In the land of the Valkyries

During Act II of the Die Walküre premiere on Friday, April 22^nd, there was special resonance for me in Wotan’s observation; "Things can suddenly happen that have never happened before." One year ago, I wouldn’t have known a Hunding from a Hyundai, but have now seen six of the seven performances of Metropolitan Opera’s new production. Once resistant to Wagner, I now readily admit to being under the spell of Die Walküre.
 

Although I had always thought of Wagnerians as an extremely serious group, the chill and dark clouds of the premiere did not hamper the festive mood before curtain and at each intermission.   Arriving fifteen minutes before curtain, it was obvious many had not given up hope of securing a last-minute ticket and that some might still get into the performance:   

  

Before heading to my section, I came across a pair of Valkyries anxiously about to take their seats:

Sadly, an increased work load had prevented my friend from joining me that evening, having informed me he sold his ticket two hours before the performance.  The lucky recipient had driven in from Connecticut, taking a chance that a ticket might become available and his optimism certainly paid off! While missing my friend, I was about to silence my BlackBerry when I noticed the text light flashing and was delighted to see greetings from an friend in London, about to stay up all night and listen on Sirius Radio.  Having experienced a similar journey to Wagner, she was excited to share in the festivities.  I quickly answered her, promising to check in at the first intermission and waited eagerly for the start.

Preparation for my first Walküre gave me some indication of how it varies from the earlier Das Rheingold, but I was especially struck by the intimacy of this work.  While an enjoyable experience overall, I did not feel a strong connection with the characters in Das Rheingold in either of the two performances I attended.  Perhaps this was due to the much-debated Carl Fillion set, which seemed to overshadow nearly every move of the Das Rheingold cast. Watching Walküre, thoughts of gods and grandeur gave way to the powerful, raw emotions and conflicts of these characters.

The rotating planks of the set (“The Machine”) are used to better advantage in Walküre, beginning with Siegmund, fleeing through the dense forest on a stormy night, avoiding the searchlights of his enemies close behind. However,  with each viewing, I was frustrated in wanting the cast to be closer to the audience. When the forest becomes Hunding’s hut, a low wall (used in part for Sieglinde’s kitchen) causes most of the action to be set further back on the enormous stage.  But, wall or no wall, the instant connection between Jonas Kaufmann’s Siegmund and Eva-Maria Westbroek’s  Sieglinde is unmistakable. While Hunding (the remarkable bass Hans-Peter König) remarks on the resemblance between the two, I couldn’t help but wonder why he doesn’t notice the pair is trying desperately not to gaze at one another!

And, they can’t bear not to touch one another as their hands linger while Siegmund first takes the water, then mead offered by Sieglinde. At one point after Hunding’s arrival, Siegmund walks slowly past Sieglinde and gently brushes his hand against hers, then walks away and folds his arm across his chest, clasping his other arm, while he stares straight ahead. Sieglinde looks at him momentarily and turning her back, gazes at the hand Siegmund has just touched. At the premiere, I almost missed the moment and watched carefully for it at the next performances.  While the idea of romance between Siegmund and Sieglinde, the lost twins separated as small children, is unsettling, to say the least, Kaufmann and Westbroek make you believe that once their eyes locked, there was no turning back. You can’t help but exult with them as they run off at the end of Act 1.

Hearing Kaufmann live after nearly a year is such an enormous pleasure!  The first tenor since Domingo whose every role I long to see, Kaufmann does not disappoint in his debut as Siegmund. I had momentarily forgotten that Siegmund is written in a register lower than most tenor roles and appreciate the difficulty this obviously presents. In my previous state of ignorance, I had thought of the Ring as full of fire, brimstone, barking and shouting. While there is obviously fire, I now think of Walküre as a series of extended duets and soliloquies with some wonderfully lyrical passages. Kaufmann communicates the meaning of the text beautifully, as does the Wotan of Bryn Terfel and it is easy to see why both are so acclaimed as lieder singers.

