Thinking 'bout Parsifal . . . again (and again)

I’ve been in some interesting discussions, thoughts and reactions to Parsifal - perhaps my favorite opera of all (in actuality it’s a permanent “toss up” between this Grail story, Elektra, Wozzeck, Pelleas & Traviata . . . an odd mix, yes?) but it’s definitely my favorite work from Herr Wagner. From the moment I first heard the opening Vorspiel (I was, I believe 14) I've been under its spell (Good Friday or otherwise!) ever since.

One of the comments was that the work is too sad – unrelievedly so. I have to agree; few operas other outside of Parsifal (Don Carlos and Wozzeck come to mind) possess such an ineffable sadness and this fact seems to disturb and even alienate many. As a child surrounded by a lot of death, I long ago discovered sadness to perhaps be the most complete and honest realization of "beauty.” Sadness isn’t necessarily “hopeless” (though some would see it only this way); it doesn't scrimp or pretend the ugliness and pain away but rather shows it is inherent in all truth and beauty. In sadness one tends to recall things – to hearken back and reflect on more than mere joy – but on everything. I find this to be one of the chief strengths of Parsifal’s magic.

While the work is of course illusory, it presents no illusions, and in its artifice not a false moment shows. Wagner, gives us a handful of truly remarkable characters – almost the entire panoply of humanity. Parsifal, Kundry, Gurnemanz, and Amfortas are all immensely flawed, yet all good people trying to find their way. Even the “evil” Klingsor coveted membership to the Grail Knights, and his sin – egregious and ultimately damning as it was – was done to help him achieve this. Interestingly, Amfortas' own wound was a direct result of his own dalliance and broken vow, (and fraught with symbolism that STILL can confound one’s reason!) It’s always been fascinating to me how Amfortas remains Grail royalty, while the same “sin” keeps ol’ Klingsor out of Ye Ol’ Boys’ Club.

All of these characters seem to be wandering endlessly (in Kundry’s case, literally), almost as though spirits of one realm endlessly longing to belong to another.

As I moved through my teens and young adulthood, Parsifal was always (always!) made fun of, e.g., “I just got the best seats for Parsifal – they’re at Fiorello’s” (restaurant across the street from the Met”), etc., always dismissed as too static – “five hours of nothingness,” etc., etc. I never got that (even when I didn’t understand the opera) having always been fascinated by totality of Wagner’s achievement, his application of its music to his own borrowings of various Grail legends. Nonetheless, I accept that this is an opera more of ideas than one of action, and those who need love scenes, sword fights, crossed-identities, etc., and other (perfectly desirable) operatic trappings, simply will never cotton to it, and I’m okay with that. (I, years ago, gave up my juvenile and slightly creepy mission to make everyone adore it as I do; you’re welcome!)

Wade mentioned how there seems to be no relief or release in Parsifal but I find that Wagner DOES offer it – particularly (and repeatedly) through the outer acts.

I find this the perfect opera (for me) for so many reasons because while it is an entertainment, it also offers what I desire most: a great ol’ brain scrambling allegory mixing variations of ancient legends, elements of spirituality both primeval and modern, and music that is frequently beautiful beyond adequate verbal description.

Yes, this is an opera that demands to be paid attention to and those who find it boring are merely torturing themselves unless willing to pay that attention. Doing so, reveals Wagner at a level of text setting that, though frequently achieved in other works is rarely sustained as well as it is in Parsifal (at least in my estimation – which of course means nothing to anyone else – nor should it).

Wagner is accused of bastardizing the grail legends, and that is a little, if not entirely correct. Wagner of course changes Amfortas’ parentage (Titurel is actually his grandfather, not his daddy), and while Herr Wagner does acknowledge Parsifal’s mother to be Herzeleide, he obfuscates completely the fact she is also Amfortas’s sister – and therefore Parsifal his nephew! (I told you I was a grail nerd!)

Still, if we accuse Wagner of bastardizing the legend, so then must we also damn Wolfram von Eschenbach, Chretien de Troyes, De Boron, Malory, et al., for their doing the same with these ancient legends (and who is “right? in such matters? The first? I don’t’ think so.) In changing up the story, Wagner gave us libretto that perfectly fits the drama he bestowed us with, just as his raiding of various Norse and other myths suited his purposes for his “Ring of the Nibelung,” and just WHO is going to dare complain about THAT?

Parsifal will always hold a special place in my heart. While others of my favorite operas offer catharsis (Elektra) or tragic romance (Traviata) in no other opera does the music bring me back so completely to the innocence purity and ultimate tragedy that is childhood. In this score Wagner paints amazing life-sized murals filled with shadows and fog lifting from countryside streams, scenes in which one can all but smell spices from the far and near east; view misty shafts of light beaming throughout a hidden, secret mountain temple, ceremonial martial music that itself seems bathed in mystical, celestial light, brings hope out of sorrow and ends with the possibility of redemption for all.

