Principals: J. Lundgren, S. Connolly, L. Davidsen, G. Groissböck, B. Sherratt, G. Siegel, W. Lehmkuhl, S. Skelton, E. Magee, A. Anger, N. Stemme, S. Vinke, J. M. Kränzle, S. Milling, K. Cargill. Royal Opera House. A. Pappano, cond., K. Warner, director; S. Lazaridis, sets; M.-J. Lecca, costumes. Performances: October 16, 18, 21, and 24, 2018.

Great singing and convincing acting marked the revival of Keith Warner’s production of the Ring at the Royal Opera House in October. Warner’s conception was generally forceful and intelligent; the production had several points of view, not all consistent. It got a lot right, but it got some things wrong, and a few things very wrong.

Stuart Skelton as Siegmund & Emily Magee as Sieglinde in Die Walküre, The Royal Opera ©2018ROH. Photograph by Bill Cooper	Stefan Vinke as Siegfried in Siegfried, The Royal Opera ©2018 ROH. Photograph by Bill Cooper

Strong ideas and images and excellent interaction between characters were what it got right. But Warner—or the associate directors responsible for this revival—may have tried too hard to make connections from opera to opera. There were recurring visual symbols: a suitcase that passed from Alberich to Mime to Hagen; a corpse that may have been that of Hagen’s mother; a gold figurine of a goddess, perhaps Freia; a blue wig; ladders; a model airplane; horse skulls. There were many forms of writing, suggesting a tension between texts and direct encounter, savoir and connaître. Mime (Gerhard Siegel) consulted a book in Das Rheingold. Mathematical formulas (in place of runes) covered the set curtain at the beginning of Siegfried and appeared again in Götterdämmerung. In Siegfried the Wanderer (John Lundgren) extracted a contract from his spear to show to Mime in Act I and fruitlessly consulted books in Act III. Hagen (Stephen Milling) brandished what looked like a pocket diary and the vassals waved similar pocket diaries at Brünnhilde (Nina Stemme).

The production conveyed the story fairly efficiently but the sets by Stefanos Lazaridis undermined the sense of continuity. They were alternatively detailed and plain, literal and abstract, divided between realistic sets—an Edwardian parlor with a glass wall at the back, Alberich’s white-tile-lined laboratory, and the Gibichung hall—and a large white rectangle. When it first appeared in Act III of Die Walküre, the rectangle marked a major change in the style of the set and costumes; it reappeared in Siegfried and Götterdämmerung. It served as a wall, but it also rose and lowered, tipped at various angles, revolved, and wobbled. Characters (Wotan and Brünnhilde, Siegfried and Brünnhilde, the Norns) passed through a door in the rectangle, or rode on it as it revolved (the Wanderer), or stood on it as they plotted Siegfried’s death (Brünnhilde, Hagen, and Gunther). At key moments, the rectangle hid important plot developments from the audience: Wotan led the sleeping Brünnhilde through the door; the rectangle then rose to reveal her asleep on a chaise lounge. The awakening scene was played behind the rectangle with the sleeping Brünnhilde and the searching Siegfried visible in silhouette. Nor were the costumes by Marie-Jeanne Lecca consistent: gods, Nibelungs, and Gibichungs wore vaguely early- and mid-twentieth-century costumes, but the Valkyries were in filthy, shapeless dresses, their arms covered with blood.

