Friday, 7.27.07, 6:00 am
Classical Performances
Holy German Art: Wagnerian Games on the “Green Hill”
The 25th of July 2007 will be a notable date in the history of the Bayreuth Festival, since it marks the premiere of Katharina Wagner’s production of Die Meistersinger. In and of itself it might not be that remarkable that a Wagner descendant stages an opera on the “Green Hill” – not even at the tender age of 29. Wieland and Wolfgang Wagner, the grandsons of Richard, were 33 and 31 respectively, when they took over the Festival in 1951 and most Wagner scions are in the business of directing operas. But ever since Wolfgang Wagner’s elder daughter Eva Wagner-Pasquier (*1945 – from Wolfgang Wagner’s first marriage) was chosen to succeed Wolfgang Wagner as the Festival director in 2002, which led the stubborn father to refuse the board’s choice and insist on his appointment for life, his younger daughter has been built up as the new Festival Director. This anointment is supposed to take place this year; her Bayreuth Meistersinger the “trial shot”. It’s all jolly good theater, even if viewed from as far away as Munich.
Young Miss Wagner has not directed much, so far: a debutante Flying Dutchman in Würzburg (2002), Lohengrin in Budapest (2004), Lortzing’s Der Waffenschmied at the Gärtnerplatz Theater in Munich (2005) and Il Trittico in Berlin – a path that now leads to a potential coronation-production of the most difficult to stage of Wagner’s Operas – the “Comedy” that is “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg”. It is in many ways a fine coincidence (?) that it should be the Die Meistersinger that may or may not give her the last necessary push unto the Wagner-throne. The work about “holy German art”, about tradition for its own sake, about revolting against tradition, about renovating it, and finally adapting to it is chock-full of analogies that will necessarily play into the story around Katharina Wagner’s treatment of the subject and her own projected ascension to become Festival Director. The latter is a cultural throne that highlights the balancing act between preserving a tradition, not to say ‘cult’, and creating new things. With a repertory of only 10 works (Dutchman – since 1901, Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Meistersinger, Tristan, Parsifal, and the Ring), burdened by a world of always specific, yet widely varying, expectations and traditions, and with increasing competition from other festivals, the position isn’t an easy one. Under Wolfgang Wagner’s direction, Bayreuth has proven innovative at times, but largely stagnating in its artistic ambitions (especially as regards his own, rather conservative productions that may have lacked the deeper and more novel artistry of his brother Wieland with whom he was co-director from 1951 until Wieland’s death in 1966 ), and as of late seemingly of a wilful radicalism in the choices of directors such as Schlingensief (Parsifal, 2004), Marthaler (Tristan & Isolde, 2005), and Lars von Trier (Ring, 2006 – eventually replaced by Tankred Dorst). It was as if Wolfgang Wagner had been bent to disprove the accusation of having become a conservative flame-keeper, draining Bayreuth of all innovative impulses.
Perhaps he was already setting the stage for his daughter’s work in Bayreuth. Katharina Wagner’s work is closer to the “Regietheater” school of directing than tradition – and with three fairly wild premieres preceding her debut, her updated Meistersinger might not seem as radical or even sacrilegious as otherwise. Strategy or not, Die Meistersinger is by far the most difficult opera to update – because it is much more literal and concrete than Wagner’s other works. No monsters, gods, or myths that can be transformed or replaced at will to represent abstract ideas in other shapes. But the Meistersinger takes place in a very identifiable (if strangely Lutheran) Nuremberg, with very real people and every-day props. A demi-godly, dwarf-raised hero may smith his sword any which way he wants to, one is tempted to admit, but a humble medieval cobbler must always fix a shoe with his little hammer, no? Little wonder that the opera has usually been left in its somber and quaint origins – when challenging the expected, here more than elsewhere, bears so many risks.
