A PARSIFAL IN BERGEN: Some Thoughts

 

Opera in concert is always an interesting pursuit that offers possibilities distinct from traditionally staged opera.  On the one hand, performances in an opera house are (generally) exactly what the composer had in mind when setting his or her libretto to music. This is true regardless of the type of staging, be it so called "traditional" or "regie": singers in costume, directed on a stage with sets, props, lighting design and all of the other accoutrement we typically associate with a night at the opera.  Concert opera, in and of itself, at least until more recent decades, rarely veered from singers in evening attire (i.e., gowns and tuxedos/tails) more frequently than not reading from scores and (mostly) immobile, standing in front of the orchestra, which would take up most of the stage.  

Over the last twenty years or so, we have witnessed an increasing amount of performances combining elements of both; old-fashioned "stand and sing" concert performances, along with theatrical components in the form of acting, costumes sometimes with, and sometimes without props (which are generally kept to a minimum). This hybrid, instead of limiting the effectiveness of either tradition, has the potential to elevate both. With economic downturns, particularly beginning with the Aughts, then continuing through COVID, the budgets of nearly every performing arts organization have been slashed and companies disbanded. The "concert staging" of opera offers opera companies, as well as symphony orchestras, to make a mark, to, with less financial resources, find creative ways to present grand opera. The results are, naturally, mixed, but when it works, boy howdy is it effective..

Such was the case with Norway's Bergen Philharmonic when yesterday they presented - and streamed worldwide - a concert staging of Wagner's final opera, "Parsifal."  The excellent orchestra took up about 90 percent of the stage, with a smallish platform behind the conductor that held a few pieces: a table, some chairs (which were arranged and rearranged according to staging necessities by the singers themselves), and a large settee for the central act.  Costumes by Cathrine Ahlsen were a broad combination of jeans, plaid shirts, hoody, sweaters, military uniforms, with a knock-out white silk brocade Nehru suit for the hero during the final scene.  There were flowery print dresses, and headdresses for the Blumenmädchen, basic black for the Grail Knights,  Throw in a wheelchair and beret for Titurel, a flowered drape over the settee to represent the magic garden, a spear and the Grail, and that was pretty much all there was.  Minimalism to perfection.  

In the hands of Nicolai Riise, a director with vision, and in the voices of a sublime cast, everything one could want from a Parsifal was present.  Additionally, the orchestra, so vitally important in opera, but especially in Wagner, being seen onstage, became part of the fabric of the staging itself; not invisible as Wagner intended, but an element that added rather than distracted. The experience was, we imagine, a bit different for the in-house audience than it was for the home viewer (which is always the case) as we at home were offered spectacular camera angles, close-ups, and arresting overhead shots from the multiple cameras. When we caught glimpses of Maestro Edward Gardner, he seemed both completely in control of the entire venture, while at the same time almost transfixed and transfiguring throughout the performance.

British bass, Rindley Sherratt seemed a wise, already world-weary Gurnemanz from the start, but then with flashes of passion of purpose. The voice was rich, resonant and glorious throughout the first act's long narratives and his exchanges with Kundry and the young fool Parsifal made for moving theatre. This was especially true in the pre-Transformation exchange as he attempts to describe what the Grail is and does. He was equally effective in the final act, and if the Good Friday scene sounded a bit more strained or tired in its upper regions, it, to me, did not matter as his singing was still of such beauty and imbued with emotion revealing the hope for what was to come. 

 

Ricarda Merbeth's Kundry was appropriately fiery, fierce when called for, with beautiful hints of vulnerability. It is a bigger-voiced Kundry than we often hear now in the role, and I loved the sound, and it's always fun to have a singer not afraid to scream and laugh where indicated, which is something we rarely hear anymore. 

I feared Johann Reuter was not up to Amfortas and in Scene 1, the sound was terse and unfocused, leaving me nervous for his big scene later in the act. Fortunately, the voice sounded almost entirely different, richer, smoother and even. It was an interesting and unusual acting choice, this Amfortas more bitter and skeptical, indeed, laughing at the end of the ceremony, which added a chilling dimension to the role; a sort of doubting Thomas, if you will.

Stuart Skelton had some physical and (unintentional) acting awkwardness in Parsifal's first scene, but the way the role is written, so does just about every tenor (the memory of an unwigged, gray-haired 63 year old Domingo comes immediately to mind), but his expressive face, physical reactions to all around him, and most importantly, the voice, added into an admirable and powerfully moving turn as the wayward youth and future king. 

 Ólafur Sigurdarson had a field day as Klingsor, looking almost like a cross between a pimp and Wotan, offering a brightness of tone not usually associated with the great evil one. He made for, if I dare say it, a fun villain in one of the most serious works ever penned. His Flower Maidens at their first appearance had the feel of a special Spring Spectacular of "Call the Midwife" in their flowery frocks and flowered coronets, the Jackboots adding yet another oddly marvelous touch. They sang like angels and in their limited space, swayed with ease if not elegance as they attempted to seduce their prey.

There were many marvelous directorial touches by Nicolai Riise that would have worked as perfectly (I think) in a fully staged Parsifal. The final scene finds Klingsor and his girls running and kneeling before King Parsifal, who in a powerfully moving (if controversial) gesture raises Klingsor up, the symbol of ultimate forgiveness.  Already being choked up, I must admit to this putting me over the edge emotionally.  I love when that happens.  Monika Jägerová as The Voice From Above gets to be seen for a change, here as white gowned angel, who appears again in the final pages, as Parsifal relinquishes the Grail to Kundry (who holds it aloft, the crimson glow bathing her finally serene face), and gives Parsifal the Dove of Peace.

Ivar Skjørestad's lighting designs added a sense of time passing, and nice effects like the lightning flashes at Klingsor's stormy entrance. 

This was, for me, a Parsifal of profound power and beauty drawing me in both through its minimal theatrical magic and its magnificent music making.