Of course when can cite Klingsor as “irredeemable” – in the sense he plays the “devil’s role” in this drama. Nonetheless, one can have (as I discovered as a child) a genuine “sympathy for the devil” – even this devil. Still, Klingsor needs no redemption since Wagner sees fit to conveniently dispose of him once he’s served his purpose and moved the story forward. But what is so marvelous about Parsifal is – that outside of Klingsor – everyone is redeemed, including (as the text tells us) “The Redeemer,” - \Oh, how those words when sung in that final chorus, stir and move me.

When people speak of the power of art (in all its guises) and its ability to move us, nothing comes to my mind more instantly than Wagner’s glorious Grail legend.

Parsifal: Haitink's Triumphant Return!

When I had heard Bernard Haitink returned to the world of opera, in one of my favorite works, for release on DVD, there was no question I'd snatch it as soon as it was released, and so, I did.

Unfortunately, the affair is a mixed big, but the reward at the end is huge and, ultimately, worth it.

Musically, most of this Parsifal is exquisite. Haitink's utter control over the Zurich forces is nothing less than remarkable - the orchestral playing as good as it gets. His shaping of the music - particularly in the first and third acts, is often breathtaking, with that shimmering sound one always imagines but doesn't always get to hear.

There is almost a Mozartean quality to Hatink's Wagner - a lightness of touch in those sections that sometimes in other hands comes off simultaneously as dense and soft and just "supporting" when they are as important as breath itself. Several moments: Gurnemanz's lengthy monologues, Amfortas's great Act III solo and Parsifal's entrance into the third act grail ceremony are as beautiful as anything I've ever heard. Almost heartstopping really. I was a bit let down with the introduction music for Act II, Haitink makes it sound too clean and well scrubbed, when this is fierce, demonic music - as violent as anything Wagner ever penned and here it lacks that threatening quality I
always expect (and usually get, if sometimes sloppily so).

The singing is mostly top drawer. Pride of place goes to both Messrs. Ventris and Salminen for roles they have become almost exclusively identified with at this stage in the opera world. Salminen's great arias are dispatched with such gentle authority that one almost feels comforted by his gentle giant presence from whence pours that glorious, rich soulful sound. He's amazing. Ventris has a crisp, marvelously youthful sound that is perfect in this role, particularly his third act.

Yvonne Naef has problems at Kundry's highest range - most of those notes are either shrieked out unpleasantly, or barely touched and let go. It's a pity because the rest of her range is exquisite, singing with such emotional intensity and beauty - and her involvement with the role and stage presence is the best of the entire cast. If you don't mind a few misplaced screeches, her Kundry (in my opinion) is comparable to Meier (who seems to get all the Kundry gigs these days).

Vocally, Michael Volle is about as perfect an Amfortas as one could ever want. His big moment in the third act for me was possibly the highlight of the entire evening. He is simply marvelous.

The chorus is mindboggingly good; almost as though the angels in heaven had a day off and decided to spend it in Zurich. Seriously.

The problem comes with Hans Hollmann's production. It is one of those affairs that got me so rattled at the beginning that I had to turn it off to calm myself down because I couldn't hear the music anymore. I'm not proud of that statement as I think one of my few good qualities is to look past that which bothers me and try to take in the whole. I couldn't do it. It took three tries before I could watch the first act without clenching both teeth and fist.

The first and third act take place in a classroom in a boys' school. The enormity of the stage is almost bare, save for a couple of "desks" that rise and fall from the stage floor, and the now required, handful of awkwardly placed wooden chairs. The word "wasser" is projected in light on a scrim on the rear stage wall in enormous letters, then is repeated in smaller letters around the scrim. ???? Later "Blut" and other words will appear - (in act II "Blut" fills the entire rear wall in red theatre marquis lights).

The costumes by Dirk von Bodisco are the worst I can recall seeing. The "boys" all in gray trousers, matching double breasted vests and feminine shirts. Some of the older men (like Gurnemanz) all look like Captain von Trapp (as does Parsifal throughout the final act). Kundry is in a black power pantsuit, her short locks sporting a lengthier styled Channel pageboy.

Almost everyone is blind, and the great entrance of the Grail Knights following the transformation music (wherein Parsifal and Gurnemanz merely walk in place shifting from side to side in a terribly leaden pantomime of motion), finds the knights gingerly moving about the stage with blind men's canes and faces devoid of a single emotion. They also carry what looks to be dinner plate sized cheeseburgers (we later realize they're just giant bread rolls for the communion service to follow).

The Knights line up, showboy style, facing stage left, turning their faces to sing that glorious music to the audience. Awkward? You betcha. Oh, throughout the show, Amfortas is wheeled about on a large gurney, but standing up Hannibal Lecter style. He rises from the gurney to conduct the Grail ceremony. Then something happens and director Hollmann produces a scene of such exquisite beauty, the grail ceremony itself becoming one of the most beautiful images one can imagine for this scene. It is truly stunning and mighty in its power.

Act II finds the stage plunged in darkness, a giant pentagram and five tall candlesticks (which Klingsor later places at the points of the pentagram). There is a ladder and a giant mirrored disc (we can see Haitink in it at one point). Kundry is on the other side of the disk. Rolf Haunstein sounds fairly old and tired as Klingsor and Hollmann's actions for him almost define the word "cliche." As he sings, a number of figures are seen in at the rear of the stage, blind men stumbling along - with buckets on their heads? I think that's
what I saw.

