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New York Times, 23. April 2011 |
By ANTHONY TOMMASINI |
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Wagner: Die Walküre, Metropolitan Opera, 22. April 2011 |
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A ‘Walküre’ Still Obsessed With Its Big, Expensive Toy
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Two scenes in the Metropolitan Opera’s highly anticipated new production of
Wagner’s “Walküre,” which opened on Friday night, showcased what is both
captivating and exasperating about Robert Lepage’s production, the second
installment in his staging of the complete “Ring” cycle.
During the
opening storm scene, the 24 movable planks of the imposing set by Carl
Fillion that dominates the production (which the cast and crew call the
machine) rose upright (with, as always, some audible creaking) to become a
wall for video images of gusting, snow-flecked winds. Then the images and
beams morphed into a forest of ominous gray trees though which you could see
young Siegmund, the tenor Jonas Kaufmann, exhausted and injured, fleeing an
avenging band of sword-wielding clansman as they searched for him with
lanterns. It was an arresting realization of action depicted in the opera
only through fitful orchestral music.
But a very problematic staging
touch came at the opening of Act II. Here the planks jutted out to evoke the
“wild rocky place” that Wagner calls for. Wotan, the bass-baritone Bryn
Terfel, came bounding from the back onto the now horizontal beams, which
were alive with images of rocky terrain. Then his rambunctious daughter
Brünnhilde, the soprano Deborah Voigt, appeared. As Ms. Voigt started to
climb the series of planks that evoke the hillside, she lost her footing and
slid to the floor.
Fortunately, Mr. Lepage and the cast had
correctly decided to play this scene for its humor. Brünnhilde, a warrior
maiden who wants nothing to do with marital ties, has come to tease her
father and alert him that his bossy wife, Fricka, is fast approaching. So
Ms. Voigt rescued the moment by laughing at herself. She stayed put on the
row of flat, fixed beams at the front of the stage and tossed off
Brünnhilde’s “Hojotoho” cries.
The problem here was not just that in
this crucial dramatic moment, with Ms. Voigt about to sing the first line of
her first Brünnhilde, Mr. Lepage saddled her with a precarious stage
maneuver. The problem was that for the rest of the scene, whenever Wotan or
Brünnhilde walked atop the set, the beams wobbled and creaked. At times, Mr.
Terfel, a big, strong man, had to extend his arms to balance himself. No
imagery is worth having to endure the sounds of creaking gears and looks of
nervousness on the faces of singers.
What moved me about this
“Walküre” and made the five-plus-hour evening seem to whisk by was the
exciting, wondrously natural playing that James Levine drew from the great
Met orchestra and the involving singing of the impressive cast. Mr. Levine
has had a rough time recuperating from back surgery. His conducting on
Friday, if not as commanding as his work in Berg’s “Wozzeck” this month, was
inspired and beautiful. Certain passages were perhaps not as together as in
Levine “Walküre” performances of earlier times. But this one had fresh
urgency and sweep. Taking bows on stage at the end, with the supporting arms
of Mr. Terfel and Ms. Voigt, he looked frail. Still, he did superb work and
was greeted with a huge ovation.
Among the cast, Ms. Voigt had the
most at stake. A decade ago, when she owned the role of Sieglinde at the
Met, she seemed destined to be a major Brünnhilde. Her voice has lost some
warmth and richness in recent years. But the bright colorings and even the
sometimes hard-edged sound of her voice today suits Brünnhilde’s music. I
have seldom heard the role sung with such rhythmic accuracy and verbal
clarity. From the start, with those go-for-broke cries of “Hojotoho,” she
sang every note honestly. She invested energy, feeling and character in
every phrase.
There were certainly some vocally patchy passages. Now
that she is past this first performance, she may better realize her
conception of the character, who evolves from a feisty tomboy to a baffled
goddess deeply moved by Siegmund’s love for Sieglinde. All in all, this was
a compelling and creditable Brünnhilde.
