Liceu's Powerful TRISTAN und ISOLDE

The Liceu mounted - and blessedly recorded for video, Alfred Kirchner's production of Wagner's monumental, TRISTAN UND ISOLDE.  I really, really liked this production which sort of strike a balance between regietheater and traditionalistm that is kind of, well, perfect.  (NOTE:  Years later many still decried this as "Eurotrash" - which I find offensive, given the cast believes in Kirchner's telling of this difficult tale, and they become their roles, perfectly).

From the beginning, some of the singing is strong, but there are caveats. Polaski's Isolde is FIERCE, kind of a hellcat and very physical. Vocally, however, she is frustrating, at least in the first act.  There are moments where sounds as beautiful as any Isolde I can think of, paying enormous attention to the text, and then there are moments where (and this is a VERY odd thing) I cannot recognize the pitch she's singing AT ALL - it's almost as though it isn't music. Then, seconds later, she returns to some gorgeous vocalizing.  The upper range is not beautiful when forced and when she and Treleaven weave through the enormous Act II duet there are moments both sound lovely followed by a sort of bark and shrieking at high notes that is . . . let's just call it unpleasant.

Treleaven looks pretty good through much of this, but I'm afraid I am not a fan of this type of voice or singing. There is a too-too-soft center to the sound itself that I find an unattractive quality in any singer. For lack of a better description, let's call it "unfocused" sound. Also the man spits more than a hissing cobra and certainly more than anyone I've seen outside of a wrestling cage. He's a bit wooden as an actor though looks like he's trying to break out of something, and that scores points in my book.

Polaski's face, body movements, etc. are wonderful. She's not a small girl, but moves with grace and a very fierce, animalistic athleticism giving her Isolde a tomboyish quality I'm not used to but one I liked very much. Hers is an exciting Isolde. When she grabs Tristan's face and kisses him it isn't with the reserved "stage kiss" we usually see, but a match for the intensity of the music. Also, I've forgotten just what an expressive face she has. There are several shots of her where I SWORE I was watching Astrid Varnay (at her curtain call I froze the picture and noticed she has a face that is part Varnay part von Stade - . . . I know that sounds like a weird observation, but there it is.)

Overall, the costumes were fantastic, the exception being German WWII sailors who arrive at the end of the first act when everything else appears both timeless and ancient. Isolde and Brangane are given Indian style "Salwar kameez" (those long graceful tunics over pants) with a variety of shawls, throws, and a glorious royal blue cape for Isolde to meet King Marke. Finally, Isolde wears a splendid, simple gown for the final act that fits both the music, and Isolde's status as princess, queen and lover.

A big surprise for me was the Brangane of Lioba Braun. I had never even heard of her before.  and her rich, plumy, juicy and sometimes throbbing mezzo is ideal for this role and makes me hungry to hear more of her work. Brangane's "watch" has rarely been more dreamlike and hazy sounding (in a good way). I had tears in my eyes and actually replayed this scene several times. The lovers are lying on a grassy hill, Brangane is unseen in the tower (a platform high above the stage requiring her climbing a tall, shaky ladder!) and . . . it's just perfect. Braun is a small woman with a  sweet face, and her actions in the first act were a bit funny, unintentionally reminding me of an Avon lady, as she runs about the stage with her "make-up case" of potions.

Nothing in the world could have possibly prepared me for the third act of this performance, most of all the first two acts. This has possibly been the most beautifully staged and near perfect third act I've yet seen of this opera.

Treleaven's voice takes on an almost entirely different sound here, frequently it was just beautiful. While this was true, particularly in the lower and softer sections,he still had power to let several of Tristan's big moments fling out and they sounded good. Also, It didn't hurt that, for the first time, I felt the tenor was so completely into the character he seemed for once almost as if unaware he was performing. I believed he really was Tristan.

And then there's Kurwenal.  Okay, I'll just say it:  Falck Struckmann is a bloody singing/acting genius. He makes me believe no one in the history of opera has ever felt more comfortable being onstage than he. During the prelude he is given an infinitely touching dumb show as he stands watch over his sleeping master and friend.  First seen cowering in a corner he slowly approaches Tristan , bends over to kiss his forehead, his lips staying, almost grazing above it for what felt like forever, creating a portrait of love and loss that was absolutely heartbreaking.  Kirchner gives so much detail to every single character in a rare move that elevates the power of Wagner's already intense score to an almost unbearable level of intimate anguish. Struckmann's face, the manner on which he gazes on Tristan, his face beams what can only be described as complete love, and intensifies his actions even more here.

Another surprise was Erik Halfvarson's Marke. I've seen him a number of times, and have always loved his work, but the past few years there I've noticed a blowsiness, bit of wobble to his sound. Not so much here where he is absolutely magnificent as Marke - tragic, noble and heartbreaking.

I have never thought of Tristan and Kurwenal as "in love" before, and still don't.  Certainly I don't think there is anything hinted at sexually and yet the love shared between this pair of men is brought to light as I've never before seen it. When he lays down beside Tristan, even someone not knowing the story senses Kurwenal is going to die alongside Tristan. Then, In a rare veering from Wagner's libretto, instead of being killed by the King's men, Kurwenal dies at his own hand making his line: "Do not scold me if your faithful friend comes with you!" ring as I've never before heard it. I completely fell apart.  At the death of Kurwenal?  Yes.  Yes, I did.