 R. Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Sawallisch / Weikl, Studer, Heppner, Moll et al.  R. Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Kubelik / Stewart, Konya, Janowitz, Fassbaender, Crass et al. |
Over the last years some notable attempts at pushing Die Meistersinger out of its perfectly cliché-laden medieval picture-frame have been made. Not the least Peter Konwitschny’s Hamburg production from 2002. (Konwitschny is also responsible for a stunning Dutchman that premiered at the Munich Staatsoper this season. Reviewed for WETA here.) And Kathrina Wagner, too, takes risks and ‘updates’ the opera. And she can do without shoes and hammers, for that matter. (A typewriter serves the purpose here – one of the many superficial changes in the production. Just like the Meistersingers themselves don’t just sing but paint and play instruments. “Gesamtkunstwerk” – get it?.) Conformity amid breaking with tradition, conservatism in a modern guise spotted with provocation (that seems to be the public verdict so far): if that were indeed her skill and talent, she will have done much for her chances of being nominated Festival Director. Katharina Wagner’s – like any modern German production – can’t shirk the most ‘wincesome’ moments of the libretto. Such as when Sachs, no longer the open minded liberal of Act I, extols the virtues of the “Holy German Art” vis-a-vis the degenerate French (i.e. foreign) influences that creep into every-day life.
Hark ye!
Ill times are ill foreboding:
If German Reich and People fall,
And foreign kings do falsely rule,
No prince would understand his people;
And alien haze and vanities
‘D’be rooted in this German land.
Whatever true and German should be lost,
If it weren’t for the German Masters’ craft and honor.
And thus I tell you: honor those,
Your German Masters!
Preserve that good spirit as you will
And favor their endeavors.
And were to fall our Holy Rome -
We’d still have evermore
Our holy German Art!(own translation)
A warning about the importance of cultural integrity in light of the horrors of the foreign (French) influenced 30 Year War, in all likelihood, but nonetheless exerting an irresistible urge among audiences in the 30’s and 40’s to raise the arm in the Hitler salute and, occasionally, give an impromptu rendition of “Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles”. Ever since, this passage has been less-than-popular – and (because with Bayreuth’s audience you never can know) precautiously cut. Miss Wagner twists the story around just enough to avoid the awkwardness of glorification of the greatness of all things German. By the third act Walther von Stolzing has turned from hero and rebel to eager conformist. Sachs, from open minded liberal to staunch conservative. Beckmesser, however, from pedantic traditionalist to free-spirited artist. For an opera that criticizes an overt adherence to structure and tradition and not being able to accept as good that which is publicly appreciated as good (although rules are still needed, mind you!) in a time where Wagner’s music itself is no longer that which is ‘popular’ but part of a traditional structure, this twist might undo an ironic historical knot in the plot. And that converts end up more radical than the orthodox, once ‘admitted’ into that realm they had hitherto not found (or wanted) access to, is a message true enough that it need not be new to be brought unto stage again.
If the message of Die Meistersinger is that tradition must yield to reform to remain “living tradition”, Katharina Wagner’s switching the characters around might seem like she’s messing about with the essence of the story. At least from afar, I don’t see it that way: In the opera, tradition yields – most unwillingly – to innovation (maybe even reform). But that innovation is immediately canonized, the former rebel joins the ranks of the flame keepers, the formerly liberal Sachs becomes utterly conservative. (A turn induced by the brawl in Act 2 which puts the ‘fear of God’ back into the man.) This isn’t so much interpretation but fairly obvious in the libretto. And the music, for that matter. (The C-major orgy of the third act being rather less innovative than the first act’s modulations.) The cycle of tradition and innovation begins anew – and this time Stolzing might be Beckmesser. And once he is older and resigned to old age, he might have a Sachs-phase where he benevolently remembers his youth and its exploits. Katharina Wagner seems to criticize the all-too-quick conversion from rebel to reactionary. Which does not strike me as attacking the idea that tradition needs to be open to reform, but rather the danger of the original reformers becoming precisely those who try to block all future reform that is equally necessary to keep things alive. Would it be giving Katharina Wagner too much credit to suggest she knew exactly why she chose the Meistersinger as her “Meisterlied” to gain access to the temple in which the elder jealously hold sway over that holy Wagnerian art?
A note of local interest: Amanda Mace, a product of the Thomas Stewart and Evelyn Lear Emerging Singers Program (2001), sings Eva in this production.
CD-Choice: Despite many other fine recordings of Die Meistersinger (Karajan/EMI, Solti II/Decca, Jochum/DG ), two tower above all: Kubelik’s recording (made for DG but never released on that label) and the Sawallisch account. Both have impeccable taste in letting the humor and “applied Bach” bloom; both have a stupendous cast.