The Flower Maidens are blind as well (and blindfolded to prove the point). Gotten up unattractively in metallic bustiers and long, shapeless black skirts, they do little before producing large plastic squares in over bright, flourescent primary colors that they wave about. A few of them drop theirs. Later Kundry (now in an unfortunate sequined black gown with an enormous inset of garrish sequined colors - red, green, blue - her hair now long and plum colored) picks up one of these colored squares and almost seems to be
reading the score from it. Parsifal takes it and stares at it in wonder and amazement, the idea being the non-colored side of these big squares is a mirror that reveals the past. Or something like that.

As Klingsor reappears to wound the lad with the spear, the spear - an enormous pipelike th ing slowly shoots from the rear stage wall high above Parsifal's head. He raises his hand and "pretends" to grasp it, though it's still a few feet above him. A big red tube clumsily descends from the flies and moves toward's Parsifal who stands beneath. Since there is no magic kingdom to cause to crumble, a rear scrim opens and we see the FlowerMaidens collapse to the floor. It's better with your eyes closed.

The final act looks as awful as the first, but ends just as spectacularly, moving me to tears. There is a mute young man in all three acts and we find him in Act III dragging the stiff lifeless body (with legs in the air) of one of the pages from the opening act. Mute Boy stares at the audience making horrified looks of terror and pain on his face. It's too, too much. Kundry, having been asleep for a year or so - unnoticed by Gurnemanz in his classroom, leaves and returns in a nun's habit. And on and on it goes. BUT then, Hollmann works theatrical magic and the simplicity of the final grail ceremony, is shattering, just perfect. And Haitink, Wagner and company match the stunning visual in
breathtaking fashion.

If you can put up with the stilted silliness of about two-thirds of this, the payoff is a spectacular one. I'm a little uncertain, but I almost feel this is one of those performances that might have been better released only in audio format as I can know there are people who will never make it to the end of this. I'm glad I did.

Thoughts on Kundry

It’s no secret that Parsifal is in my “top 5” when it comes to “favorite operas (not an easy category).

I was therefore, a little incensed when someone suggested to me that the role of Kundry makes only a meager contribution to the opera, that basically she is “limited to the second act” – and therefore could easily be relegated to a “non-entity” type of singer – “or someone just starting out.” He asked “Does Kundry matter?”

Naturally, I couldn’t have disagreed more. I cited Kundry as being one of the most fascinating, perplexing, and ultimately touching roles any singer could want. Not only in each act does she appear creature transformed, but actually transforms before us – an operatic shapeshifter.

The Act I wild woman in no way prepares us for the sultry seductress who of Act II, who is more – far more – than merely a singing siren. Kundry must make us feel her pain, and a good one always earns the sympathies of the audience, putting across her anguish and torture. There is a regality, a superiority over Parsifal as she attempts to entice him and produce the same results she has for centuries – the same way she helped ruin Amfortas.

I have always found her opening screams in the second act to be the ultimate horror of one waking who realizes they are still alive when they would rather be anything but. Then, after all of the blustery chatter and exoticism of the Blumenmadchen, Kundry remerges with her second entrance of the act, and following her "Parsifal Weile!" . . . well, what follows that entrance is simply mindboggling – one of the most powerful, lengthy duets in all of Wagner. In short order Kundry tells Parsifal of Herzeleide’s demise, comforts him, falls in love with him (as best she is able) then alternates between disgust, heartbreak, contempt and longing. Talk about conflicted! All the while, Kundry is simultaneously attempting to continue Klingsor's dirty work, yet, something of the innocent fool really has caught her fancy, captured her even. In that capture she longs for him to – and believes he can - save her, release her from this endless life: Redeemed.

(I always think here, E. Marty ain't got nothing on Kundry!)

What makes all of this even more interesting (to me at least!) is Parsifal possesses pretty much the same conflicts within himself as Kundry. As an audience, Wagner lets us in on something – and we realize Kundry has taught Parsifal a lesson which he doesn't even realize. It’s brilliant really, what Wagner does here. He has woven around this complex, bizarre twisted tale of carnality, rage, torment and hope, one of the great duets in all of
opera: a perfect union of text and music. As bizarre as this may sound, when listening (or watching and listening) to this duet I often forget I'm listening to music at all – my life, my psyche, inextricably linked - intertwined with the experience of Parsifal and Kundry – shutting out entirely the rest of the world and whatever it may hold.

(Okay, I’ve calmed down).

Kundry’s third act can provide a fine singing actress with a most remarkable and rewarding challenge. With almost nothing to sing, she is a major presence, her “silent actions as important to Wagner’s drama as all of Gurnemanz’s endless pronouncements on nature, and forgiveness and redemption. Wagner saw Kundry's role as absolutely necessary in this tale and ultimately, her redemption is, equal to every other element of the opera. No matter how far out the staging may be, we hear it in the music. After hours of conflict, mystery, confusion, rejection, Kundry’s tortured soul finally finds release, and so do we.

So, once again: Does Kundry matter? Hell yeah!

p.