Whenever the Ring is staged in its entirety, it becomes a major international event—particularly at a world-renowned opera house such as the Berlin Staatsoper Unter den Linden. From September 27 to October 12, two complete Ring Cycles directed by Christian Thielemann were presented in revival, with few cast changes from 2022.
The Staatsoper closed for renovations in 2010, and the reopening didn’t occur until 2017—three years behind schedule and nearly double the original projected cost (€240 million ballooning to €400 million), which included a four-meter (ca. 13 feet) elevation of the ceiling to improve acoustics. The renovated hall boasts extraordinary acoustics, and Wagner’s richly layered orchestration resonated with breathtaking clarity, seamlessly balanced with the singers.
The road to this Ring was not without its vicissitudes when it premiered in 2022, initially to be conducted by Daniel Barenboim, who had health problems that we now know to be Parkinson’s; his advancing illness forced him to withdraw from the project. Christian Thielemann generously agreed to step in at short notice. While Thielemann was conducting this autumn’s Cycles, Barenboim conducted the Berlin Philharmonic, which I saw on an off night. It was a painful juxtaposition: the robust Thielemann and the frail Barenboim.
The Russian stage director, Dmitri Tcherniakov—a friend of Barenboim—was invited by him to stage the cycle in classic Regietheater fashion. I say “classic” because, after decades of this approach, there’s nothing remotely new or provocative about Regie anymore. We know what to expect: no surprises, just a wearying sense of déjà vu. Long gone are the natural landscapes, the mythic sweep, the magic, the emotional depth, and any real fidelity to Wagner’s narrative. Instead, we’re handed a story that runs parallel to Wagner’s, often at odds with it; as a friend put it, “like watching a muted TV drama with Wagner’s music playing over it.” The visual language has become a litany of tired tropes and predictable clichés. It’s vexing that while skilled and dedicated performers strive to elevate Wagner’s profound artistic vision, many modern stage directors seem intent on doing the opposite: stripping the work of its depth and dignity, imposing their own ideologically driven interpretations.
The counter narrative for the Thielemann/Tcherniakov Ring is situated within an ultra-modern research institution called ESCHE (Experimental Scientific Centre for Human Evolution), an acronym that also references the German word for “ash tree,” directly linking the research center to the mythic World Ash Tree. Thus, Alberich is not chasing the frolicking Rhine Maidens who protect the gold, rather he is blindfolded with a helmet of electrodes monitoring his heart, blood pressure, and who knows what else. The maidens are in lab coats studying the monitoring process. Nibelheim is a holding facility for laboratory rabbits (no tarnhelm, dragon, or frog), with the mocking of Wagner’s natural and supernatural effects using cheap dime store firecrackers and rainbow streamers for the rainbow bridge in the last scene. [The Jan. 2023 review of this production reported a lab space with cages of live rabbits. Revivals since then have included replacement of live animals with fake rabbits. –Ed.]
Die Walküre opens with Siegmund, a fugitive, seeking refuge in the home of Hunding and Sieglinde. The love story that unfolds is emotionally convincing, and while the iconic sword is present, it’s not pulled from the ash tree but instead discovered—anticlimactically—on a top shelf in the kitchen. Siegmund meets his end, not at the hands of Hunding, but a gang of thugs, and Wotan waves Hunding to his death. Brünnhilde, in turn, flees not to Valkyrie Rock but to a laboratory lecture hall, where she ultimately rests her head on Wotan’s lap—lying awkwardly across a row of classroom chairs. In Siegfried, there is no forging of the sword, and Fafner is no dragon; he is killed with a mere fragment of the sword. Up to this point, Wotan’s spear is nowhere to be seen—until it suddenly materializes just in time to be shattered by Siegfried. The hero discovers Brünnhilde not on a fiery mountaintop but in a sleep lab, where he awakens her. Tcherniakov had fewer obstacles deconstructing Götterdämmerung, an opera already steeped in treachery and populated—aside from Waltraute and the Rhine Maidens—by characters ranging from weak to wicked. The hunting scene is relocated to a basketball practice in the laboratory gymnasium, reducing grandeur to banality. Siegfried’s corpse is wheeled in on a gurney, joined by Brünnhilde in a moment that recalls Cosima Wagner lying beside her husband’s body on that final, tragic day.
