Having done the impressionist reaction and the girlie squealie bit, it's time to do a proper serious review of the Royal Opera House's Die Walküre. Just to recap, I saw it twice at Covent Garden and once at the Albert Hall. Unless indicated the remarks apply to all performances, except that specific references to the production - sets, costumes, lighting, action - refer specifically to the staged productions at Covent Garden rather than the concert performance at The Proms.
I have been procrastinating about writing this. I am nervous that I lack the words to do it justice, and convinced that no words can convey my emotional, physical, visceral, spiritual reaction. I am scared that my review will take on Wagnerian proportions and will require 16 hours to get through!
Let's quickly deal with the bits I didn't like. The single worst aspect was the lighting. I tried to rationalise that my reaction to the lighting was an aspect of my squealing girlie self, sat in a not-great seat, I would have preferred less noir so that I could see my Plácido better. But then the intelligent, educated, mature me also thought that it was too noir. Yes, a bit of darkness for contrast, but stage lighting exists largely so that the paying customers in the darkened auditorium could see what was going on.
Production wise, I thought it much better than the ENO's version - I am now firmly convinced that their Valkyrie was their weakest link, and not merely a casualty of me being at the depth of CFS when I saw it. Although ENOs ride was better staged.
There were aspects of each Act I really hated. In Act I the worst aspect was the set. I don't really know why it started with Sieglinde in gentle repose halfway up the wall: surely as the victim of forced marriage and domestic violence she would have been in domestic slavery, not apparently watching Daytime TV. I was indifferent to the metal helix ash tree that dominated the set the first time, but I totally resented it the second time, especially because from where I was sitting, it more or less obscured Plácido for much of Winterstürme. I also thought the showering with Rose Petals was particularly lame.
The helix remained in the second Act set in Valhalla. I took this to be symbolic, showing the connection between the ash tree at Sieglinde's place and the tree from which Wotan fashioned his staff. But this also troubled me dramaturgically. I am not convinced that Valhalla was built round the tree; besides, why did Valhalla look so like the place the gods had assembled, and received the giants, and brought Alberich and the gold, before crossing the Rainbow bridge to Valhalla. I also disliked the fact that in the Second Act it was quite easy to see the conductor reflected off the rear wall. I thought this effect worked well in the mirrored ballroom in Un ballo in maschera; I felt it was unintended in Walküre, and as much as I love Tony Pappano, I did find this distracting during Wotan's confrontations with first Fricka and then Brunnhilde, and his monologue.
I found much of Act 3 irritating. I did not care for the Valkyries being propped with horse's skulls, and I found the actual Ride to be a bit symbolic. The single worst aspect was the revolving stage aspect, which Wotan pushed round and various Valkyries darted around.
But overall, the production was nothing like as bad as the critics had maintained (although I feel it looked better on the TV than in the theatre. Is that right? I don't know, but I guess it's the future with DVD being such a perfect medium for opera). As I said, I found it far preferable to ENO's - modern dress - version and also much preferable to the Met's version, available on DVD, and resembling a rather indifferent late-70s children's fantasy/adventure TV programme, exactly the sort of programming which caused me to detest fantasy/adventure stuff.
I loved the fact that this gave Siegmund ample opportunity for rolling around on the floor, on the kitchen table, on the ash tree...I do like rolling around, especially when done well. I will also concede that the furniture tossing was par excellence. But in my opinion a bit of tenorial rolling round tops baritonal furniture tossing. And of course, Wotan tossing the chaise-longue conveniently provided a sort of wind-break for the twins to have a bit more, er hum, intimacy.
I felt all the gentlemen handled their weapons magnificently. Hunding's melodramatic arrival, banging his axe into the table caused an amused reaction from the audience both times, and I missed it at the Prom. Wotan's spear, of course, wielded with macho godliness. And best of all, Siegmund's sword, won and named "Nothung" heroically and presented so nobly to Sieglinde as a bridal gift, and then shattered by that nasty Wotan. I just adored Siegmund's death, even though I was struggling to see it through my tears and my tear-streaked glasses.
