|
|
|
|
The Gazette, February 17, 2013 |
By Arthur Kaptainis |
|
Wagner: Parsifal, Metropolitan Opera, 15. Februar 2013 |
|
'Canadian' Parsifal a full-blooded effort
|
|
François Girard and Michael Levine collaborating on a new Parsifal?
Considering what these Canadians have done for Wagner in the past, I was
expecting people to boo before the curtain went up.
And while there
were a few Metropolitan Opera regulars who — five hours and 35 minutes later
— insisted on voicing their thoughtless disapproval, the bravo-shouters
greatly outnumbered them on Friday night and clearly were in the right. This
was a powerful, personal Parsifal that managed to update and universalize
the drama in a single stroke.
The updating, happily, was mild. As
darkness lifted in the opening minutes, the assembled squires and knights of
the Holy Grail were revealed to be wearing business suits. Then off came the
jackets and ties and shoes, and we understood that this tale from Arthurian
times should be received as an allegory valid for our own.
To the
right of the white-shirted men on a barren stage were silent women dressed
in black, representing the half of the human population that is not much
heard from in Wagner’s valedictory opera. This might sound like exactly the
kind of directorial point-making we need less of these days, but Girard’s
stagecraft proved oddly in harmony with the story and music. One sensed that
this Quebecer making his Met debut had accepted, and even sympathized with,
the profoundly religious ethos of the piece.
Which is to say that the
Lord’s Supper as celebrated by the knights in Act 1 was devout; that Kundry
washed the feet of Parsifal in earnest; that the Holy Grail was a holy
grail; that the spear was blocked as the sorcerer Klingsor actually tried to
thrust it; that the kiss with which Kundry tempted Parsifal was a kiss.
Goodness, the swan slain by this Pure Fool (to translate from the
untranslatable German) was a swan.
Granted, Parsifal did not cross
himself. Presumably, Girard judged this gesture to be too literal for modern
use. But the Flower Maidens struck subtle cruciform poses with the spears
they held evocatively upright in Act 2. While the Christian message was
abstract, it was vivid.
Levine’s sets were starkly impressive. Much
of the imagery resided in an HD screen showing Peter Flaherty’s videos of
grey, scudding clouds, planets in formation or rolling hills evocative of
human flesh. Klingsor’s domain was at the bottom of a great crevice where
the redemptive blood of the Saviour, like the spear Klingsor has seized, was
put to no good use.
Forget about flowers in Act 3, which remained
relentlessly bleak. This was a debatable choice. But those who (possibly
prompted by an inflammatory New York Times headline) expected to witness one
outrage after another got responsible and meaningful symbolism instead.
They also got a superb cast. Tenor Jonas Kaufmann seemed a
sullen teen on his first appearance, lacking only a skateboard; but this
dramatic posture permitted him (and his voice) to grow in brilliance and
heroism. Baritone Peter Mattei was deeply sympathetic as the
wounded Amfortas and bass-baritone Evgeny Nitkin made a palpably malicious
Klingsor. Soprano Katarina Dalayan as Kundry had her flinty moments, but
hers also was a committed and believable portrayal.
Bass René Pape
was predictably magnificent as Gurnemanz. One would never have supposed in
Act 1 that the long narrative of this well-meaning knight was once thought
to be a musical liability. Part of its huge success was the vividness of the
Met orchestra as led with deep commitment and real if solemn momentum by
Daniele Gatti. This was superb conducting.
Anyone who still supposes
Parsifal to be a patience-testing experience — to say nothing of those who
know the truth of the matter — should make an effort to see this production.
It reaches Live in HD cinema screens on March 2.
|
|
|
|
|
|