Hiding key moments from the audience was not the only misfire. In the confused and confusing final scene of Das Rheingold, Freia (Lise Davidsen) cowered in a pit in the center of the stage as the gods dumped the gold into it to cover her; Erda (Wiebke Lehmkuhl) rose from it (as though Freia was transformed into Erda); Wotan (Lundgren) descended into it as the other gods climbed multicolored ladders to the flies. At the end of two operas, characters sang from opposite sides of the stage, making for slack drama: Wotan and Brünnhilde at the end of Die Walküre and Siegfried and Brünnhilde in the awakening scene in Siegfried, as though they were giving a vocal recital. In Act II of Siegfried, Mime (Johannes Martin Kränzle) stood in a depression in the floor, alternatively putting on and off a wolf or rat mask indicating his true and murderous thoughts as he sang to Siegfried (Stefan Vinke). Most shocking, a frustrated and angered Wotan stabbed Erda at the end of their scene in Act III. At the end of Act II of Götterdämmerung, Vinke sang from a chair at the side of the stage with his back to the audience as Gunther (Markus Butter), not wearing the Tarnhelm (which resembled a large Rubik’s) confronted Brünnhilde. The final scene of Götterdämmerung was set around a large open space surrounded by metal walkways; Brünnhilde lighted fires in the four metal chim- neys and statues of the gods were lowered into them. It was difficult to get much sense of emo- tion given all the activity. Someone threw at least one chair in every opera. There were some traditional elements (traditional, that is, judging by other productions I have seen): men in top hats, characters wearing eyeglasses, a sofa and a bar cart in Act I of Götterdämmerung. If I focus here on the problems, it is because they distracted from an otherwise fine production.

The performances were well-acted and generally well-sung. John Lundgren was stalwart and a little dull as Wotan. Substituting for an ailing Johannes Martin Kränzle as Alberich in Das Rheingold, James Cleverton acquitted himself admirably, both vocally and dramatically; Kränzle sang Alberich in Siegfried and Götterdämmerung; his voice is warmer than Cleverton’s. Emily Magee as Sieglinde became shrill and metallic when reaching for top notes. Stuart Skelton as Siegmund held the second “Wälse” while I counted slowly to thirteen. In Siegfried, Stefan Vinke paced himself well throughout, still sounding robust at the end.

Other notable singers were Günther Groissböck as Fasolt, Sarah Connolly as Fricka, and Heather Engebretson as the forest bird. Nina Stemme had some vocal difficulty at the beginning of Act II of Die Walküre, singing with a wide vibrato and carefully preparing before reaching for high notes. The power of her voice became more apparent in the Todesverkündigung scene. She is arguably the best Brünnhilde at present, though I wonder whether she will soon retire this role. The standout performer in three operas—as Freia, as Ortlinde, and as the third Norn—was Lise Davidsen. In the past, I have found Stephen Milling stiff and uninteresting, but in this production, he showed himself capable of great singing and acting, a worthy successor to Matti Salminen.

Antonio Pappano moved things along efficiently, if not effortlessly; he seemed to lack inspiration. The brass had difficulty at the beginning of Das Rheingold and in Walküre. It was good to see the orchestra on stage to take a bow after Götterdämmerung.

As this may have been the last revival of this production, I would be sorry not to see it again (I saw it in 2007 and 2012). Despite its oddities and inconsistencies, this was, generally, a thoughtful and thought-provoking Ring.

Stephen Wagley
Stephen Wagley, a Society member, has attended 34 Ring cycles, including three of the Royal Opera House Ring Cycle covered here.

This review is reproduced from the October 2018 issue of Wagner Notes, the bimonthly publication of the Wagner Society of New York, which covers international reviews, Society events, and information on Wagner worldwide, and is included with membership.

From Rats to Moths — Yuval Sharon’s Lohengrin and the Bayreuth Season
 
Yuval Sharon, the first American to stage a new production at Bayreuth, has created a Lohengrin that is gorgeous and introspective yet very accessible, at least by Bayreuth standards. Focused on the fairy-tale aspects of the story but also on contemporary sexual politics, it features an exotic range of visual references, from Van Dyke’s paintings to the Disney movie Frozen to the BBC science fiction television series, Doctor Who, which has a cult following.

