A
Ring with Two Masters
From the March 2019 edition of The Wagner Journal, a review of a self-created, itinerant ‘Ring’ cycle experienced in Germany during the latter part of 2018, catching a couple of ‘Meistersinger’
performances en route.
Das
Rheingold. Nico Wouterse (Wotan), Hans Gröning (Alberich),
Philipp Werner (Loge), Dennis Marr (Mime), Dorothee Böhnisch (Fricka), Lukas Schmid-Wedekind (Fasolt),
Aleksandar Stefanoski (Fafner), Stamatia Gerothanasi (Freia), Lisa
Wedekind (Erda/Floßhilde), Paul Jadach (Donner), Theodore Browne (Froh), Elisandra Melián
(Woglinde), Anna Gütter (Wellgunde); Badische Philharmonie
Pforzheim/Markus Huber; Thomas Münstermann (director), Jörg
Brombacher (designer), Alexandra Bentele (costumes), Oliver Feigl
(video designer). Theater Pforzheim, 2 October 2018
Die
Walküre. Lucia Lucas (Wotan), Julia Borchert (Brünnhilde),
Richard Furman (Siegmund), Susanne Serfling (Sieglinde), Roswitha Christina Müller (Fricka), Johannes Stermann
(Hunding), Raffaela Linti (Gerhilde), Uta Zierenberg (Ortlinde),
Monica Mascus (Waltraute), Henriette Gödde (Schwertleite), Jeanett
Neumeister (Helmwige), Isabel Stüber Malagamba (Siegrune), Lucia
Cervoni (Grimgerde), Emilie Renard (Roßweiße); Magdeburgische
Philharmonie/Kimbo Ishii; Jakob Peters-Messer (director), Guido
Petzold (designer), Sven Bindseil (costumes). Theater Magdeburg, 3
November 2018
Siegfried.
Zoltán Nyári (Siegfried), Nancy Weißbach (Brünnhilde), Thomas
Hall (The Wanderer), Kihun Yoon (Alberich), Timothy Oliver/Dan
Karlström (Mime), Marta Swiderska (Erda), Ill-Hoon Choung (Fafner),
Sooyeon Lee (Woodbird); Oldenburgisches Staatsorchester/Hendrik
Vestmann; Paul Esterhazy (director), Mathis Neidhardt
(designer/costumes), Ernst Engel (lighting), Alexander Fleischer
(video designer). Staatstheater Oldenburg, 4 November 2018
Götterdämmerung.
Daniel Kirch (Siegfried), Stéphanie Müther (Brünnhilde),
Pierre-Yves Pruvot (Gunther), Cornelia Ptassek (Gutrune/Third Norn),
Marius Boloş
(Hagen), Anne Schuldt (Waltraute), Jukka Rasilainen (Alberich), Anja
Schlosser (First Norn), Sylvia Rena Ziegler (Second Norn/Wellgunde),
Guibee Yang (Woglinde), Sophia Maeno (Floßhilde); Chorus of Theater
Chemnitz, Robert-Schumann-Philharmonie/Guillermo García Calvo;
Elisabeth Stöppler (director), Annike Haller (designer), Gesine
Völlm (costumes), Holger Reinke (lighting). Theater Chemnitz, 1
December 2018
Die
Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Oliver Zwarg (Hans Sachs), Marco
Jentzsch (Walther von Stolzing), Betsy Horne (Eva), Young Doo Park
(Veit Pogner), Erik Biegel (David), Margarete Joswig (Magdalena),
Thomas de Vries (Sixtus Beckmesser), Ralf Rachbauer (Kunz
Vogelgesang), Florian Kontschak (Konrad Nachtigal), Benjamin Russell
(Fritz Kothner), Rouwen Huther (Balthasar Zorn), Reiner Goldberg
(Ulrich Eisslinger), Andreas Karasiak (Augustin Moser), Daniel
Carison (Hermann Ortel), Philipp Mayer (Hans Schwartz), Wolfgang
Vater (Hans Foltz), Tuncay Kurtoglu (Nightwatchman); Chorus
and Orchestra of Staatstheater Wiesbaden/Patrick Lange; Bernd Mottl
(director), Friedrich Eggert (designer/costumes), Klaus Krauspenhaar
(lighting), Myriam Lifka (choreography). Staatstheater Wiesbaden, 29
September 2018
Die
Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Thomas Jesatko (Hans Sachs), Tilmann
Unger (Walther von Stolzing), Astrid Kessler (Eva), Sung Ha (Veit
Pogner), Christopher Diffey (David), Marie-Belle Sandis (Magdalena),
Joachim Goltz (Sixtus Beckmesser), Samuel Levine (Kunz Vogelgesang),
Rainer Zaun (Konrad Nachtigal), Thomas Berau (Fritz Kothner), Uwe
Eikötter (Balthasar Zorn), Koral Güvener (Ulrich Eisslinger),
Raphael Wittmer (Augustin Moser), Marcel Brunner (Hermann Ortel),
Dominic Barberi (Hans Schwartz), Bartosz Urbanowicz (Hans
Foltz/Nightwatchman); Chorus and Orchestra of Nationaltheater
Mannheim/Alexander Soddy; Nigel Lowery (director/designer/costumes),
Lothar Baumgarte (lighting). Nationaltheater Mannheim, 1 November
2018
A
smattering of one-off productions and continuing ‘episodes’ in
ongoing Ring cycles lent themselves last autumn to a
peripatetic, self-contrived tetralogy, visiting four widely spaced
German cities over a two-month period. Two were indeed standalone
productions, with no indication that their theatres would be
following up with a complete cycle; the other two were the latest
stages in continuing projects, the last the conclusion of a
four-director cycle – what my own cycle effectively became.
