Saturday 17 February 2018

The Magical Mystery Opera

Fair warning up front:  this might well be the longest
review I've ever written of a single live performance.
But let's face it Wagner's Parsifal lasts for well
over 4 hours, not counting intermissions.  So naturally,
I have a great deal more that I need to say!

It's taken me just shy of fifty years to move from my first acquaintance with a recording of Wagner's final music drama, Parsifal, to my first live performance -- on Saturday afternoon at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

The first recording I ever heard was Sir Georg Solti's Vienna studio production for Decca Records, a performance which to this day still carries an unmistakable and powerful aura of mystery and inspiration from conductor, singers and players.  There was a comment in the notes to that recording that I've never forgotten because it sums up the nature of the work so perfectly (sadly, I've forgotten the author's name): 

"The music of Parsifal is wide and deep, and long too,
but not too long if you are interested.  It is not,
sagas are not, for people in a hurry."

Considering that I've been waiting for near half a century, the only thing I was hurrying for was to make sure I was seated before the curtain went up!  Because, of course, no matter how magical a work of music sounds on a recording, there is always an extra dimension of involvement and participation when you sit down with an audience of hundreds -- thousands, really -- to witness a live performance.

Having said that, though, I must go on to add that any production which does not recognize the mystical, ritual aura of the piece is going to fall flat with a resounding thud -- at least, as far as I am concerned.

The Metropolitan Opera's production probably shocked a lot of traditionalists by putting the characters into more-or-less modern clothes, and eschewing the realistic scenery of the Met's previous staging.  I did see one patron walk out after the prelude to the third act, the scene which departs most drastically from traditional expectations.

But there's no question that Canadian director François Girard captured the ritual aspect of the work in his staging of the first and third acts (the second act was a bit more problematic at first).  And there was only two points in the entire span of this 4.5-hour opera where the staging failed to illustrate the sung text, which for me is a key point.

The ritual aspect of the performance was strongest in the first act, and it was in the first act that the conjunction of some of Wagner's most deeply-felt music with the incredibly apt stage pictures reduced me to tears time and time again.  I know that sounds unprofessional, and probably unmasculine to some, but too bad -- that's the impact this performance had on me.

Michael Levine's set design consisted of a steeply raked surface of bare and irregular grey rock for Acts One and Three.  In Act Two, Klingsor's magic domain appeared as a narrow reddish rock slot canyon such as one might see in the American southwest.  In both sets, the cyclorama backdrop carried various projections of moving clouds, planets and the moon (as seen from space), and non-specific swirling patterns which resembled the celebrated "light show" from 2001: A Space Odyssey, a film which just happens to be fifty years old this year.

The other key visual element of the production is the blood.  Some people may cringe, but Wagner's libretto underlines the importance of this symbol regularly.  Where Girard really went to town on this particular element is in Act 2, where blood is splashed all around the stage by the end of the act, including all women's dresses and the bed.

Thibault Vancraenenbroek's costumes consisted of business suits and white shirts for the men, and plain black or white dresses for the women -- all basically modern in appearance.

Girard's stated intention was to bring us into the production in some way, so the opening prelude was accompanied by a scrim projection of the interior of the Met staring back at us.  Against this, the cast -- seated in neat rows -- gradually appeared, and then as gradually got up and carried their chairs to form a double circle, on stage left, of all the men.  The women, much more unconventionally, formed into a looser grouping upstage right (in Wagner's libretto, no women appear -- except for Kundry -- outside of Act Two).

The use of those seated circles immediately gave a ritual feeling to the performance.  The feeling was accentuated by the positions and stylized gestures used by all the male chorus during Gurnemanz's long narrative of Act One, and during the scenes with Amfortas and Parsifal.

Meanwhile, the female "chorus" (remembering that they do not sing in this act) used gestures and positions that followed the movements of Kundry when she appeared.

Given this classically poised manner of staging, the entire scene of the Grail and the Last Supper carried an emotional punch that the older, more realistic version lacked (I've seen it on video).

The second act opened with ranks of women standing between silver spears anchored in the ground, and this was certainly a gripping visual image.  What was less gripping was the similar use of stylized gestures in this act.  Klingsor's opening scene, and summoning of Kundry, operates on a high level of overt dramatic action which clearly separates it from the preceding ritual in Act One.  But this production conveyed a similar ritual nature in this scene, and that took most of the wind out of the drama's sails.  Even Klingsor, with his slow and elegant movements, came across more like a priest than an evil sorcerer.

Problems were exacerbated even further in the Flowermaidens scene.  The women's white shift dresses conveyed nothing of the "flower" appearance Parsifal describes, and the ritualized gestures convey nothing of the sensual atmosphere conjured by the music and text.  Only in the very last minute before Kundry appeared did the women become at all seductive in their approach to Parsifal.

