Parsifal, Metropolitan Opera live cinema relay, 2 March 2013

A stunning performance with a wonderful cast under superb musical direction by Daniele Gatti could make for a series of tiresome superlatives, so I shall start with a more interesting observation.

Kundry, Parsifal, Gurnemanz, all images MetOpera/ KenHoward

This endlessly intriguing opera allows every production to bring out some new aspect. The brilliant Bayreuth production relates it to the history of Germany in the first half of the twentieth century, but this one by François Girard has a more ethereal nature in which I found myself drawing a comparison between Act II of Parsifal with Siegfried.

In that middle section, Evgeny Nikitin, whose body tattoos caused his last minute rejection as the Dutchman at Bayreuth this past summer, made an extraordinary Klingsor reminiscent of Alberich in Siegfried. Here was a magician who held power by his determination to thwart the world, but is being defeated by forces beyond his control. And as Katerina Dalayman’s seductive Kundry cast her spell over Jonas Kaufmann’s simple, yet nobly portrayed Parsifal, singing of a mother’s yearning and a mother’s tears, I almost expected him to burst out with O heil der Mutter, die mich gebar! (O hail to the mother who gave me birth). But this is not Siegfried. Parsifal has a hidden inner strength and finally bursts out with Amfortas! …, recalling his great mission to relieve the enduring pain and mortal failure of the king, and renew of land of the Grail.

In Act III as he blesses Kundry, allowing her to die in peace, and heals the wound of Peter Mattei’s agonized Amfortas, so he can do the same, the excellent lighting and video designs by David Finn and Peter Flaherty change the bleak landscape to one of warmth and sunrise. Everything is entsündigt und entsühnt (redeemed and atoned for), though the subtitles gave a very odd translation of the German at times.

The cinematography by Barbara Willis Sweete was exceptional, giving us a full stage picture with close-ups that never intruded to spoil the magic. In fact it enhanced the production in some places, as when Parsifal and Gurnemanz travel together to the Grail and we hear those wonderful lines Ich schreite kaum, doch wähn’ ich mich schon weit. Du siehst mein Sohn, zum Raum wird hier die Zeit (I scarcely step yet seem to move apace. You see, my son, here time is one with space). The camera views them from below, and manages the feat of rendering Gurnemanz larger than Parsifal.

As Gurnemanz, René Pape gave a performance of huge power, with fine diction. In Act I his expressions of emotion gave us a man who cares deeply for his beloved land of the Grail, and in Act III his sanctification of Parsifal was a sublime moment. The whole cast sang superbly, as did the chorus, and Carolyn Choa’s choreography for the Flower Maidens was attractively subdued and musical.

Good hosting by Eric Owens, who was a memorable Alberich in The Ring, and congratulations to the Met for this intelligent screening of Wagner’s final opera.

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.

Bayreuth Festival Retrospective, 2011

This year the Bayreuth Festival produced five different operas, opening with a new production of Tannhäuser, followed by four revivals: Meistersinger, Lohengrin, Parsifal, and Tristan, in that order.  I went to the first four, which included Katarina Wagner’s grotesque Meistersinger for which spare tickets were selling at half price, and no wonder. With a weak Walther this year it was even worse than I remembered. Tristan I avoided after the dull production and low quality performance of two years ago, so my sequence ended with Parsifal, which was stunning.

More on that later, but on opening night the Tannhäuser production team was roundly booed. Sebastian Baumgarten portrayed the opera as one vast recycling experiment, yet just behind me in the centre box sat Angela Merkel and Jean-Claude Trichet, who represent the main people in control of another huge experiment, namely the Euro. I wonder if they saw the irony. In the Euro experiment, Greece is in the Venusberg, and Elisabeth represents the Euro, but rather than seek redemption in Rome, the Greek government must journey to Berlin and Brussels. In Tannhäuser we know the result. He does not gain absolution for his sins of excess, but there is divine intervention. In the real experiment, Greece has now started its journey, but regardless of what the Euro gods eventually decide, the omnipotent power on high is the bond market. That’s worth remembering because although the higher power absolves Tannhäuser at the end of the opera, there’s a final denouement: both he and Elisabeth die.

What a pity the director of Tannhäuser made no use of this ominous comparison, so that left just two good productions, Lohengrin and Parsifal. In Hans Neuenfels’ Lohengrin production I liked the rats and video projections, which gave a novel insight into a Wagner opera I care for less than others, but the real punch was from Parsifal. Like many people I’m sceptical of unusual productions, but Norwegian director Stefan Herheim’s bold conception was remarkable. It gave an overview of German history from before the First World War until after the Second. The wound from the Treaty of Versailles, the sorcery that Nazism did to a weakened nation, the huge loss of prestige, and finally the cure from paralysis with the death of the old Germany in the person of Titurel. It was an experience not to be missed.

Fortunately Parsifal will reappear next year — see it if you can. It will be shown in the company of Tristan, Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, and a new production of Fliegende Holländer. As for the Ring, a new production will appear in 2013, the bicentenary of Wagner’s birth.

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.

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.

Prom 66, with Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic, 4 September 2010

“Mahler’s 11^th Symphony”, Rattle called the second half of this concert as he introduced it, requesting the audience not to interrupt with applause until all three works were over. The three compositions he was uniting under Mahler’s banner were Schönberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces, Webern’s Six Pieces for Orchestra, and Berg’s Three Pieces for Orchestra. The original versions of these works were composed in 1909, 1909–10, and 1913–15 respectively, bringing us from the midst of one of the most artistically creative periods in the life of Vienna, or anywhere else for that matter, to the appalling destruction of the First World War. These three compositions are not works I know well, and hearing them together in this way was a revelation. As far as I know, Rattle recorded the first two items on a CD along with Berg’s Lulu suite, played by the CBSO, but has not recorded the three works in this concert as a unit. I hope he does.

The first half of the concert — the Parsifal Prelude and the Four Last Songs of Richard Strauss — was less interesting, at least for me. I bow to no one in my admiration for Rattle’s conducting, particularly of twentieth century music, but Wagner is not so much his métier and I found the prelude to Parsifal surprisingly dreary. This is music I’ve heard many times, and for me the performance lacked dramatic intensity. The Strauss was well sung by Karita Mattila, after a wobbly start, and I understand she’s giving a concert at the Wigmore Hall in a few days’ time. That venue is surely better for Lieder, but in the vast spaces of the Albert Hall her voice did not come through as well as I had hoped, though she sounded much better on the BBC recording.

Watching it on television later, I heard the announcer referring to the Berlina Philharmonica (sic). I wish the BBC would either use English pronunciation (Berlin Philharmonic) or say the German correctly (Berliner Philharmoniker), rather than falling between two stools.