Les Troyens, Metropolitan Opera live cinema relay, January 5, 2013

Where are the Trojans when we need them? They provided the Greeks with stories portraying a welcome incompetence, letting a wooden horse full of Greeks into their city, and having their great warrior Hector defeat someone he thought was Achilles, only to be killed by the real one.

MetOpera image/ Cory Weaver

But in this Met production the Trojans are strongly represented, and Deborah Voigt as Cassandra was spectacular, not only singing the part with great power but exhibiting a stage presence worthy of the world’s greatest actresses. The glorious costume helped show her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, desired by Apollo who gave her the gift of prophecy but took it away with the curse that no one would ever believe her.

Coroebus and Cassandra/ KenHoward

As the Trojan prince Aeneas, Bryan Hymel took over from Marcello Giordani, who was a puzzling choice for this role. Hymel sang it at Covent Garden last summer, and was once again magnificent. His Act V solo Inutiles regrets was terrific, and his chemistry with Susan Graham as Dido was excellent.

She really came into her own in Act V, so beautiful in her mauve dress earlier in that act, so convincing in her grief. In Acts III and IV she also sang gloriously but came over more as a suburban widow than a queen, though I blame director Francesca Zambello here. I’ve seen her render other vivacious heroines in an unattractive way, and what did all that choreography by Doug Varone achieve in Acts III and IV? It was naff. It was tiresome. Some people left the cinema after Act IV, and indeed the sugary atmosphere was so cloying that Aeneas must have wanted out too. But that’s not the way Virgil intended it, nor indeed Berlioz.

Aeneas and son/ KenHoward

The direction and setting in Acts III and IV was extraordinarily suburban and unregal. Dido, Aeneas and others sat around watching entertainment and looking like actors in a television sit-com, while the camera zoomed in as Dido rearranged her dress. Queens do not do this — indeed imagine Angela Merkel rearranging her dress at a semi-public entertainment, and she is a mere prime minister. Dido was the great queen who led her people from Tyre to found a new colony in North Africa, but Acts III and IV failed to exhibit this. And even in Act V when Dido committed suicide she thrust the short sword to the side of her waist and then turned away from the audience. She should turn first, particularly with camera close-ups, so we can’t see the pretence.

Directorial faults aside, Fabio Luisi in the orchestra pit gave a lyrical account of Berlioz’s score, and the singers and huge chorus were magnificent. Karen Cargill sang very strongly as Dido’s sister Anna, as did Kwangchul Youn as Dido’s Minister Narbal, showing the gravitas that befits a man who sang a wonderful Gurnemanz at Bayreuth last summer. The Met have assembled an excellent cast and among other soloists, Dwayne Croft sang with nobility as Cassandra’s fiancé Coroebus, and Paul Appleby gave a stirring performance of Hylas’s song at the start of Act V.

Dido in agony/ CoryWeaver

With David McVicar’s production at Covent Garden, La Scala, San Francisco and Vienna, and now this production at the Met, Les Troyens seems to be much in vogue, but it is long and with the tiresome choreography on display here some cuts to the dance sequences might be very welcome.

Parsifal, Bayreuth Festival, July 2012

The present extraordinary Bayreuth production by Stefan Herheim portrays Germany from before the First World War to the aftermath of the Second, with Parsifal representing the true spirit of the country, and Amfortas the one that lost itself in Nazi times.

Parsifal and Gurnemanz, all images Bayreuther Festspiele/ Enrico Nawrath

It all starts during the overture, with Parsifal’s mother Herzeleide close to death. Lying in bed, she reaches out to Parsifal as a boy, finally managing to embrace him before he runs outside with his toy bow and arrow. As the other four people in the room follow him with their gaze, the faith motive rings forth and Herzeleide dies. Later in the overture she returns to life holding a red rose, embraces her son and falls through the bed with him. The bed plays a central role, allowing transformations forwards and backwards through time.

Parsifal and Amfortas

As we move into Act I the boy has returned, and both Gurnemanz and Amfortas, desiring renewal and exoneration from suffering, look penetratingly towards him at significant moments. Amfortas once made the great error of falling prey to Klingsor’s magic, acquiring a wound that will not heal, and that fatal incident was seen in flash-back during the overture when Klingsor himself appeared on a drawbridge wielding his spear, while Amfortas embraces Kundry on the bed and they vanish into the depths.