The
itinerant Ring didn’t get off to the most auspicious of
starts, though. Theater Pforzheim has impressed in the past for its
adventurousness in early 20th-century repertoire, particularly
Hindemith and Weill, and even gave a passable Lohengrin in
2015. But ‘big’ Wagner seems to be a step too far for this small
theatre with, by German standards, limited resources. Alfons Abbass’s
reduced-orchestra versions of the constituent parts of the
Ring, now duly incorporated into Schott’s authoritative Wagner
edition, largely cut down on the number of wind and brass instruments
(and reduce the harps to two), leaving the preferred number of
strings at maximum strength. All Pforzheim was able to muster for Das
Rheingold was a glorified chamber orchestra with a single harp,
and with the players raised two or three metres high on a platform at
the very back of the stage what impact there might have been from the
sound seemed to disappear up into the fly tower. Coupled with some
often scrappy playing under the direction of Markus Huber – below
par in a country where nearly everywhere seems to field a decent
orchestra – the result was a rather dispiriting experience.
It might
have been more bearable if the staging had made up for things. But
Thomas Münstermann, Pforzheim’s Intendant, decided to set the
whole drama in a circus ring, for no discernible reason, with all the
characters, family and foe, part of the same company: Wotan and
Fricka as ring-masters, Rhinemaidens as acrobats, Freia on the high
wire, giants as strongmen, Donner as human cannonball, and so on.
This all made sense on its own terms, but had no obvious relationship
to any of the themes and ideas that Wagner’s Vorabend throws
up. There was justification of sorts in the final scene: Freia leads
Wotan and Fricka across a rainbow bridge in the form of a high wire,
the father of the gods using his spear as balancing aid, until Loge
points out that it’s all an illusion, all just a circus trick, made
to look more precarious than it is.
Yet
there was some decent singing on offer, especially from Nico
Wouterse’s solid Wotan, Dorothee Böhnisch’s expressive Fricka,
Lukas Schmid-Wedekind’s eloquent Fasolt, Lisa Wedekind’s
rich-voiced Floßhilde/Erda and Theodore Browne’s lyrical,
knife-throwing Froh. I warmed less to the rather over-emphatic
lion-tamer Alberich of Hans Gröning and the somewhat stretched sound
of Philipp Werner’s magician Loge.
Encountering
Die Walküre at Theater Magdeburg a month later was like
entering a different world. The city, if not the present theatre, is
of course where Wagner’s career more or less
started, and where he married Minna, but I
am not aware of Magdeburg today making anything in particular of this
association. As far as I could tell, Jakob Peters-Messer’s Walküre
is, like the Pforzheim Rheingold, a one-off, not intended to
form part of an eventual cycle, but in this case I certainly wouldn’t
complain if it did. His set-up is clear from the start. Video footage
during the stormy prelude, projected on to set designer Guido
Petzoid’s flexible ruined interiors, depicts a riot at full pelt –
apparently from the 2017 G20 turmoil in Hamburg – from which
Siegmund, one of the activists, seeks shelter in, as fate would have
it, the home of one of the riot police (Hunding). At the start of Act
II, Wotan, too, is on the side of the anarchist rioters, until the
business-suited Fricka gets her way and he reluctantly dons the
clothes of the establishment. The Valkyries
dressed in crime-scene suits collect up the riot victims and when
they disrobe reveal themselves to be on the same ‘side’ as the
old, anarchist Wotan, who has now power-dressed to deal with the
miscreant Brünnhilde. It is less perfunctory than this brief summary
might suggest and the setting’s clarity and the narrative force
bring insight into the characters and their relationships that a
blander, ‘mythical’ milieu can often mask.
