Teach Me To Love Parsifal

Some twenty years ago someone wrote me with a most unusual request. He’d read a lot of my postings in various groups over the years (from the old days of Prodigy, RecMusicOpera, Opera-L, etc.) and noticed my obsession with a few operas, but one in particular he was intrigued by, but could not get past a lot of his issues with it. Then he ended his request with the simple words: Teach me to love Parsifal.

Yeah, my head exploded. How does one begin to teach anyone anything, much less a complex, strange opera that so many have difficulty with? I began a series of posts and ramblings I feared would put him off, but it did the opposite. He became even more intrigued and gave in and went on the journey to Montsalvat willingly. I wish I kept the correspondence from him, but the email address I had is no longer active, and the only thing I remember is that his name was John. I wish I had his name because by asking that seemingly simple question, John got me to put down in words things about this opera I’d always felt, and frequently spoke of, but had never committed to paper (or rather the virtual equivalent of paper). Here is the first response of the several I’d sent him. I’ve fixed a few typographical errors and tenses, but essentially it’s unchanged from the original.

_________

Very interesting request, John. Parsifal is my favorite of all operas. It hit me early on as a boy without my even understanding “why.” I was made fun of through half my youth because Parsifal was, by nearly everyone I knew, considered a bore . . . even a joke: a long, boring opera with less action than Tristan. " As I've grown older, Parsifal seems to have caught on much more than when I was young (or, more likely, I’ve just been exposed to more folk like myself) and where it once seemed to be a rare bird to produce for most houses, it seems to pop up all over these days.

There are a handful of works which, from their very opening notes, seize my entire being, and the first Vorspiel to Parsifal is at the top of a very short list. As Wagner begins it - and he does more than any other composer I know - oh, so quietly, as though summoning us to the call, almost requiring us to lean forward in our seats in order just to even hear it. And . . . when we do, it feels as though we've entered into the middle of a thing that’s already begun.  There is a sense of aural mystery that begins here to weave itself and draw us into another realm. Then (for at least some of us) come the tears. Full confession: I've given up even trying to hold them back, as such a battle shifts my attention to a place - a self-awareness which means it takes me away from the music. I want to be completely . . . entirely absorbed by fascinating thing. And so, I cry.

Perhaps I'm not the proper one to respond to your request, since I'm often accused of being in the Cult of Parsifal (which is not nearly so offensive as being labeled a Callas Widow – though, either term is a bit ridiculous and gives me a dose of the creeps). But I do freely admit Parsifal is an obsession and, as with any marvelous obsession, I am eternally intrigued by every aspect of it: the more I think I know it, the more I realize how much more there is to discover.

The character of Parsifal himself undergoes one of the more amazing transformations in opera. Merely reading the libretto, or looking at it pragmatically (not recommended) or from a structurally analytical perspective, it can and does seem static, even a bit on the ridiculously simple side. In Parsifal nothing happens - and then everything changes to become . . . the same. But, if one exercises patience, takes the time to examine the development of not just Parsifal's character – but the manner in which Wagner has all of the characters evolve, one just may find himself (as I do still), astounded. Completely.

There have always been complaints regarding Parsifal: the music is overly long for the minimal amount of words carved into the libretto . . . not enough movement or action either onstage, or in the score itself. These are but two often lobbed at Wagner’s final work, and yet, if one allows themselves to take it all in - in its own time, there are countless discoveries to be made . . . endless subtleties to discover in Wagner’s musical treatment of his own text, and how precisely, how perfectly, he sets it.

When we first meet him, Parsifal's speech is almost a stammer; he is coltish, abrupt, one might even say, unmusical. And so it remains until, by the end of the Act, after the conclusion of the first Grail ceremony, he is subdued by what he’s witnessed, completely overwhelmed. He is, in fact, rendered speechless and by this we see his being simultaneously divided between being both perplexed, and awestruck. Gurnemanz, frustrated at this silence, misunderstands, and berates his stupidity – but then, a voice from above reiterates the prophecy we've previously heard heard several times earlier:

Durch Mitleid wissend, der reine Tor 

(the King (and thus, the realm) will be healed by an innocent fool made wise through compassion.)

In the second act, we again hear the stammer-like element of Parsifal's speech, but added to it now is a sense of awe, as understanding and comprehension become clear to the hero. Ever the dramatic genius, Wagner achieves this effect by having Parsifal repeating certain words: Die Wunde! Die Wunde! . . .  Kläge! Kläge! . . . Oh! Oh! . . . Hier - heir!, etc, Through this, he allows the singer an opportunity, with each reiteration, to increase the intensity of emotion. In doing this, Wagner amps up everything in a manner that transforms the youth from dullard to enlightenment before our very eyes . . . and by using our ears.
By the end of the act the all of the young knight’s experiences have led to a genuine epiphany, and Wagner has given us us a front row seat to witness this miracle of Parsifal's awakening.