The opera’s closing moments see Brünnhilde wandering in darkness with a backpack, while projected text scrolls across the back wall: Wagner’s original ending—”Grieving love’s profoundest suffering opened my eyes for me: I saw the world end.” But how are we to focus on this projected poetry when, at that very moment, Wagner and Thielemann are unleashing musical magic?
And what magic it was! The Staatskapelle, to borrow Charles Burney’s phrase, was “an army of generals,” led by a five-star commander: Christian Thielemann. His interpretation was nothing short of masterful—from his flexible tempi to the exquisite layering of orchestral color and command of dynamic range. The orchestra spoke Wagner’s leitmotifs with vivid emotional clarity, their sonic storytelling far outshining the puerile theatrics of Tcherniakov’s concept. I also heard the Berlin Philharmonic there and can say that the Staatskapelle and Philharmonic now stand shoulder to shoulder. What an extraordinary time to be in Berlin.
It’s a rare Ring Cycle that boasts an outstanding cast across the board—especially when it comes to the “golden triangle” of Wotan, Brünnhilde, and Siegfried. But this production delivered. Michael Volle’s Wotan was met with unanimous acclaim for his commanding presence, vocal authority, and deep interpretive insight. He brought both gravitas and subtlety to the role’s emotional and psychological complexity. Anja Kampe, now in her late fifties, delivered a Brünnhilde of remarkable vocal strength, flawless intonation, and expressive color, balancing power and vulnerability with moving sincerity. Few moments in the entire cycle were as affecting as her final farewell to Wotan at the end of Die Walküre, where she slowly fades from his reach in a scene of heart-wrenching poignancy.
As Siegfried, Andreas Schager lived up to his reputation for phenomenal vocal power and stamina, thriving at full throttle, with his ringing high notes and metallic timbre. While some may fault his performance for lacking nuance, Siegfried is, after all, a headstrong, impulsive figure – not a character known for introspection. Beyond the central trio, the cast was filled with standouts. Vida Miknevičiūtė brought impassioned lyricism and credible stage presence to Sieglinde, pairing with Eric Cutler’s Siegmund, whose robust tenor and dramatic commitment were equally persuasive.
Mika Kares, meanwhile, proved to be one of the most resonant basses in recent memory. As Fasolt, Hunding, and above all Hagen, he delivered a chilling performance, embodying evil with a dark, menacing vocal hue. His Götterdämmerung Act II exchange with Alberich (“Schläfst du, Hagen, mein Sohn?”) was a riveting high point—both vocally and dramatically. Jochen Schmeckenbecher’s Alberich was distinguished by sharp characterization and vocal bite, particularly in his confrontations with Wotan and Hagen.
Other standout performances included Claudia Mahnke, who came into her own as Fricka in Act II of Die Walküre. Stephan Rügamer brought a lively, comic energy to the role of Mime, his bumptious stage presence playing well both in scenes with Siegfried and in his exchanges with Alberich. Sebastian Kohlhepp debuted as Loge, showing great promise. Waltraute’s narrative is a very compelling moment of Götterdämmerung, and Marina Prudenskaya did not disappoint as she made her case to her sister, Brünnhilde. As Gunther, Lauri Vasar injected genuine dramatic weight into an often overshadowed role, while Clara Nadeshdin’s Gutrune offered a musically rich and emotionally layered portrayal of innocence and bewilderment.
The ensembles and choruses were consistently of the highest caliber. The Rhinemaidens brought remarkable melodic clarity and unexpected individuality to their roles. Particularly in Götterdämmerung, the trio—Noa Beinart, Kristina Stanek, and Anna Samuil—gave each character a distinct vocal and dramatic identity. Similarly, the Norns—Anna Kissjudit, Kristina Stanek, and Daniela Köhler—wove their lines seamlessly through Thielemann’s fluid orchestral storytelling.
Rarely have I heard a Valkyrie ensemble as commanding as the one at the Staatsoper. The often chaotic sonic blur of this group was replaced by sharp definition and thrilling power—thanks to both Thielemann’s tight control and the vocal dominance of the eight singers. It was, in the best sense, an “army of generals.”
One of the most stirring moments of the Ring is the Vassals’ Chorus: it defies description and must be heard to be truly appreciated. Special recognition goes to Dani Juris, the Finnish choral director who, despite being with the Staatsoper for only two years, shaped the chorus into a force that earned him well-deserved, enthusiastic applause. In fact, the ovation at the Ring’s conclusion lasted nearly twenty minutes—a testament to the unforgettable power of the production.