Wednesday, 7.25.07, 11:31 am
Classical Performances
A Flash and a Bang: Munich’s New Dutchman
Note that the Dutchman in these pictures is Juha Uusitalo, not Wolfgang Brendel and Daland is Matti Salminen, not Kurt Rydl.
Wagner in Munich is something special. Together with Richard Strauss and, perhaps less exclusively, Handel, this composer is a house-god… treated with love – but never stale reverence. With directors like David Alden and especially Peter Konwitschny, the audience can expect that productions will be well thought out, but hardly cater to the expected. The results are, especially with Wagner, that the operas appear as alive, exciting, invigorating, and provocative. The ratio of failure to success is heavily skewed to the latter, something that can’t be said of all productions that might be derided as “Regietheater.”
The opera’s website brags, coy and frank, that “Peter Konwitschny has already provoked audiences to delight and disgust with his spectacular Parsifal and Tristan und Isolde productions. This Munich Holländer is something you just “have” to see. A sea and see journey on the waves of the orchestra.”
I have been solidly in the camp of those who have been delighted. I saw both productions some six years ago – with casts that included Kurt Moll, Waltraud Meier, Bernd Weikl, Marianna Lipovsek, etc. The Tristan performance, available on DVD, still ranks as the finest operatic experience I have ever had. The current Dutchman is bound to rival that.
 R. Wagner, Tristan & Isolde, Mehta/Konwitschny/Staatsoper |
Kurt Rydl’s rock-solid performance made for a sturdy and authoritative Daland, selling his daughter to the Dutchman with all the earnestness one can muster after five minutes of barter with a stranger. Said Dutchman (with touches of Pirates of the Caribbean), however, remained… erm… rather pale. Having heard Wolfgang Brendel much worse (La Traviata and Die Fledermaus from Washington still linger in my memory), I was very much positively surprised about the capable Dutchman he delivered… a role far more challenging than Altair, which he handled just fine at the Met a few months ago. In any case, the ‘kids’ in this opera were the highlight: Anja Kampe’s Senta was no surprise for being exquisitely sung, or acted. Anyone who has seen one of her two and a half Washington Sieglindes (WNO 2003, 2007, NSO 2006) knows of her talents. Proving herself again to be one of the finest Wagnerian singers of her generation, her Senta was just right in her mix of sincere passion, otherworldly youthful naivete, and insanity.
Her hopeful and eventually disappointed boyfriend in spe Erik was the other stand out in a fine cast: Klaus Florian Vogt, who I recently admired in his excellent, mildly controversial Lohengrin on DVD, added a little heft to this role and was less detached as the Norwegian hunting-boy – and sang Erik, an otherwise peripheral figure in the drama, to the center of the action and into the hearts of the attendees. His clarion voice, less choir-boy-like than in Lohengrin, his execution effortless, his acting excellent and earthier than his narcissistic, introverted Lohengrin.
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Konwitschny begins the Dutchman in a rather conventional way: Painted backdrops (with superimposed clouds, to great effect) and a stage flanked by steep rocks surprise because they are so conventional. When the Norwegian ship’s gangplank is lowered from off-stage right, Daland (Kurt Rydl – Hunding in the 2003 WNO Walküre) and the Steuermann (Kevin Conners) emerge. The gangway is lifted and lowered with the waves that carry the (unseen) ship, forcing the crew/singers hold on tightly to the railing and consciously avoid motion sickness. Kevin Conners, especially, acts this out to the maximum. He tumbles about, half intoxicated, half thrown about by the waters violent swelling, finally toppling over the railing and falling four feet flat on his back, all while singing one of the finest accounts of the Steuermann arias I have heard with wonderful heft and a baritonal quality.