Knowing some of Westbroek’s work from CDs and YouTube clips, her usually strong and vibrant voice sounded rather cloudy at the premiere and illness prevented her from continuing after Act 1.  The daunting task of replacing her for the rest of the premiere fell to Margaret Jane Wray whom, it was no surprise to later learn, is an accomplished Wagnerian and experienced Sieglinde.

As Walküre is a continual musical dialog, not appropriate for applause during the acts, the audience at the premiere amazed me with scarcely any movement until the Act I curtain fell. Wagnerians are a model audience, for there was no talking, no texting or e-mailing, no unwrapping of cough drops, etc. – truly, a refreshing change. When the Act 1 curtain fell, thunder swept the Met and grew even louder when Kaufmann and Westbroek appeared at curtain calls, followed by König. Regrettably, I missed the sight of Maestro James Levine throwing his arms up in a  large “V” as Kaufmann and Westbroek came out, hand-in- hand, to take their bows.  Thanks to a kind soul who has put several scenes of the radio broadcast on YouTube, I was able to hear the commentators describe the spontaneity of that unique moment.

Intermissions at the premiere also had quite a buzz, and my sleepless London friend and I exchanged more text messages then and after the performance. In addition to running into a few excited Wagnerian acquaintances, I encountered the earlier pair of Valkyries, along with a new one:

 
While Act II brings instant recognition of the strong affection between the god Wotan and his Valkyrie daughter  Brünnhilde, his relationship with his wife Fricka is deeply complicated.  Despite giving up an eye to win her as his bride, true contentment apears scarce in their childless marriage.  Fricka is conflicted between anger at Wotan’s repeated infidelities and numerous illegitimate children to lingering affection for her husband. As always, mezzo Stephanie Blythe is a force of nature as she vividly captures the complexities of her character. Although Fricka is goddess of marriage, she supports Hunding, the man who had Sieglinde abducted and forced into a loveless marriage and life of rape and servitude.  Sieglinde and Siegmund are Wotan’s children and further proof of his infidelity, so she refuses to believe these half-mortals can save the gods. Fricka convinces Bryn Terfel’s anguished Wotan they must support this travesty of a marriage or their powers will be lost.  After bitterly giving her his oath, Terfel snatches his hand away and doubles over in torment, knowing his only son is doomed in battle.  While Hunding’s spear goes through Siegmund, Terfel’s Wotan reacts as though it has pierced him as well. Terfel conjures up images of a dangerous, wounded animal, dismissively snarling, “GEH!, GEH!” (“GO!, GO!”), to Hunding.  Looking up as Wotan cradles his dying son, Kaufmann recognizes the lost father Walse and, with a loving gaze, caresses Wotan’s face before falling back dead in his arms.

Theoretically, I wouldn’t have expected to feel much sympathy for Wotan; a serial adulterer, willing to put his wife’s sister up as collateral for the construction of his castle, Valhalla.  Terfel’s portrayal shows a god all too aware of the mess created by his wheeling and dealing.  He knows he is trapped, bitterly realizing  he has only himself to blame and I couldn’t help but have some compassion for him.  Upon having to say farewell to his only consolation in life, his favorite child Brünnhilde, Terfel pours out his pain in the gorgeous “Leb' wohl”.  Summoning the fire god Loge to produce a ring of fire for Brünnhilde, he repeatedly smashes his spear against the rock in frustration.  The heartbreak of Terfel’s Wotan is palpable as he watches her surrounded by the fire, before turning away for the last time.

While the audience’s response to the singers and Maestro Levine at the end of the premiere was rapturous, I discovered that Wagnerians are not reserved when it comes to booing, as the production team heard definite displeasure.  But the night did belong to the singers  and, because of the after-party on the Grand Tier of the Met, the entire cast took curtain calls at the conclusion, including those not in Act III.  A smiling Kaufmann was the last to leave the stage and briefly turned to survey the crowd once more.  Gazing at the sold-out audience on their feet, shouting and clapping, he looked up at those in the upper sections, and waved broadly before following König offstage.

