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.

Peter Grimes: Bayerische Staatsoper - 6 March 2022

I just finished Stefan Herheim's production of PEER GRIMES for Bayerische Staatsoper. Britten's opera is one of those that, as many times as I've seen it, I don't think I can recall ever sitting through a production that didn't work - at least on some level.  Most have actually been excellent, and I'll even stand up for the mostly deplored Doyle production for the Met that still sets tongues wagging at its mere mention (and won't be surprised if it's derided here).  Herheim's however, worked on a dozen different levels, unfolding the drama like a sort of operatic equivalent of a Wes Anderson movie (most specifically, I found myself thinking of MOONRISE KINGDOM).  

Set in an auditorium that was either in a high school, or, as I saw it, a municipal auditorium once often found in small villages.  At least, living in a fishing town in New England, that's how I saw it.  

The tragedy of Grimes was both witnessed  and acted out, by the citizens of the Borough  its participants retelling a tale at once familiar yet being told and lived anew by its participants. While much of the story took place on the auditorium floor, each time the curtains parted we found ourselves on a different level of theatre filled with spectacle, violent waves, oceans filled with fish, an ancient "budget wave" with attached boat, etc.  We seemed to be evenly split between the reality of "now," and the uncertain ritualized memory of "then."  

PETER GRIMES is one of those operas that allows a community to be made up of as many characters as there are choristers., allowing a rich individuality not frequently employed in most operas and, quite frankly, not needed in most operas.  GRIMES is a different beast.

The chorus pulled out all the stops vocally and theatrically creating a town of like-minded individuals, moralistic and superior on the surface, but cruel, petty, and ugly underneath.  

The named cast could hardly be improved upon, starting with Stuart Skelton, recognized as one of the leading interpreters of the title fisherman in the world today.  He is all the things I want in a Grimes: nervous, mildly belligerent when pushed, hard on the surface, but loving beneath it and tired of being misunderstood, never heard or seen as anything other than the ultimate outsider  . . societal outcast. His Peter is sung with bright, peeling tones, beautiful when need be, but never afraid to reveal the cracking frustration as his story moves forward.  In this production he seems mildly removed from Ellen, which I found odd and bothered me initially.  As it went on, however, I tended to see Grimes as one already gone, more apparition than living being.  This was confirmed in my eyes (and maybe mine alone) by his physical relationship to his apprentice, John.  There was more father/son in this pair than I've ever encountered before, and, indeed, in Herheim's hands John was more of a presence than I ever recall elsewhere.  The pair of them felt like ghosts, haunting the auditorium.  

Rachel Willis-Sørensen was a perfect match to Skelton's antihero.  Noble, touching, a genuinely warm and very human woman.  Her Embroidery aria seguing into her scene with Balstrude wsa lovely, but much more than that.  We could hear her own escape from a world of cruelty that she wanted to change, making the scenes between her, Peter and John feel more connected and familial.  Her final "No!" was shouted where generally it feels more like a quiet gasp.  Again,  this made her actions feel more remembered and embellished.  She appears ready willing and able to plunge to her death in the sea, but is prevented.  Very powerful image there. 

Balstrude, Auntie, Ned, Mrs. Sedley, Auntie and the Nieces were all well thought by Herheim and executed nicely by Iain Peterson, Claudia Mahnke, Brindley Sherratt, Jennifer Johnson, Lindsay Ohse, and Emily Pogorelc.

In the pit, Edward Gardner led a richly nuanced account of the score, wide of dynamics and well balanced, while coaxing a dramatic sense of foreboding, doom and hope during the famous sea interludes.

Today's prima should be available already on the BSO TV website.  I highly recommend it.  .