Many of the references and the look of the production are clearly not Sharon’s. A couple of years ago he replaced Alvis Hermanis as director. The project had a long gestation: the German husband-and-wife team of Neo Rauch (sets) and Rosa Loy (costumes), both famous artists, had been at work on it since 2012. Their well-established visual styles clearly contributed to the overall look, and it is stunning. Nietzsche described the overture as blue in color, and this is surely the bluest Lohengrin in history, with bright orange touches. Van Dyke’s influence shows up in the costumes, inspired by his portraits. Reinhard Traub’s lighting contributes greatly to the otherworldly feel of the whole affair. Sharon’s biggest contribution is to frame the work in stark, modern #MeToo terms, so that Elsa and Ortrud rise up against “corrupt men.” Lohengrin’s demands for blind faith and absolute trust are seen as unacceptably sexist, precluding “real love.”

Lohengrin, Act II: Lohengrin (Piotr Beczala) tying Elsa (Anja Harteros) to an insulator in the bridal chamber. All Bayreuth photos: Enrico Nawrath.

The opera takes place around a cartoonish rendition of an electric power plant and grid, framing the discussion in terms of electricity. In the opening scene, the plant is dormant, and in the program book Sharon explains that Brabant is “a land fallen from grace, without power or electricity,” which Lohengrin must bring, “similar to Lenin’s electrification of Russia.” When Lohengrin arrives, he immediately restarts the electricity, saving Elsa, who was about to be burned at the stake. But when he takes her to his bridal chamber, he uses electric cords to bind her to a giant insulator, becoming her oppressor. Elsa, whose tiny house is a replica of the Tardis—an old-fashioned British phone box painted vivid blue with a sort of antenna on top, which serves as a vehicle for time travel in the Doctor Who television series—is visited by Ortrud, whose normally deceptive warning becomes the catalyst for Elsa’s salvation: her rebellion against blind faith and tradition.

Hans Neuenfels’ fascinating Lohengrin production (2010–2017) was a dark inversion of the pious text and dealt with such questions as the post-Christian lack of faith, the destruction this causes and, significantly, whether power destroys love. The chorus was famously costumed as a bunch of laboratory rats. In Sharon’s production, the key figures all wear moth-like wings, and these take on great significance. For example, when Telramund and Lohengrin do battle (suspended on wires), Telramund loses a wing, which his minions then carry in a ceremony. Moths are, of course, drawn to light, but this seems to be more of a fairy-tale conceit that an overarching metaphor.

When Lohengrin vanishes and Gottfried shows up at the end, costumed to resemble a green monster, everyone else, even the Brabantians, drops dead except for Elsa and Ortrud. If the production has the feel of a tele- vision series, this is its season finale, leaving a mystery to be dealt with next year. Which could well be the case… In “Werkstatt Bayreuth” (Nietzsche’s term, later realized by Wolfgang Wagner), productions are frequently revised and reworked in successive seasons.

To my ear, Christian Thielemann is the finest Wagner conductor of our generation, and he led a vigorous, authoritative, deeply introspective reading of the score in the August 10 performance. The fabled Bayreuth chorus sang magnificently, as always.

Roberto Alagna, who had been cast for the title role three years ago, famously cancelled three days before the first rehearsal. Rescue came in the person of Polish tenor Piotr Beczala, whose youthful, bright, liquid tone, stamina, and fine phrasing made him a deeply sympathetic figure, not entirely in sync with Sharon’s darker characterization.

German soprano Anja Harteros brought power and stamina to her portrayal of Elsa, but her voice is simply too heavy for the role; she sounded more like an Ortrud. For that role, however, we had the great Waltraud Meier, making her first appearance here in 18 years; she has now retired the role. Occasionally she seemed to struggle, especially in “Fahrheim,” but her vivid dramatic portrayal carried the day. Polish bass-baritone Tomasz Konieczny was a superb Telramund, ferocious, with torrential power. Georg Zeppenfeld sang the role of King Henry with great dignity and beautiful tone.
 
James L. Paulk
James L. Paulk, a Society member, reviews for a number of opera and music publications.
[A version of this review appears in the current issue of the American Record Guide.—Ed.]