If not
having room in the pit for the full Wagnerian orchestral complement, Theater Magdeburg at least moved one
step on from Pforzheim in using the Lessing edition, which allows for
triple woodwind and six of Wagner’s eight horns. And the Magdeburg
Philharmonic made an impressive sound, even if Kimbo Ishii’s
conducting didn’t quite reach the out-of-this-world transcendence
of the final Magic Fire Music. ‘Heldenbaritonistin’ Lucia Lucas,
who earlier in the season became the first transgender woman to sing
on a major stage in her native US, was a vivid and magisterial Wotan,
especially effective in the character’s explosive encounters with
Undine Dreißig’s fiery Fricka and, later, Julia Borchert’s accomplished if slightly
vocally under-characterised Brünnhilde. Richard Furman’s Siegmund
and Susanne Serfling’s Sieglinde were both sympathetically sung and
portrayed, Johannes Stermann’s Hunding had an imposing figure to
match his fearsome bass, and there was some highly distinguished
singing from the ensemble of Valkyrie
sisters.
Staatstheater
Oldenburg has been adding its Ring instalments at a leisurely
annual pace and this autumn reached Siegfried (complete cycles
are anticipated in 2020). This tiny house, built for the northwest
German city’s former ducal court, seats barely 500, yet is not
short of ambition, and with its generous pit leaving room for only
twelve rows of seating in the Parkett, it provides an
intimate, immersive context for experiencing Wagner. Although not
specified in the programme, it looked once again like the Lessing
edition was being used, and the orchestral playing under Hendrik
Vestmann filled the space with an often burnished, well-blended
sound.
Paul
Esterhazy, with designs by Mathis Neidhardt, has created a unified
interior world for his whole cycle (I also saw, but didn’t review,
the Walküre in 2017), a kind of wooden alpine lodge or
American pioneer dwelling, with an ever-changing array of rooms and
corridors whisked into view and away again on the theatre’s
revolve. Costumes evoke the second half of the 19th century, and
everything animate is brought to a human level: Grane is an old man
sleeping below his mistress by the fireplace; Wotan’s two ravens
are laddish, feather-capped layabouts who the poorly disguised god is
constantly shooing away so as not to give his game away; the Woodbird
is a woman carrying a bird cage; only the bear is in full costume.
Even Fafner is still in human form, nimbly towering on stilts, his
hoarded ring still on the finger of Alberich’s
wrenched-off arm. Mime, using knee-boots, has a
body double of smaller stature for his more mobile actions that I
confess I didn’t register until the curtain calls (he
also, for this performance, had a vocal double – see below).
Aesthetically, it’s all very much of a piece, conveying a
domesticity that could also be stifling claustrophobia, with
different groups of characters occupying seemingly the same spaces.
It’s all slickly done, and if the incessant revolving of the set
threatens motion sickness, the stagecraft is undeniable. But does it
penetrate deep into the Ring’s various subtexts? That might
have to wait for a full cycle to appreciate, but there are telling
details that hint at wider exploration.
Despite
the size of the theatre and the bijoux dimensions of the stage area,
there was nothing cramped or musically lacking in this performance of
Siegfried. Singers didn’t need to yell to get their point
across, which meant that the tireless Zoltán Nyári never sounded
strained or over-parted in the title role. Mime, as mentioned, was
divided among three performers, the highly rated Dan Karlström
having flown in from Leipzig to sing the vocally indisposed Timothy
Oliver’s lines from a corner of the stage. Thomas Hall’s Wanderer
was solid but less distinctive as a vocal characterisation, while
Nancy Weißbach’s Brünnhilde brought the evening to a plush-voiced
conclusion.
