The lights went down and Antonio Pappano was cheered to the podium. The curtain opened to reveal John Tomlinson as Wotan performing an act very close to furniture abuse - rifling through a pile of books on the floor and flinging them away. I presume this is Valhalla,, although it bears an uncanny resemblance to The Hundings' place back on earth. I suppose this retrospectively underlines Hunding's religious devotion, perhaps this included careful perusal of the Ancient Norse Mythological version of Hello magazine. There was the same table, set exactly as it had been in Act I, with even the overturned chair in the same position. The chaise longue was also there, now upended. At the back we saw a smashed window, on the left hand wall at the back was a lopsided bookcase. Wotan's pile of books was in the centre of the stage, next to a hole in the ground, similar to that which had led from his old gaffe to Nibelheim, and perhaps most importantly, the double helix, its lowest horizontal being the roots of the ash tree of life. And there was red rope.
I proceeded to get an attack of the stupids in quite spectacularly brain-dead style. I was confused by the music, which sounded a bit like the Ride of the Valkyries, and there were various Valkyries dancing around. I actually thought for a moment that somehow I had missed Act II and we were actually in Act III. How likely was that to happen? Then Wotan addressed Brunnhilde - Lisa Gasteen - and told her to saddle her horse and ride off into battle to ensure the Wälsung wins. I snapped to, and realised that of course it was Act II. We see Brunnhilde being playful and carefree, her 'Hojotoho's prompted by Wotan's playful goading with his spear.
Next, the interminable scene between Wotan and Fricka. It's quite a difficult scene because it is extremely important dramatically, explaining why Wotan has to behave the way he does, the nature of the relationship between Wotan and Fricka, his wife and the goddess of marriage, and a discourse on free will. But nothing actually happens, the vocal writing is possibly the least interesting in the entire opera, and it was not especially beautiful listening.
Rosalind Plowright portrayed Fricka convincingly, but I just didn't find her voice particularly attractive. John T is dramatically and physically the incarnation of Wotan, but parts of his voice are totally shot to pieces. I did pause to consider that Bryn Terfel would have sounded like in the role (I have heard him sing it three times) and while I will concede that if he had been bothered to turn up he would have hit every note and on pitch and sounded beautiful, but Bryn Who? wasn't missed by the occupant of my seat. Sir John T did a marvellous job of covering up for the areas where his voice is past its best. In some passages, rather than sing, he declaimed in a way that was not speaking, not parlando, and certainly not singing, but, you know, it really worked. And throughout, his acting was total and intense.
Fricka left and Brunnhilde arrived for what seems like a very long scene. I have a very weird habit, or talent, or weakness of managing to be awake and asleep simultaneously. So, I can be fully aware of what is going on on stage and yet have absolutely no control over what is going on in my head, so I am watching the action, listening to the music, incapable of reading the surtitles and unable to intellectualise what I can sense, whilst totally unconnected thoughts, scenarios and hallucinations are flashing uncontrolled through my mind. It is different from when I am falling asleep and is different again from when I am actively day-dreaming or fantasising. So I can't tell you a great deal about that scene, although reading through the libretto tells me I didn't actually miss any of it, never actually drifted away.
I came dramatically back to a state ofcompos mentis when Wotan dramatically issued the curse onto the son of the Nibelung, and was witness to the poignant dialogue when Wotan, against his own will, orders Brunnhilde to ensure the death of Siegmund, in accordance with Fricka's decree and against the will of Brunnhilde herself (but she has no free will, anyway).
Dramatic music heralds the return of Sieglinde and Siegmunde, hauling themselves though the wilds of the Rhineland and across the stage with only the red rope, which Brunnhilde had attached to the chaise longue, to guide them. The exchange between them is intimate and sad; the love between them is true, but wrong, and doomed.
The most amazing music of the evening creates a palpable frisson around the theatre as an orchestral interlude introduces the second great scene of the opera. I'm not sure whether it's quite correct to describe Brunnhilde's comment as a Chat-up Line, perhaps more of a come-on, indeed, literally, a summoning of Siegmund to accompany her Nur Todgeweihten taugt mein Anblick; wer mich erschaut der scheidet vom Lebenslicht., basically,whoever gazes on me is doomed to die...I can't quite remember the exact translation used in the surtitle, but it sends a chill through me every time, and definitely qualifies as one of the better invitations of the evening.
It's an extraordinary scene, one that is given poignancy by being acted with utter dignity, poise and restraint, the slow question and answer, that makes me well up with tears as I write about it, his hope that in Valhalla he will find his father (still not realising that his father Walse is in fact Wotan in disguise, that Brunnhilde is also his sister); and the dignity and heartbreak of "So grüsse mir Walhall, grüsse mir Wotan..." Unfortunately, this was not the vocal highlight of the evening, and, with hysterical over-reaction being not just my forte but also my default mode, I actually thought for one ghastly moment "this is the end of a long and beautiful career". The next phrase was long and very beautiful, and I breathed again. He recovered well, and when he got to "Zwei Leben lachen dir hier: nimm sie, Notung" he was powerful, dramatic, amazing. But in that passage, one of my very favourite, he had sounded strained and struggling, a bit phlegmy, perhaps not helped by singing in a kneeling position.
After that scene the final scene is almost a let-down, as if it was almost an afterthought by Wotan - fling in a Mad Scene from Sieglinde, but a bit of a half-hearted one; oh, better make sure we kill off that Walsung Boy, who's now a dramatic inconvenience. As I wrote in a previous post, I do get a secret pleasure (okay, not so secret because I've written in on the internet on a blog that's getting a lot of search requests today for 'Die Walküre' - patience, please...) from that death scene. A small dramatic device which speaks volumes is when Wotan pauses to look at the corpse of Siegmund, conveying regret, sorrow, knowledge that his own days are limited. Very clever...
Blinking again into the light, a dash to the Ladies, where I discover my mascara has streaked all down my face...hmm, how did that happen...and then outside onto Floral Street, which, to my surprise, is all dark. Damned clock changes.
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