Conners’ fall was the first sign that this production was not going to let anyone down who expects the theatrical side to be as important as the music. And something unusual to come. Sure enough, the curtains to the second scene reveals the first ’shock’. Senta’s spinning room is a large, modern, white gym. And Senta and her friends are in… spinning class. One gets the pun (”Spinning Classes” are popular in Germany, as well) – but wonders if one measly play on words is sufficient reason to so alter an entire scene. That it looked much like the second act of the Mariinsky’s woefully tacky Falstaff (seen in Washington last January) had me on the verge of cringing. Except that Mary – formerly her nurse, now the spinning class instructor, does tell her girls that in order to get a good husband, a gal better know how to spin well. Well, if spinning yarn was a way for a woman to promise that a household of hers would be able to avoid dearth or dependence on a husbands’ income and become a more attractive wife, now a spinning-class of a different kind will ensure a woman to be a good catch. The translation of an old concept into a language of our times – the pun the clever hook. What may look silly or wilfully strange at first turns out to be a well-thought out concept to recast the point the opera wants to make in a guise that makes sense to us.
But if the second scene was visually the most glaring discrepancy from the expected and traditional, it was the third act that bore the surprise element that had audiences divided into those who left enraged and scornful and those who left speechless, touched, and awed into submission.
The un-dead Dutch crew and the Norwegians – very much alive, the latter – have their back and forth in an early 19th century industrial port, with welded iron and large gates giving a view of the sea in the back. It still looks rather modest – hardly crying out for controversy. Alas, as Senta is confronted by the Dutchman who claims that the girl can’t stay faithful to him (after all he had overheard that Erik had reasonable expectations of some hanky-panky with Senta), she takes her turn toward slight insanity. (True enough, she’s an odd girl. Instead of committing herself to good and down-to-earth Erik, a most eligible bachelor by all means, she has teeny-fantasies about a mythical un-dead seafarer, whose poster she has pinned up in her room. Her dreams are no more likely or realistic as would be a Jersey-girl’s of marrying Robbie Williams. That the Dutchman exists is almost besides the point.) Removed from reality, she drowns herself in the fantasy of becoming the Dutchman’s faithful wife – and as he leaves her (to save her from hell, in case of unfaithfulness) she’s ready to show him just how faithful she will be – until death. At whatever cost.
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Traditionally that is achieved by going into the water. But in Konwitschny’s set there is no convenient rock to throw herself from. In her increasingly mad state of mind, she topples the barrels that are stored in the port facility. The keen eye sees the explosive sign on them. As she utters her last words – along the lines of “I’ll show you how faithful I can be – until death” – she takes a candle and moves suspiciously toward the barrels. In the performance I just had time to think to myself: “Oh, no you’re not going to…” And as it became clear that she was, I thought: “Well, you can’t possibly can pull it off, realistically, in the theater…” And before I finished my thought, Senta holds the candle to a barrel, a lightning flash blinds me, the theater is nearly torn asunder by the thunder of the explosion, two women in front of me scream, and all the lights go out, the music stopped.
When the lights on stage go back on, dimly, the heavy cloud of smoke still billows and the cast is lined up behind a screen, immovable. The rest of the music resumes – but now no longer played by the excellent orchestra under Philippe Auguin but removed, played from an old gramophone like a grim and eerie postlude. Shock, erratic boos, speechlessness linger – before the majority breaks into ecstatic applause. (No warning of that in the program, of course – unlike in the U.S., where every use of special effects must be noted to avoid the errant lawsuit.)
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I don’t think I have ever been so impressed by a theatrical effect and I still can’t quite figure out how they were able to pull it off without Anja Kampe and colleagues losing their hearing or hair. I saw green spots for the next 15 minutes, having looked directly at the explosion. And I regained my speech only some time after that. But effect is not everything – nor is the element of surprise, important though it is. But with Senta being quite as deranged as she is, she might indeed be the kind of woman that no longer cares whether she takes everyone else down with her self-sacrifice… which, at any rate, seems to be the choice method of theatrical suicide these days, in a troubled world. I don’t suppose I’d want all my Sentas to blow themselves up – but having seen it once like this, I don’t think I shall ever forget that moment. Just how emotional and deliriously touched I left the opera house is impossible to convey in words. And if it were not just a silly pun, I’d point out that most in the audience – especially those who had not come with expectations or knew much of Wagner – had been blown away. Wagner neophytes became instant converts in this superbly sung, touching, and highly dramatic Dutchman. (Wagnerians, however, canceled their subscriptions.)