This production plays with time. In Act I during that wonderful orchestral interlude where Gurnemanz and the youthful Parsifal travel together to the ceremony of the holy grail, we see Herzeleide give birth, with Kundry acting as midwife. The baby is ceremonially taken away by Gurnemanz, Herzeleide becomes transformed into Amfortas, and images of real World War I soldiers appear projected on the backdrop. Their counterparts enter the stage as chorus, swaying gently from side to side in an immensely powerful scene where the German Eagle appears in place of the swan that Parsifal shot. Thus ends Act I after nearly two hours of music and remarkable stage magic.

Kundry and Klingsor behind

Act II starts with wounded soldiers, and ends with Nazi banners, storm troopers, and the appearance of Klingsor on the balcony of Wagner’s Bayreuth house Wahnfried, a design used here as the set for much of the opera. Klingsor, dressed in blond wig, stockings and suspenders, lifts his spear, the lights go out, and Parsifal breaks the spell. In the meantime Kundry has appeared in a red dress, a white dress and finally clothed like Klingsor but with blue wings — a blue angel ready to seduce Parsifal. The Nazi era seduced many, but the spirit of Germany lives on, and in Act III while Gurnemanz stands in military uniform near the devastation of a flattened city, Parsifal returns. The ceremony of the grail is now transferred to the Bundesrat in Bonn, and a huge circular mirror tilted behind the set allows us to see everything from above. Titurel’s coffin is draped with the German flag, and as Parsifal performs the ceremony of the grail the mirror slowly tilts so that we begin to see ourselves, the audience, participating in this huge cleansing and renewal of the German spirit.

Final redemption

Burkhard Fritz sang a strong Parsifal, Susan Maclean likewise as Kundry, and Thomas Jesatko was a sinister Klingsor. Diógenes Randes came over well as the voice of Titurel, the chorus was excellent, and Detlef Roth was a sympathetic Amfortas, hugely powerful in Act I. Kwangchul Youn made a commandingly strong Gurnemanz, portraying the role with fine gravitas, and Philippe Jordan conducted with a sure hand. The whole performance came over with an air of magic, and it is only regrettable that this intriguing production leaves the repertoire at the end of the season.

This year was my second visit to the production — see also my review last year.

Performances continue until August 26 — for details click here.

Parsifal, Bayreuth Festival, July 2011

There’s a lovely moment in Act I of this opera when Gurnemanz takes Parsifal to the ceremony of the Grail. As they journey, Parsifal says he hardly steps yet swiftly moves apace, and Gurnemanz replies, my son, here time is one with space. As a space the Bayreuth stage is vast, and in Act I of this production by Stefan Herheim we fall forwards and backwards in time. This allows Herheim to do more than simply let Kundry tell us of Parsifal’s long-dead mother Herzeleide, but actually see her with her long reddish hair, rather like Parsifal’s, and strangely too like Amfortas. We even go back to the moment of Parsifal’s birth, on a bed that serves as a point of transformation between characters and different regions of time. It’s confusing but at the same time extremely powerful.

All images Bayreuther Festspiele/ Enrico Nawrath

The main set is Wagner’s Bayreuth house Wahnfried, with his grave in the foreground, and in Act II a bat flits across the stage, representing the spirit of Wagner’s wife Cosima. The imagery is enormous, but the production concept is simple. It’s the history of Germany from before the First World War until after the Second. Military strength and the need to cure its defeat in Act I, the sorcery of Klingsor — and by extension, Hitler — in Act II, and the desperate need for new leadership now that the old Germany, in the person of Titurel, is dead.

Titurel’s coffin at the end is draped in the German flag showing the German Eagle. On a shield above the stage the insignia of an eagle changes to a dove — it started as a swan, before going through various forms of the eagle, including the Nazi one. The production is on a vast scale, and I cannot possibly do justice to the multiple levels of Act I without a second viewing, but at the ceremony of the Grail we see video projections of cavalry, infantry, biplanes and submarines, and as the chorus sways I thought of the Kaiser and Fatherland. Then when Gurnemanz finally rejects Parsifal we see the young boy who appeared earlier in the Act, well before the swan shooting incident occurred.

