Parsifal, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, February 2011

Easter comes late this year but Parsifal is early, and stepping into the warmth of the London Coliseum from a washed-out winter’s day was a treat. As the first bars came out of the orchestra, Mark Wigglesworth’s conducting showed the clarity and quality Wagner’s music demands, and sent tingles down my spine.

Gurnemanz and knights, early Act I, all photos by Richard Hubert Smith

Act I opens to a scene like something from ancient history. This was the Sumerian KUR, the distant land of the dead, where all is clay. The knights of the Grail are grey in costume and skin, as if made of clay, and into this ancient land beyond the normal world I almost expected the Sumerian goddess Inanna to come breezing in, as she does in the saga of Inanna’s Descent. But it was Kundry who arrived — the only splash of colour in this wasteland, until Parsifal himself enters.

Journey to the Grail in Act I

When Gurnemanz decides that perhaps this young man, who can’t even remember his own name, is the chosen fool who will bring redemption, he takes him to the ceremony of the Grail. Here Parsifal and Gurnemanz are beautifully lit, swaying side by side as if walking, while Parsifal marvels at how swiftly he moves though scarcely taking a step. I love Gurnemanz’s reply, “Du siehst mein Sohn, zum Raum wird hier die Zeit” (You see my son here space turns into time). It was rendered here, as in other translations, by “You see my son here space and time are one”, though Wagner produced this opera in 1882, before the theory of relativity. However, I liked the translation by Richard Stokes, and John Tomlinson sang Gurnemanz with such wonderful diction that the surtitles were superfluous.

In fact all the singing was clear, and when Stuart Skelton as Parsifal sang the word spear in Act III he gave it a tremendous power and lyricism, turning the simple fool of Act I into a truly heroic tenor. Iain Paterson gave Amfortas real heft, both vocally and physically, and Andrew Greenan gave a rich bass tone to Amfortas’s father Titurel in Act I. Both the first and third acts were superb, though Act II suffered slightly by comparison, with Tom Fox as Klingsor and Jane Dutton as Kundry. But the real heroes in this performance were John Tomlinson, and Mark Wigglesworth with the orchestra. I don’t know how Tomlinson does it, but his rendering of Gurnemanz was so gripping that he made the long monologues seem short.

Amfortas with the body of Titurel in Act III

Of course Nikolaus Lehnhoff’s production helps enormously. As that huge boulder rotates during the walk to the Grail in Act I it reveals a bluish light from behind, giving a cosmic feel to the movement of Gurnemanz and Parsifal. And when Parsifal acquires the spear in Act II and uses it to strike the ground, he brings demolition to Klingsor’s magic realm. Then in Act III there is a wonderful moment as Amfortas reaches into the pit inhabited by figures of clay, and drags out the body of his father. This is just before Stuart Skelton’s gloriously sung Parsifal mentions the spear, cutting through the death-like immobility of the knights. Only Parsifal, Gurnemanz, and perhaps Kundry, show any sympathy with Amfortas, and when Kundry and Parsifal walk off, beautifully lit, into the distance they have created the redemption that ends Wagner’s final opera.

The audience reaction was thunderous applause, and in case the ENO do not revive this production again, it’s well worth the price of a ticket, and train ticket if you live outside London. Performances continue until March 12 — for more details click here.

Katya Kabanova, English National Opera, ENO at the London Coliseum, March 2010

photo by Clive Barda

The Russian writer Aleksandr Ostrovsky wrote a play in 1859 called The Storm, set in a small town on the river Volga. It inspired this opera by Janaček, and half a dozen others by Russian composers. Ostrovsky disliked the low business morality and brutality of the merchant class, and the story contains an unpleasant merchant named Dikoj, along with his nephew Boris, a weak man who hopes to inherit, for himself and his sister, money left by his grandmother on condition he obeys his irascible uncle. The Russian operas on this theme are all called The Storm, but Janaček names his after Katya, who unwisely has a very brief affair with Boris. Katya’s husband, Tichon, another weak man, is under the thumb of his mother, a widow and family matriarch called the Kabanicha. She treats Katya with brutal contempt, and when Tichon goes away on business for a few days, the affair starts. When he returns, Katya feels awful and unwisely admits her guilt. This is her undoing, and while she is left with the consequences, Boris leaves to start life anew.

The river Volga is always nearby, a constant reminder of the forces of nature, and the opera starts with the schoolteacher, Kudrjaš taking joy in the natural world. Almost at the end, after the storm, Katya stands by the river and sings, “how peaceful, how lovely” before plunging in to her death. Her awful mother-in-law, the Kabanicha has the last word, maintaining cool propriety, as if the decorum of civilization can defeat the powers of nature.

It’s a three act opera, performed here without an interval in just over 100 minutes. And what a performance! As soon as the overture started I realized this would be musically entrancing, and Mark Wigglesworth as the conductor produced vivid sounds from the orchestra. When I saw this at the Royal Opera in July 2007, Janaček expert Charles Mackerras conducted superbly, but Wigglesworth’s interpretation was no less exciting, hitting the high points with great pathos. Added to that we had a wonderful Katya in Patricia Racette, whom I last saw as Butterfly in the recent production from the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Her singing was powerfully emotional and she gave a heart-rending portrayal of this distraught woman, so desperately in need of affection. It was altogether a strong cast with Susan Bickley as a very dominant Kabanicha, singing her speech melodies with a force to intimidate those around her. Stuart Skelton, whom I last saw at the ENO as Peter Grimes sang a very lyrical Boris, showing admirable weakness in his acting, Alfie Boe was also very lyrical as Kudrjaš, and Anna Grevelius was a delightfully flippant Varvara, adopted daughter of the Kabanicha, who draws Katya into the assignation that destroys her. John Graham-Hall performed well in the thankless role of Tichon, and Clive Bayley was excellent as the disagreeable merchant Dikoj. His stage presence was superb, as indeed it was when I last saw him as Bluebeard, and as the chaplain in Lucia, both at the ENO.

This was a new production by David Alden, and its spare sets and clever lighting by Adam Silverman worked very well for me. I particularly liked the use of shadows on the large wall that divides the stage. The only thing I found a little odd was the poster of the devil in Act III headed by the word proklyat’ in Cyrillic script, meaning curse or damnation — it seemed out of place, and the heading was not visible at the front of the Balcony.

But overall this dark and theatrically powerful opera is a must-see, and you would have to go a long way to find better singing or conducting — they were both virtually unbeatable.