And the Magic Fire was a masterful coup de theatre, finally justifying the silly helix thing as actual fire crept down the slide - reminiscent of Alberich's dinghy-powered slide into the Rhine at the beginning of Das Rheingold; then Wotan took the flame in his hand, and sent it shooting round Brunnhilde's rock, to that oh so beautiful music.
Ah, the music...! What a genius! Every picture tells a story, but every note every chord every leitmotif. From the opening strings of the storm to the final chords. Nearly four hours of glorious orchestration and evocation. Each act over an hour long, and each act through composed, no pauses for breath or applause. Absolutely marvellously well done to the sterling orchestra of the Royal Opera House. And a resounding Bravo to the magnificent Antonio Pappano. Some reviewers would take pride in pointing out the odd flubbed note here, the strange dischord there. And in twelve hours, yes, there were one or two. But overall, splendid!
There's part of me that would like to listen to an entire Ring in merely the orchestral version, and, certainly, recordings exist, at least in highlights forms. But then, how could one live without the fabulous singing, and the amazing story. Many years ago some silly fool announced pompously that Wagner is for the immature mind only. What nonsense! Every time I hear this piece - I hear something new. I got very excited when certain leitmotifs leaped out at me and I was able to say "Hey that's Wotan" or "That's Siegfried" or the Magic Fire Music. But if it was just a series of leitmotifs strung together it wouldn't be what it is. It's more than that; I can't explain it.
And then there's the singing. And the acting. How can the two be separated? On the phone to my nephew in Friday's second interval, he expressed surprise at this concept of singing and acting going together and almost stopped winding me up (ha! I jest, that will never stop...!)
We were blessed with a magnificent cast (in order of appearance):
Siegmund: Plácido Domingo
Sieglinde: Waltraud Meier
Hunding: Eric Halfvarson
Wotan: Bryn Terfel
Brünnhilde: Lisa Gasteen
Fricka: Rosalind Plowright
Gerhilde: Geraldine McGreevy
Ortlinde: Elaine McKrill
Waltraute: Claire Powell
Schwertleite: Rebecca de Pont Davies
Helmwige: Irene Theorin
Siegrune: Sarah Castle
Grimgerde: Claire Shearer
Rossweisse: Elizabeth Sikora
How can I single any one of them out?
I am sitting here trying to write a cold dispassionate objective review of the singers. And I simply cannot do it. there just wasn't a weak link. Of course, more experienced and expert listeners than me have made comparisons with great singers of the past, and found that this cast fell short. And so be it. They may be right; they may be influenced by the mists of nostalgia; they may be picking an ideal cast from a recording here and a recording there. None of that matters to me. This was the cast I heard and to me they were simply magnificent. I doubt I shall ever hear another cast this good. Certainly not in this opera. If I do, I shall have to count my blessings as manifold. I feel a bit like I did on 2 May 1997, when I was delirious with emotion at the knowledge of that magnificent General Election win, and simultaneously in mourning at the knowledge of never again in my lifetime. Just look at the comment that Chris left at Geraldine's blog
I think for weeks, months, years to come, I will keep having flashback memories of all those favourite moments. And oh so many. But it wasn't about the moments. It was about the overall effect. I feel a bit like Pavlov's Dog, almost as if I'm crying on order - a particular phrase comes and I'm blubbing. I have just watched Act 1 from what I recorded off the TV. I was utterly spellbound. Sitting on my sofa. Mesmerised as it moved inexorably to a fantastic climax. (Although I have to say that I did think Plácido looked a bit rough. Still cute, though...!)
I feel so privileged to have been to this at Covent Garden twice, to have seen it staged, and then to have been to that amazing night last night at the Albert Hall. And then to have it captured on my Sky+, soon to be transferred to video*
I have thought long and hard and I have decided that my absolute highlight was Winterstürme. Either from 8th July, or as performed on TV. I've now heard him sing this four times this year, and assume that he will again in Berlin on 6 August. I have a sneaking feeling that for the rest of my life I might just single this out as my favourite aria that he sings...!
And if there is one word to sum up this memorable and beautiful run, it has to be legato. Or bel canto.
*don't be entirely surprised if I buy a DVD-R very very very soon. Not that I can actually afford one, I'm pretty near broke, but the what the fuck, it's only money! And it's pay day a week on Friday - anyone got any advice on DVD-Rs?
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