In the final act, the disorder of the Grail Knights was aptly illustrated by the messed-up appearance of the original set.  During the lengthy prelude, we watched as one of the knights was buried, while the hopelessness of the others was also clearly visible.

Here, in Act 3, the other disconnect from the original text came with the well-loved Good Friday Spell, where music and words alike describe the appearance of the flowery meadows on the most holy morning of the year.  I'm glad the designers didn't opt for fake cutesy flowers suddenly appearing out of the bare rock surface, but the discrepancy from what we saw to what was sung was hard to miss.

The concluding scene of Titurel's funeral in some measure resurrected the powerful atmosphere of Act 1, and the director's most intriguing inspiration was the idea of having the redeemed Kundry be the one to open the shrine and remove the Grail.  An equally beautiful and heart-rending further thought was having Gurnemanz move downstage to catch Kundry and lower her gently to the floor as she dies, released at long last by Parsifal's constancy from the eternal life she was cursed to lead.

Now, what about the performers?

Trust the Met to assemble a powerhouse cast of incredible singers who know exactly where they are going and what they are doing in such a challenging work.

First and foremost: the opera may be called Parsifal, but the singer on whom it stands or falls is the bass who takes on the role of the senior Knight of the Grail, Gurnemanz.  For a bass, this role has to stand as equal in difficulty to the role of Siegfried in the tenor repertoire.  René Pape did full justice to the part, with his rich vocal tone and assured handling of Wagner's often-complex lines.  If his voice began to sound a little tired by the end of the performance, who could blame him?  But his quieter singing was as beautiful as his louder passages were powerful, and his diction was definitely the clearest of the entire cast.

Next in my esteem is Evelyn Herlitzius, making her Met debut in the role of Kundry.  Both as a singer and as a dramatic actress, she ruled the stage in Act 2, and then took on an appropriately less overt style in Acts 1 and 3.  Her projection of all the shifting tides of emotion in her attempted seduction of Parsifal was one of the dramatic highlights of the production -- just as her sudden plunge down two octaves without a hint of swooping or sliding was a vocal highlight.

Peter Mattei gave a strong, dramatically clear performance as Amfortas.  Seldom can the pain of this tormented man have been so strongly and clearly illustrated by the staging, but Mattei gave equal weight to bringing that torment into his voice and succeeded magnificently, especially in the opera's final scene.

Tenor Klaus Florian Vogt made a fine Parsifal, fully equal to the challenges of the drama in Act 2 while nicely underplaying the naïve simpleton of Act 1.  His finest moment was right where it needed to be, at the crisis of Act 2 when he suddenly starts up crying "Amfortas!  Die Wunde!"

Baritone Evgeny Nikitin was effective as Klingsor, especially in conveying the mocking anger and unappeasable rage he felt towards the Grail Knights and Titurel in particular.

By no means an also-ran was basso Alfred Walker in the brief but important off-stage role of Titurel.  The rich dark colour of his voice contrasted well with the onstage bass of Pape.

The various smaller roles of sentries and knights were all strongly cast from within the company, and all added lustre to the overall quality of the performance.

The passages involving offstage singers, solo and choral, were all beautifully sung and balanced, but with no clear sense of the direction from which the voices were coming.  It would be nice to hear that the heavenly messenger, identified simply as "A Voice", was coming from somewhere above -- perhaps in the flies above the auditorium.  But that's a minor detail.

Which brings me to the Metropolitan Opera Chorus, prepared by Donald Palumbo.  There are very few operas in the repertoire, certainly none by Wagner, where the role of the choral singers is so critical.  Throughout the piece, the singing and acting by the chorus members was spot-on, and the ambience of the work was greatly enhanced by their contribution.  A particular highlight was the dark double chorus processional at the beginning of the final scene.

The Metropolitan Opera's house orchestra, under Music Director designate Yannick Nézet-Séguin, gave a memorable rendition of every page of a score littered with even more subtle danger spots than any of Wagner's earlier operas.  Throughout the work, Nézet-Séguin chose appropriate tempi, and achieved careful balance with the singers. Only in the Flowermaidens scene, did I feel that he might have been marginally too fast, but the majestic speeds of the two great transformation scenes more than compensated. Best of all, Nézet-Séguin managed to hold some volume in reserve until that magnificent moment in Act 3, right before the Good Friday scene, where the "Dresden Amen" mounts to the skies after Gurnemanz's invocation of Parsifal as the new King of the Grail Knights. This was easily the most stirring orchestral passage of the entire performance.

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