More than in the production
of “Das Rheingold” that opened the season, Mr. Terfel’s stated intentions
with Wotan came through here. He may not have the noble, sonorous voice of
Wotans in the Hans Hotter lineage. But his muscular singing crackled with
intensity, incisive diction and gravelly power. During Wotan’s long
narrative in Act II, in which he explains the whole sorry story of his life
to Brünnhilde, many singers emphasize the despair of this broken god. Mr.
Terfel ranted and raged as he relived the events.
The
audience fell in love with the new Met Siegmund, Mr. Kaufmann, who proved
his Wagnerian prowess last summer as Lohengrin at Bayreuth. Handsome and
limber, he looked like a young demigod. His dark, textured and virile voice
has ideal Germanic colorings for the music. He is a true tenor, and the role
may sit a little low for him. He could not wait, it seemed, to sing the big
high A in Siegmund’s last phrase of Act I, which he held onto thrillingly.
All in all, he had a great night.
Not so, unfortunately,
the Dutch soprano Eva-Maria Westbroek, in her Met debut, as Sieglinde. Fresh
from her triumph in the title role of Mark-Anthony Turnage’s new opera “Anna
Nicole” at Covent Garden, Ms. Westbroek was eager to introduce herself to
Met audiences in a Wagner role for which her big, gleaming voice is well
suited. In Act I, she looked lovely and sounded good if a little steely.
Before Act II, Peter Gelb, the Met’s general manager, announced from the
stage that even though Ms. Westbroek was ill, she would sing anyway. But
once the act got going, she decided not to appear, and Margaret Jane Wray,
an experienced and dusky-voiced Wagnerian, sang that act and the next.
As Fricka, the mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe was in typically
astonishing voice. This aggrieved goddess has just one crucial scene in the
opera, a marital confrontation with Wotan in which she demands that
Siegmund, having violated the covenants of marriage and engaged in
incestuous love, must be allowed to die in his battle with Hunding (the
stentorian bass Hans-Peter König). Mr. Lepage has Fricka play almost the
entire scene sitting on an exotic throne that is rolled out, sometimes
shakily. But Ms. Blythe is such a compelling presence and formidable singer
that she did not seem confined. Stephanie Blythe rules.
The stage
effects in this production are sometimes amazing, sometimes clunky and
intrusive. (And what was the persistent white-noise whirring that seemed to
be coming from the ventilation fans in the boxes that house the video
projection equipment?)
The long Act I encounter in which Siegmund
arrives as a stranger at Hunding’s dwelling was played behind the extended
apron of the set, back in a sunken portion of the stage. Why place this most
intimate action so far back, where the voices were sometimes swallowed up?
For most of the act, the legs of the three singers were cut off from view
just above the knees. Left alone at night, Mr. Kaufmann briefly leapt atop
the extended apron, and here, suddenly, was a full-fledged Siegmund, looking
liberated and sounding terrific.
Yet during the “Ride of the
Valkyries” Mr. Lepage had fun. The eight sisters straddled individual beams
as if riding horses, holding reins and staying in place as the planks rose
and fell to evoke the galloping steeds.
I do not understand Mr.
Lepage’s devotion to using body doubles. In the final scene, some of the
most sublime music ever written, Wotan places Brünnhilde in a sleeping state
and leaves her atop a mountain surrounded with fire. But here Mr. Terfel led
Ms. Voigt, in a trance, off the stage. The machine went into action, and
soon we saw a body double as Brünnhilde hanging upside down on raked planks
with images of rocky cliffs and spewing fire. We had, in effect, an aerial
view of the mountain top.
But having bonded with Ms. Voigt’s
Brünnhilde, I wanted to see the living, singing goddess meet her fate. Mr.
Lepage cannot help showing off his 45-ton toy, even when it means sending
his Brünnhilde to the wings at what should be her most transcendent moment.
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