Theater
Chemnitz has divided its current cycle of the Ring among four
female directors (an idea Katherina Wagner briefly considered for
Bayreuth), and Elisabeth Stöppler’s Götterdämmerung
completed my own tetralogy. Not having seen any earlier parts of this
cycle (complete performances are scheduled for this Easter and
Whitsun), I’m not aware of how much collusion there has been among
the directors in providing an overriding view of the work. Stöppler
tackles both eco-catastrophe and sexual politics. The world is in
perpetual winter, with the Norns as polar explorers, roped together
as they trudge along an ice-floe – when the rope breaks, it’s as
if mankind is left without its safety harness of protection by higher
authority. In this wintry context, Grane is a sledge, which the still
boy-like Siegfried treats as any child would, as he leaves the female
world of nature to be dragged into the diametrically opposed
interior, male space of the Gibichungs, one where Brünnhilde, too,
is eventually drawn into adopting the masculine traits of her father
in order to take her revenge. With Hagen troubled by his own
father-induced demons, Siegfried turned to drug
dependency by the memory potion and the
ineffectual Gunther caught between them, it’s not going to end well
for the men. In the end, though, it’s the mother who comes to the
rescue: in the midst of a snowstorm, and instead of self-immolation,
Brünnhilde is reunited for the first time with Erda, and with the
surviving female characters, the Rhinemaidens and Norns, bravely
looks to the future as Gutrune appears to want to join the sisterly
gathering. Whatever one might take from Stöppler’s conception,
there’s no denying the skill of her detailed Personenregie –
the actions and reactions among the avenging trio of Act II, for
instance, or the emotionally wrenching treatment of Siegfried’s
passage into death as he takes in the gravity of his fate while
Brünnhilde cleanses him. It’s rare, at this stage in the Ring,
to feel so much empathy for the characters as vulnerable human
beings.
Fortunately,
in Daniel Kirch and Stéphanie Müther, Chemnitz has found two of the
most promising and accomplished newcomers to the roles of Siegfried
and Brünnhilde (the former making his role debut at this
performance) that have come along in some time, each unflagging of
voice, expressive and a fine actor. If the rest of the cast wasn’t
quite on the same level, it was still impressive for a regional
theatre. Pierre-Yves Pruvot’s Gunther was a little unfocused,
resorting too often to a kind of Sprechstimme
and Marius Boloş’s
Hagen, though again convincingly acted, lacked the dark vocal
colouring for the role. Cornelia Ptassek’s Gutrune was well drawn,
despite slightly swallowed enunciation, and Jukka Rasilainen made for
a good, manipulative Alberich. Guillermo García Calvo, who first
conducted the cycle in Orviedo in 2013, had the full measure of the
score and drew exciting and sonorous playing from the
Robert-Schumann-Philharmonie, here at last using the complete wind
complement, if a little light on string numbers as a result.
* * * *
*
As
accompaniment to my peripatetic Ring, I also caught this
season’s two new German productions of Die Meistersinger von
Nürnberg. The spa town of Wiesbaden unsurprisingly has one of
Germany’s more elderly populations, so it was pertinent of director
Bernd Mottl (a great-great nephew of Wagner’s assistant Felix
Mottl) to stage the work at its Staatstheater as a battle of the
generations. The setting is a Seniorenhaus, in this case a
retirement home for former tradesmen that incorporates a Gaststätte
named Alt-Nürnberg (the interior for Act I) with its associated
Festsaal (as opposed to Festwiese) for community
events. Here a group of old white men holds out, dressing up in
medieval costumes to preserve their outdated traditions and in effect
attempting to thwart the aspirations and ambitions of the young –
in another context it could have been an allegory of Brexit. Helped
by their carers (the apprentices), all but a couple of the masters
hobble around with Zimmer frames and sticks. Sachs is grey-haired and
retired, too, but still doing a little cobbling to help his friends
and neighbours out and living on his own in his
sheltered-accommodation flat with his memories of his late wife
(Friedrich Eggert’s designs are wonderfully detailed, encapsulating
postwar German interiors down to the last power socket). It’s one
of those rare productions that successfully attaches its own
narrative to a pre-existing one and follows it through so that
everything tells in the new context. It’s also one of the wittiest
and moving re-interpretations of recent times, partly because the
detail is so precise and thus the characterisation is realistic.
In this
contemporary setting, Walther is a ‘Weltenbummler’, a
globetrotting, leather-clad biker, who has alighted on Eva on his
travels and is determined not to move on without her. Despite his
support of Walther, Sachs is portrayed as a man living in the past as
much as his fellow masters. During our hero’s performance in the
final scene, the people are so entranced that they begin filming him
on their smartphones, and when Sachs delivers his ‘call to arms’
at Walther’s rejection of membership of their Gesellschaft,
everyone simply ignores him, being far more engrossed in showing each
other their phone footage of the event. Eva grabs Walther’s
motorcycle helmet, the two of them run away and the front drop falls
to leave the masters, including Sachs, on the forestage, abandoned
and rejected by the younger generation still celebrating on the other
side of the curtain.