Feeling as though as I had only scratched the surface after the premiere, I found it essential to go back again and again. The festivity of opening night gave way to all-consuming awe as the impact of the music and these performances have left an imprint that has proven difficult to capture in words. I now understand  Stephanie Blythe’s sense of wonder in describing to a pre-premiere “Met Talks” audience, the powerful effect of hearing this score in the theatre, played by a world-class orchestra. I had thought the length of the piece would be exhausting, but the conclusion of each performance found me too keyed up to sleep. And, I originally felt the Wotan/Brünnhilde scenes in Acts II and III
could have used some trimming, but, upon repeated viewing, I could be converted on that, as well.

Thankfully, Westbroek recovered quickly with a voice increasingly stronger and richer. With each performance, the orchestra and cast as a whole delivered an experience more emotionally and musically  satisfying than the one before it. My favorite reaction overheard at one first intermission was from an obviously experienced Wagnerian.  Meeting up with a friend on the Grand Tier, she said; “In fifty years of Walküres, this was the best Act I ever!” She looked up at the ceiling – “I’m sorry Jon Vickers, but this is the BEST!!!” At the sixth performance, I sat with a friend who was also had also seen the production a number of times. Wiping away tears at the first intermission, we both admitted to having goosebumps throughout Act 1. A text message reminded me that the performance was again broadcast and my friend in London and I found that we were equally enthralled.

I wish I could be equally enthusiastic about the staging and production values.  In an interview before the premiere, director Robert Lepage stated, “We’re guided by Wagner and by the music.” While a Wagner newcomer, I would venture to guess the staging of Act I would not please the composer/librettist. The partial wall in Hunding’s hut serves little purpose, while forcing the action further back and cutting the singers off at the knees. The bit of staging that does take place on the apron of the stage only makes us long for a closer view of this intensely emotional act.  While the projections of the forest and the storm on the planks are very effective, the projected scenes during Siegmund’s narrations are distracting and add nothing to the drama.  When you are listening to Jonas Kaufmann telling Siegmund’s story, you don’t need projections – just sit back and enjoy!

Within three minutes of the second act, I was concerned for Terfel and Deborah Voigt’s Brünnhilde traipsing up and down that “mountain”.  Yes, it’s supposed to be a mountain top, but I’d rather leave a bit more to the imagination and be less worried about the singers!  The anxiety continues in Act III, watching the Valkyries slide down “The Machine”, after riding the simulated horses made by rotating planks.  Although the idea is very clever, at each performance, I have a little sigh of relief as the last Valkyrie is safely on more solid ground.

And, there are more puzzling visual displays. Wotan’s Act II monolog is accompanied by a giant eye of changing colors and projections within the projection. Does this represent the eye he gave up to win Fricka?  I don't know, nor did I really care as I was watching and listening to Terfel.  Then, Wotan’s farewell to Brünnhilde features projected snow slowly spreading and covering the mountain top.  Why? To me, it seems to have been included just for the sake of another visual.

The staging for Brünnhilde’s farewell is a major disappointment in an emotional context.  After Wotan’s last fatherly kiss turns her into a mortal, the stage directions have him leading her off hanging between two spears.  The next time we see Brünnhilde, it is not Deborah Voigt, but a body double, literally shoved down and left hanging head first on the side of the mountain top. A father is saying goodbye – forever - to his only consolation in life; his most beloved child.  Between the drama of the libretto and the glorious music, this should be one of the most emotional scenes in opera, but this staging detracts from it.  The effects of the rotating and revolving planks with the added colors and lights of the ring of fire are dazzling. But, they should be surrounding Deborah Voigt lying down (not hanging down) on a plateau of the mountain top. This staging deprives any singer playing Brünnhilde from a critical part of her emotional journey in the Ring Cycle and, the audience of sharing it with her.

I am going to think positively and hope that the 2012 Ring Cycle will find favorable revisions to the staging, resulting in a showcase that complements the singers and musicians. In the interview I mentioned earlier, Lepage also stressed that; “In the end, whatever it is that you want or plan as a director, the music always wins.”  Despite my concerns about the set and staging, this music, this cast and this orchestra wins – unquestionably.