Susan Maclean as Kundry in Act II

Parsifal’s killing of the swan in Act I was done from the balcony of the house, the same place Klingsor stood at the end of Act II as destruction reigned down, and his magic realm vanished forever. Earlier in that Act wounded soldiers from the Great War were hospitalised and cared for by nurses who, along with scantily dressed girls, become flower maidens, and get on top of the soldiers in their beds. Klingsor himself is dressed in white tie and tails, with stockings, and a blond woman’s wig. And for the seduction of Parsifal, Kundry is dressed like Marlene Dietrich, with blue wings, recalling the film Der blaue Engel, which first brought her to stardom. Later in the Act she reappears as Herzeleide. It’s powerful stuff and at this point a woman two rows in front was carried out.

Klingsor and Kundry

Gurnemanz, Kundry, Parsifal

During the prelude to Act III we see images of urban devastation, and I thought of my father-in-law’s remarks about the sight of Berlin when he came through in a train from Colditz in 1945. Despite the unusual production, Parsifal is dressed in armour when he reappears, and after Kundry washes his feet, she welcomes sorry-looking people who pass by, and gives them hope. They represent the population of post-war Germany, and the music speaks of redemption. Das ist … Karfreitagszauber, Herr! (Good Friday magic). The final scene is a debating chamber, cleverly seen from above as well as the front, using a vast circular mirror that later tilts to reflect the audience itself. Leadership is needed for a new Germany, and Parsifal supplies it, blessing and healing Amfortas as representative of the Germany that was so wounded by the populist magic of a sorcerer.

This brilliant vision by Stefan Herheim, with sets by Heike Scheele, costumes by Gesine Völlm and wonderful lighting by Ulrich Niepel deserves a fine musical rendering, and got it. Daniele Gatti conducted with wonderful light and shade, and the singing was uniformly excellent. Kwangchul Youn was a sensitive and powerful Gurnemanz, and Susan Maclean was a terrific Kundry showing multiple levels of mood and characterisation. Detlef Roth was a hugely sympathetic Amfortas, Thomas Jesatko gave a sinister, cabaret-like performance of Klingsor, and Simon O’Neill sang beautifully as Parsifal. The voice of Titurel by Diógenes Randes came over strongly, and the chorus was excellent.

Parsifal and Amfortas

Watching this production, I felt in some confusion in Act I, and at the start of the interval found myself thinking of the enormous power of Germany that has produced single-minded creators of great music and political ideology. I thought of Hitler in particular, which is slightly surprising as that aspect of Germany only appeared later in Act II. But the producer had done already started his magic, and by the end I was overwhelmed with admiration.

Lohengrin, Royal Opera, April 2009

This excellent production by Elijah Moshinsky uses a bare stage with gloriously elaborate movable designs and wonderful costumes by John Napier, subtly lit by Oliver Fenwick. It has deservedly been in the opera house repertoire since 1977 — longer than almost any other production — and the present revival was conducted with great clarity by Semyon Bychkov, amply showing the light and shade of Wagner’s music.

As to the singers, Johan Botha’s Heldentenor voice gave us a superbly sung Lohengrin, and his stage presence showed gravitas but little charisma. Edith Haller was a beautifully voiced Elsa, though she struggled in the final act towards the end of a long evening — this was an uncut version of the opera. They were both very well complemented by the wonderful singing of Petra Lang as the evil Ortrud, Gerd Grochowski (replacing Falk Struckmann) as the fatally weak Telramund, and Kwangchul Youn as King Henry. Both Petra Lang and Gerd Grochowski inhabited their roles in a particularly convincing way, not only while singing but also in their silences.

Of Wagner’s ten operas in the standard repertoire I think of this as my least favourite, but the combination of an excellent production by Elijah Moshinsky, fine conducting from Semyon Bychkov, and terrific singing from the principals and the chorus made this the best Lohengrin I remember seeing.