to the piece, which while it doesn't at all neglect its Grand Opera status, does reinterpret many characters' motivations and attitudes. First and foremost is the relationship between Elisabeth de Valois (Anja Harteros) and Don Carlos (Jonas Kaufmann). They are not at all credible as an erotic couple - their Act I romance is presented as a childish daliance, and in the central acts, Elisabeth is not really very tempted by Carlos' advances and hysterical overtures. This all changes when she learns of her husband's infidelity, and so in Act V we see her idealise and rationalise the whole affair with Carlos to suit her new psychological exigencies (and it must be said that the newfound dreamy, unearthly beauty of her music seems to suggest a very profound change in her). Throughout Don Carlos is presented as a slightly hysterical, even goonish character - it's difficult to understand why he is so totally distraught and obsessed about this failed engagement. Many scenes end with a prison wall coming down at the front of the stage, leaving him alone showing that mentally he is in prison long before he is physically locked up. In the calmly and movingly acted final Act, the two of them seem more like brother and sister, or even "mother and son" as they refer to each other, all in line with the repeated allusions in the libretto. The father/son dynamic of King Philip and Carlos is conspicuously and surely deliberately absent.

The real romantic couple of the drama is revealed to be a homoerotic one - that is the relationship between Carlos and Posa - again subtly achieved and suggested, and never fully consummated but very obviously intended to be there, at least from Posa's side. Their physical and emotional intimacy perfectly mirrors the text and makes total sense of the otherwise slightly troublesome sacrifice that Posa chooses to make. As I say all this comes completely from the libretto and never seems wilfully added or out of kilter with text, and nor is it some hideously over the top "Broke back Carlos" idea.

Bob Crowley's designs are hit and miss. The general aesthetic is rather minimalist with very strong colours to characterise each scene. The snow scape of Act I is about as unevocative and clumsily executed as can be imagined - visually a mess with ugly and nonsensical white panels whose only function seems to be to cover the sides of the stage. The dark cathedral in Act II however (which returns in Act V) is the total opposite: maximum atmosphere is created with the most economic means - a row of pillars, a tomb and strongly directional lighting is all that is required. For the "Veil Song" in Act II we revert to ugly crudeness, which continues into Act III's horrid garden and the Auto-da-fé scene, though the latter is saved by a stunning and shocking coup de théâtre as we see the bodies burning on stakes during the closing bars. Brilliant visual boldness and subtlety is restored in Act IV and V in the prison like cavern of Philip's study, Carlos' actual prison, and then the return the oppressive majesty and mystery of the Cathedral.

As an overall evening it works well - though I must admit that I was slightly disappointed after Act III and thought that this had been an opportunity missed. But it all pulls together in Acts IV and V and becomes the stunning piece of theatre that this cast in this opera promised to be. Part of this is surely due to Verdi's score. These last two acts (and particularly Act IV) stand with Boccanegra, the Requiem and Falstaff at the very Summit of Verdi's musical and dramatic achievement. Ferruccio Furlanetto could scarcely be bettered as Philip vocally or dramatically and at 64 (later this month) it's a miracle his voice still sounds so fantastic. His aria and duet with Eric Halfvarson's equally impressive Grand Inquisitor was fully the highlight that it should be in the opera, and set the extraordinarily high standard for the rest of the evening.

The Act V aria "Tu che le vanità" was simply the best singing I have ever heard from Anja Harteros. While eminently decent in the first three acts, there were issues - the middle register was sounding hard and overdarkened, and dramatically she seemed slightly blank. But then in Act IV the voice became much more focussed and beautiful, and by Act V we got phrase after phrase of truly superb singing. The chest register was wonderfully coloured and supported, the middle finally warmed, and the top so large and full that I just instantly thought Sieglinde (O hehrstes Wunder!). Acting wise as well the turning point came in Act IV with Eboli's admission of guilt. I had problems with her Desdemona last season, but I finally get why everyone loves her so much. Wonderful.

Jonas Kaufmann followed a similar trajectory over the evening going from merely good in the early stages, to totally wonderful in Act V. What is abundantly clear is that he's absolutely in his prime and the world's leading tenor in the lyric-spinto repertoire; I hardly need describe the virtues of the voice. The issue comes with the Italian repertoire and whether his voice is ideally appropriate for it. As I say there is no question that he is the best in the world at this Verdi repertoire at the moment, but taking the longer range view, since this is a voice of shall we say "historic" importance, I think it's prudent to think on where he can make the biggest contribution to the art form and create the greatest legacy given that he'll be allowed to sing anything he asks to do at this stage. The issue is that his very distinctive sound and extraordinary evenness in all registers derives partly from a great deal of vocal cover, the flip side of which is that there is just no squillo (aka Italianate "ping") in the voice to speak of. On CD/DVD this is a very difficult thing to get an accurate picture of, but in the theatre it's very obvious. Though his singing is founded on Italianate "bel canto" principles of long lines, legato, clean attack and perfect blend of registers, I'd argue that the timbre, his temperament and the particular bent of his artistry towards text and word shading make him much better suited to the German repertoire. Of course it's his career, he thrives on diversity, he'll sing what he loves and no one is ever going to complain. But when are we getting him in London in a major Wagner role for instance? Anyway.