With that awakening comes his ability to know, to comprehend, and fully grasp the tragedy that befell not only Amfortas, but the entire brotherhood of the Knights.

During the duet that anchors this act - an intense exchange between Kundry and Parsifal - something extraordinary happens. Something that I believe is musically and dramatically unique in the entirety of opera, for here there is an intimacy typically reserved for operas more romantic or carnal, and yet Wagner has now transferred those elements into the spiritual realm, which should not be confused with the religious. So, "Don’t do that!" we think, but we need to just give in to Wagner here, for if we allow ourselves to go there, we too are immediat ely caught up in what is so revelatory in this moment: Parsifal's discovery of understanding . . . of compassion,  And it is soul searing. Wagner has invited us to witness the emerging of this empathy which will redeem the fallen Amfortas, heal his wound, and restore order, bringing peace to the suffering community of the Knights of Montsalvat.

One can, of course, mine the work for its rich symbolism which lends itself to as many interpretations as there are people. One can't begin to count the number of  books or papers about those - and I've devoured many of them over the years. But let's stay here for a moment. As we begin the first transformation scene, Parsifal states:

Ich schreite kaum, doch wähn' ich mich schon weit

(I scarcely move, yet already seem to have travelled far.)

Well, if that doesn't just prompt Gurnemanz to utter what is, for me, the greatest single line in in all of opera:

Du siehst, mein Sohn, zum Raum wird hier die Zeit.

(You see my son, time here becomes space.)

By bringing in the time/space continuum, Wagner has opened up an entirely new can of worms. He has introduced another dimension to the experience, and now, an element of the transcendental has inextricably woven itself into the tale. And it blows my mind every single time, no matter how many times I watch and listen to this opera. 

Then there is the character of Kundry - Wagner's fascinating distillation of a handful of women from the various Grail legends. I have written a lot about Kundry (who I consider the most fascinating character Wagner ever created) but will spare you this at the moment. But be prepared, she is coming.

I haven’t even begun to go into the third act and, despite all these words  I've spilled onto the page, have truly barely touched the tip of the particular iceberg that is Parsifal.  Nonetheless I hope I've provided some semblance of why I love it so much, and why it’s been an obsession of mine since boyhood. 

I will end here by saying this: if we are willing to tune into Wagner's sensibilities, take them as is  on their own (or his own)  . . . if we allows the entirety of it to wash over us , so to speak, the rewards truly are truly endless,  And yes:  time here does indeed become space.

Lyric Opera's opening night broadcast of Parsifal.

I sincerely hope others were able to tune this past Friday night for Lyric's premiere of their new "Parsifal" by Richard Wagner. There was some thoroughly beautiful singing in what sounds like (at least based upon the descriptions, photos and previews I watched) a tremendous and well thought out production with some magical theatrical effects.

For the naysayers, Paul Groves was (as I expected) the very model of a lyric Parsifal, almost consistently lovely with a fine and thoroughly moving interpretation of the role. There were many well thought out touches and nuances to his singing all night long. Though I only got to hear the radio broadcast, I have heard from a number of friends in attendance last night that Groves was heard just fine in that big house.

Daveda Karanas was a fine, feminine sounding Kundry, sounding more like a young woman than world weary curse victim usually portrayed in the first act. Unfortunately, in the upper reaches of the role in Act 2's great duet, she revealed about as short a top a singer can have and still be labelled a "mezzo." The sounds there were unpleasant, white-sounding shrieks, best quickly hit and forgotten.

Kwangchul Yung once again proved himself to be a Gurnemanz of the highest order, easily in the company of any singer of this role I've heard before him or currently singing it today (and I'm predisposed towards thinking several older singers "own" this role. It was simply gorgeous singing, full of emotion and gorgeous tone. Bravo!

Thomas Hampson was not having his best night, but still as he can usually be relied upon, delivered a touching portrayal of the tortured Amfortas.

Sir Andrew had the orchestra in mostly fine form (some expected brass glitches, etc.) and while no one complained, I did feel he could have used a bit more sweep and less grandeur at times to move things along (most notably during the 2nd transformation scene music). The chorus sounded lovely, particularly so during the opening of the first Grail scene and the operas hushed, closing, mystical moments.

If I could get to Chicago any time soon, I'd be so there!

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.