Wiesbaden
often attracts top international singers for its annual May Festival
performances of its season’s repertoire, but even this largely
housebound cast impressed on opening night: Oliver Zwarg’s
firm-voiced Sachs, Marco Jentzsch’s virile Walther, Betsy Horne’s
fresh, youthful Eva and Thomas de Vries’s (dramatically) pitiful
Beckmesser would grace any house, and chorus and orchestra were on
fine form under Patrick Lange.
Nigel
Lowery, best remembered in Wagnerian terms for designing Richard
Jones’s Covent Garden Ring cycle in the 1990s, has since
taken on directing in his own right. And there was plenty of evidence
of an indulgence in both scenic and directorial visuals in his new
Meistersinger at Mannheim’s Nationaltheater. His concept is
of a theatre within the theatre, a stage set within the existing
proscenium, and he plays with our perceptions of what is what such
that we never quite know if given characters are indeed ‘in
character’ or not, or even if they’re characters or stagehands.
His designs expose the bare bones of amateur theatricals and action
spills out into the auditorium (the first time I’ve actually had a
cobbling Sachs and serenading Beckmesser bumping past my knees as
they egg each other on in Act II). Lowery states in the programme
that as a non-German he doesn’t feel an obligation or need to
address Sachs’s final monologue, which he presents against a
louring sky accompanied by a rain shower that falls only on
Beckmesser, with whom Sachs generously shares his umbrella as an act
of reconciliation. Elsewhere, and like his colourful, picturebook
designs, the staging is playful, with a number of visual jokes that
some of the German critics found too British: for instance, a little
model of the starship Enterprise flying across the stage to
indicate Walther’s arrival from afar; Walther’s tussle with a
serpent while hiding behind the tree with Eva/Eve in Act II; or a
running joke with an animatronic cat that gets in the way of
Beckmesser’s attempt to steal the prize song in Act III. There are
references to fairytales, such as Walther presenting Eva with her
‘glass slipper’ after she has brought her shoes to Sachs for
adjustment, some inexplicable backstage business, as when a backdrop
of the Moulin Rouge descends and a dancer comes on to rehearse, and a
witty episode when Beckmesser requisitions the prompt box for his
marking hideaway, sending the poor souffleur to a music stand at the side of the stage.
Elsewhere,
it’s the central act that shows Lowery’s direction at its best,
with Beckmesser bringing on his own paid Lautenistin to do his
accompanying for him, the riot staged as a giant puppet show, with
shades of Punch and Judy, and with the Nightwatchman as a ghoul
riding a skeletal horse across the night sky complete with a
midsummer snowstorm. When Beckmesser has had enough, at the climax of
the riot he tears off his wig and costume and storms off, to be seen
again in Act III counting the extra money he has had to be paid to
resume his role.
But some
issues remain in Lowery’s stated aim to explore the work’s
engagement with Wahn. His use of Brechtian alienation
(complete with a role for a kind of ‘Brecht curtain’) leaves too
many of the characters literally characterless. Eva is portrayed like
a mechanical doll until she is freed by Walther’s prizewinning at
the end, so Astrid Kessler’s peerlessly lyrical singing constantly
seems at odds with her expressionless acting. Thomas Jesatko’s
similarly musical Sachs has to fight through a ridiculous wig and
costume and loses the battle for our engagement. Whether by default
or design, it is Joachim Goltz’s short-tempered Beckmesser who
becomes the central character, as one of the few to show his properly
human side. The rest of the masters, portrayed as doddery as those in
Wiesbaden, relied a little too much on exaggeration for effect.
Walther (Tilmann Unger, craving indulgence for an infection, but
saving his best for the prize song) is dressed like a cross between a
Star Trek officer and a traditional Lohengrin, and indeed in
Act III enters carrying a grail cup. Lowery makes David a more
central character than usual, as a kind of stage manager who
metamorphoses into a ‘character’ only at the point at which Sachs
makes him a journeyman – a gleefully fresh, buoyant interpretation
from Christopher Diffey.
The
Nationaltheater’s young Generalmusikdirektor Alexander
Soddy, whose detailed, nuanced interpretation was constantly in
evidence, drew some often warm-hearted playing from the orchestra,
and the massed choruses – hampered like most of the cast by
expressionless, clown-like make-up and, in the final scene,
dressed as every conceivable theatrical caricature from Brünnhilde
to burlesque dancer – made an impressive sound.
x