Béatrice Uria-Monzon had been substituted for the originally billed Christine Rice who is recovering from a rather serious illness. Though I sorely missed Rice, and suspect that in the final assessment she would have made a superior Eboli, I was nonetheless largely very happy with Uria-Monzon's very distinctive interpretation. I very much like the voice - though it's far from having the most beautiful timbre, with some squall in the upper regions, and it's maybe a touch small for the role, the chest register is incredibly dark and dense and dirty in the Callas mould, she sings with colours, and everything she sings seems to matter. She only got moderate cheers at the curtain which I suspect was partly because of the not very accurate coloratura in the Veil Song and uneven timbre across the voice, but I like any woman who can act, make me care about what she's singing, and bark those low notes like a beast. I also have to love an Eboli who is for once more physically alluring than her soprano rival.

As Posa, Mariusz Kwiecień was in very fine voice, with a beautiful, well blended and very large sound, not a single note strained, and his arias beautifully delivered. A slight blandness in approach stopped me from being fully involved in his performance, but most will think this is cavilling in a very fine assumption of the role. Robert Lloyd was also rather brilliant as the spirit of Carlos V - astonishing also that he is 73.

In all this, and somewhat surprisingly I might add, conductor Pappano emerged as the weak link. The orchestra played accurately, but things just ticked along for the first three acts and Pappano hardly shaped any climaxes or tensions in the music, everything sounding a little drab and undifferentiated. Things didn't really get going until the last third of the evening, but the music is so inspired here that basically just playing the notes is going to be exciting, and he wasn't quite up to the superlative level of the singing. It must be admitted that many of the gorgeous sonorities in these last acts were at least brilliantly achieved. Perhaps he was having an off night. I am going again on Wednesday so we'll soon see.

Beg, steal, deceive your nearest and dearest, in order to get to this show - who knows when we'll see the like again.

The Magic Flute at the ENO

11/10/2012

Swayed by the murmurs about its "classic" status, I went to ENO's Magic Flute, worried that I might miss its final outing. Obviously nostalgia has tinted the spectacles of the chorus of sighing admirers, as Hytner's production is about as literal and vanilla (read: plain) as you can get. Maybe all those aeons ago when Noah was loading the Papagenos onto the arc, this may have been original and illuminating as a take on Mozart's most elusive opera, but it never once seeks to interpret what the piece might mean beyond the most general and literal "light and dark" metaphors. True to its roots in Singspiel, Die Zauberflote is an evening of pure entertainment dressed up in dubious philosophical garb: whatever the higher intention of the work's creators, the plot and Schikaneder's libretto are very, very silly, and that Mozart responds to it with music of such noble warmth, charm and beauty is a difficult thing to reconcile artistically. But there has to be an attempt!

In this production (perhaps only this revival?) there is clumsiness everywhere: the single set creaks and squeals as it shifts; characters say farewell and then exit via the same door; they gain, lose, and regain items of costume without reasonable explanation; sound effects regularly interfere with the music and sound shoddy and unconvincing. The acting would seem crass and hammy if witnessed in a Christmas panto, with the most exaggerated and laboured use of silly voices and accents, ridiculously clichéd delivery of serious lines and ceaselessly bad comedic timing such that real sentiment and believable characterisation are studiously (and successfully) avoided.

Vocally at least, things were much better. Most treasurable is Elena Xanthoudakis whose ultra shiny and youthfully pure soprano is absolutely ideal for Pamina. She sounded best when she let herself go a bit volume wise, easily filling the Coliseum's dry acoustics with silvery ribbons of legato. Duncan Rock was an impressive Papageno, with his beefy, rich baritone ringing out clearly if not always subtly, though he was guilty of the biggest excesses acting wise. I often found myself cringing at his delivery of the spoken dialogue. Robert Lloyd's voice is still impressively massive and rich and deep (I can't quite believe that he's sounding this good at 72!) but it has crept almost entirely into his nose. (My companion quipped: Is there actually any sound coming out of his mouth?). Kathryn Lewek as The Queen of the Night sounded very beautiful in her Act I aria, though the voice is very much on the small side for this role. Unfortunately she was slightly out of tune in the iconic high flying passages of Der Holle Rache, with unsupported, thin high notes. Roland Wood revealed a wonderful bass-baritone in the small role of the Speaker - let's get him back soon please! Shawn Mathey's Tamino was the cast's weakest link, sounding a little hoarse and with appallingly wooden acting.

In the opening minutes of the overture I thought we were in for a very special night from the pit as conductor Nicholas Collon seemed to be getting a very lovely and clean, though warm HIP sound out of the ENO orchestra. Unfortunately it remained merely pleasant, lacking sufficient contrast in dynamics or colour, and not enough body in the sound to really support the singers. The biggest casualty was Pamina's Ach, ich fuhl's which was played secco and as a result completely failed to move. A more fundamental problem was the very frequent coordination issues between the pit and stage with singers regularly getting ahead of the orchestra. A little disappointing and I'm mystified by the misty-eyed reverence that this production inspires!