The Act 3 set is one enormous, barren room in Tristan's castle, three enormous windows at stage right have light streaming in, shadows playing against the walls and the entire act is bathed in an ever shifting light. Everything is beautiful, there is no "weird" directorial conceit to fly in the face of Wagner instead, it simply allows the drama to unfold as I've rarely seen in any production past or present.

Polaski's third act is one for the ages. When she arrives, perched in one of those windows, she extends her hand from it towards Tristan who extends his, slowly moving towards her, but just before their fingers can touch, he turns, transfixed, his face glowing and we know he sees her, not there, but somewhere else.  A vision. Sweetly singing her name, he falls, dead. I was a wreck. At the end of her monologue, and singing the word "Geliebte!" Isolde falls lifeless beside Tristan remaining there through the next bit of the tale,until, touching Brangane's face, she begins the Liebestod.  Here, instead of the now traditional "stand and sing" finale, Polaski's Isolde is overflowing with emotion, rising to first to her knees, then standing, moving across the room, bathed in its light, her face radiating love, and as she finishes that final phrase, her face suffused with light and joy, slowly walks toward the light pouring from the central window. from whence she arrived as that light dims and disappears.  


The Liceu Orchestra under de Billy is mostly wonderful. There are moments that feel a bit languid or lax, but it is always superb playing with moments that rival the best performances or recordings I've heard. Of particular note are the horns in Act II - and the soft "hidden" hunting horn sounds that usually never get heard later in the duet, here add a measure of excitement and danger to the lovers' waxing rhapsodic.  He and the orchestras best achieve something magical in the third act Vorspiel, wgere it literally sounds as if we've just entered into a piece already in progress -almost as though that first bar is in the middle of something. It was remarkable. Indeed, while there were many moments that he brought absolute magic to in the earlier acts, his third is one of the most powerfully dramatic I can think of in modern times. The details he brings ou are nothing short of remarkable, the harps during the final minutes have never sounded so sweetly or noticeable as here. de Billy wasn't yet 40 here, so I can only imagine what he will bring to this score in the future.  


Despite the flaws mentioned earlier, I shall be returning to this performance many more times.  A true example of the the whole being far greater than the sum of its parts.

Met's Dialogue of the Carmelites: The Telecast

Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I’ve been able to watch this performance
complete twice this week and the impact of the production has not lessened
in the near quarter century since the telecast – nor since I first experienced it
live, as a teenager a decade before that.

The biggest surprise for me was the performance of Sister Blanche sung by Maria Ewing. Perhaps because the end of her career was fraught with all manner of vocal problems and her affected weird behavior, I’d forgotten what a truly sensational artist she was in the early part of her career. The voice . . . the voice is simply gorgeous, rich, creamy, sensuous (uh oh there go those no-no Ira Siff words) here, at times (particularly in the upper middle range), resembles a singer who’d achieve fame just a bit later: Renee Fleming. Some took Ewing to task for changing her Blanche from the shy, terrified, almost blinkered heroine she introduced to the Met a decade earlier, yet I found her interpretation moving between a sort of an anger borne of self-hatred coupled with fear, to make her final resolve in the march to the guillotine even more powerful than I had the first time.

Ewing seems to have made this interpretative choice based on the scene where Mother Marie finds her living as a servant in her former family home as Blanche reveals “All the world despises a coward, so I deserve to be ridiculed and despised. I have felt this way since I was a child. There was only one who could keep me from these thoughts; my father. He is dead. He died on the guillotine less than a week ago.” Similarly in the earlier scene between Blanche and her final visit with her brother – the wavering between anger, strength and crushing fear was overwhelming.

While the rest of the performances held few surprises, they have long been scorched or permanently seared into my memory and little commentary is necessary except to say, each performer was at the top of their game, notably Jessye Norman, Florence Quivar, and Betsy Norden. Of course, Regine Crespin as the First Prioress, whose tortured death is horrific not for its brutality, but for the honesty of the portrayal of a strong woman who, at the last reveals her doubts of a life-long faith dying, racked with pain and gripped by fear.

John Dexter’s simple, sparse production – taking place on a stage filling white cross remains one of the most powerful productions the Met has mounted, the opening and closing images of which, once seen can never be forgotten. The fluidity of movement between the scenes of each act is, in the very best sense, cinematic; no pauses, no curtain movement, a seamless unity binding music and drama into a single entity, the type of which is too rarely seen or heard.

The final scene – with Poulenc’s score at the March to the Scaffold leading to the execution of the Carmelite sisters remains one of the most chilling moments in all of opera. Yet again, the visual and musical components are so wedded into a terrifying whole that it is difficult if not impossible to not be moved to tears as it unfolds. Kudos, too to Maestro Manuel Rosenthal who leads a stirring performance, perfectly balanced and revealing a truly Grand Opera.

Special credit goes to Brian Large for his inspired direction for television and should serve as a model of how to get things perfect. The ratio between close-ups, full and partial stage shots and reaction shots are highlighted by a marvelous use of overlaps and dissolves that come as close to perfection as this art form will allow.

I’ll again echo the sentiment that I find no sensible argument that this performance (from a single performance) has never been – and likely will never be – issued for commercial release. It is truly the Met at its finest.