The 2024 Bayreuth Festival season marked the third and penultimate year of Valentin Schwarz’s staging of Der Ring des Nibelungen. Like many current productions, Schwarz’s version opts for a contemporary setting, but it should not be considered a production which lacks mythology, as his concept draws deeply from a larger-than-life family drama. Here, Wotan is the patriarch of a wealthy family overseeing their estate, with Walhall as the newest addition. Feuding with his scorned brother, Alberich, it is the tale of a very human man falling victim to his own misdeeds.
Das Rheingold. The opening on-screen projection of two fetuses, the brothers Wotan and Alberich, sets the tone. As this tranquil scene in the womb transforms into a place of violent struggle, we are introduced to the innate animosity present between these two characters. Even at this early stage, Wotan’s later admission in Siegfried of his title not only being “Wotan” but “Licht-Alberich” is already apparent. Alberich’s abduction of a young boy, the stand-in for the eponymous Rheingold, seems feasible. The gold is, after all, representative of nature in its most uncorrupted state.
At Wotan’s residence, the destructive affluence of his family is already apparent, made more so by the arrival of Fasolt and Fafner (architects of the Walhall project) and Loge, who appears as the family lawyer. These figures, though stripped here of their divine context, retain a larger-than-life presence, wielding power through their wealth. Donner and Froh fit the bill of sons coasting on the family inheritance, while Freia serves as the representation of the deleterious effect that Wotan’s own moral degradation has on those around him. (After her abduction she becomes more and more despondent, ultimately committing suicide during the finale.) Nibelheim is something of a daycare center for young children, where Alberich seems to pay special attention to the Ring, represented as a young boy. Alberich’s transition via the Tarnhelm instead involves him wielding a large gun. In choices like these, while initially seeming like dramatic non-sequiturs, the production seemed to justify its changes from the libretto, and in several cases actually reaffirmed Wagner’s ideas.
Die Walküre. Although Das Rheingold offered reasonable interpretations of the text, the same cannot be said entirely of Schwarz’s Die Walküre. The first notable change is the timetable. Where Wagner’s libretto places an indeterminate period between Rheingold and Walküre, Schwarz sets the drama in the following evening. The second major change is Sieglinde’s pregnancy, obvious from the start of Act I. What I found most frustrating about this change is not even that Schwarz undercut Wagner, but that he undercut his own drama. The central set piece – Hunding’s run-down hut – with a tree crashing into the living room during a fierce storm when Siegmund entered – was impressively constructed. The transition to Siegmund and Sieglinde’s childhood bedroom was seamlessly executed, with a striking use of child actors portraying the twins in flashback, their faces concealed by mirrored shards that reflected one another. The implication that Sieglinde’s unborn child is Wotan’s, rather than Siegmund’s, disrupts the key pillar of the plot by his having no godly part in the creation of the hero that Siegfried is supposed to become.
There was still much to praise in this interpretation. The Valkyries, desperately trying to maintain their youth through surgical means, are indeed frightening. Wotan’s farewell features Brünnhilde sleeping on a receding set piece, which becomes obstructed by a giant wall descending from the ceiling, literally blocking Wotan from her life forever (with Fricka making one last appearance for a toast, which Wotan rejects). We, the audience, are also shut out from this final emotional moment—just as Wotan is.
Siegfried. Siegfried seemed the most coherent. Siegfried, a teenager who drinks to excess to cope with the emotionally abusive Mime, comes across as an isolated individual. His transformation into a person capable of interaction becomes one that we are genuinely invested in. One of the most effective moments comes during Siegfried’s initial attempt to communicate with the Waldvogel in Act II (who, in this production, is a grudging nurse also suffering abuse under an ailing Fafner). Siegfried, trying to befriend the young woman, awkwardly synchronizes his actions with the “squawks” of the English horn in the pit. Where the original libretto calls for Siegfried to pantomime his poorly-realized bird call, here it is brilliantly translated into a sort of “inner soundtrack.” A small moment, but one that shows how effective Schwarz can be when his decisions align with the drama, even when they deviate from the libretto.
Götterdämmerung. In the final installment, Siegfried’s and Brünnhilde’s child takes on the role of the “Ring,” as the young boy, i.e. the “Ring” from Rheingold, has grown into the adult, evil Hagen, the result of years of corruption by Alberich. Günther and Gütrune are portrayed as characters who greatly overestimate their own abilities amid an unfolding tragedy much larger than themselves. Grane, portrayed to great effect as a long-haired male assistant to Brünnhilde, is dispatched by the cruel Gibichung siblings shortly after his arrival with Siegfried. By the time the last stage picture arrives—blinding in its effect at the work’s conclusion—there is a genuine sense of closure for the arc of Wotan’s destruction.
The Bayreuth Festival Orchestra sounded superb and provided excellent accompaniment under the baton of Simone Young. She maintained a consistent forward drive, with special sensitivity towards the singers. The orchestra was sufficiently menacing where it needed to be, while maintaining the necessary delicacy of tone in the more subtle passages.
Schwarz’s direction excels in many instances where his adaptations and changes reflect a conscious understanding of Wagner’s text. He challenges the audience’s expectations in intelligent ways, so it is frustrating when these moments are diminished by deliberate inconsistencies, the change I mentioned in Walküre being a notable example. One of his strengths is his ability to let his singers fully inhabit their roles, with body language, gestures, and expressions that complement the vocal performances. Tomasz Konieczny’s Wotan has a sinister quality, which fits this production very well. His interplay with Brünnhilde – Catherine Foster – seems natural, however, and at times genuinely tender. She transforms successfully from the youthful daughter of Wotan in Walküre to her mature delivery of the immolation scene at the end of Götterdämmerung. Klaus Florian Vogt’s Siegfried has its admirers and critics, of which I am largely the former. His voice showed only a hint of exhaustion by the end of Act III. He brought a particular beauty to the scene of Siegfried’s death. Other standouts included the Alberich of Ólafur Sigurdarson and the ecstatic pairing of the Sieglinde of Vida Miknevičiūtė and the Siegmund of Michael Spyres. Also of great note was the Hagen of Mika Kares, whose thunderous quality seemed perfectly suited for this sinister role.