Bayreuth Festspielhaus
King Henry
the Fowler – Wilhelm Schwinghammer
Lohengrin
– Klaus Florian Vogt
Elsa – Edith
Haller
Friedrich
von Telramund – Thomas Johannes Mayer
Ortrud – Petra
Lang
King’s Herald – Samuel Youn
Brabantian Nobles – Stefan Heibach,
Willem van der Heyden, Rainer Zaun, Christian Tschelebiew
Hans
Neuenfels (director)
Reinhard
von der Thannen (designs)
Franck Evin (lighting)
Björn Verloh (video)
Henry Arnold (dramaturgy)
Bayreuth Festival Chorus (chorus
master: Eberhard Friedrich)
Bayreuth Festival Orchestra
Andris Nelsons (conductor)
What a relief amidst the debris of the
Castorf Ring! Hans Neuenfels’s Lohengrin is now widely acclaimed as a
classic staging: not, of course, the only way to do it, for there is no single
way, but a consistent, brilliantly-executed production, whose run has now been
extended for another year. (Sebastian
Baumgartner’s Tannhäuser is, by
contrast, saying farewell a year earlier than originally envisaged; I cannot
imagine why…) Having given accounts of the staging in 2011
and 2012,
I do not have a great amount to add to description of what happens, but shall
add a few remarks concerning particular aspects that struck me. There was
perhaps a sense – born of a first-night performance? – of slight comparative
slackness, especially in the first act, but that is really to quibble excessively;
certainly the third act was at least as gripping as before, partly because Andris
Nelsons’s focus had greatly improved by that stage too. (Again, that is
comparative; it was in no way bad beforehand.)
The concept at the heart of the
production is a mysterious experiment. (Are not all experiments in a sense
mysterious, whatever the claims to the contrary?) During the first act Prelude –
though not immediately: Neuenfels permits the music to speak first – Lohengrin seems
to be trying to gain entrance to wherever it is that the action is taking place.
That initial failure signals that whoever is running the show, it is not Lohengrin;
indeed, judged by his record over the evening – and this is Wagner’s doing as
much as it is Neuenfels’s – he is a singularly unsuccessful hero, very much in
line with most of Wagner’s heroes, Parsifal and Walther excepted. Nor is anyone
else we see in charge, least of all the flawed, Fisher-King-like Henry the
Fowler, his stooping reminiscent of many an Amfortas. The rats are certainly
not free agents, though there are instances of what might just be such free
agency, just as there are with Ortud and Telramund, arguably at least as much
so as with Lohengrin and Elsa. They are moments, though, and the inevitable
victory comes, be it on the part of Fate or a higher earthly power. It is, of course, to speculate concerning who –
if anyone – is running the experiment, but we seem invited to do so, if only to
realise the futility of the attempt. Much like late capitalism and its scientific
handmaidens more generally, one might say. At any rate, the tragedy is clear,
as is our voyeuristic status as observers. A leader at the end has been born or
created, but his embryonic status tells the true story, or at least part of it.
‘Reality’ will prevail, which is to say a mystified claim upon scientism’s part
will prevail. ‘Objectivity’ is deconstructed, as of course it has been many
times before, but when will the powers that be listen?
Nelsons’s leadership grew in
stature as the evening progressed. I suspect that it will do so still further
as the festival continues. Flexibility and line were rarely in competition, but
generally revealed to be two sides of the same coin, just as they should be. If
there were a few moments when the score did seem to meander a little, even when
the orchestra sounded slightly subdued, they were readily forgotten in a blaze
of orchestral glory for the third act. Daniel
Barenboim, amongst present conductors, may find greater metaphysical depth,
broader terms of reference, in the score, but few others will. Eberhard
Friedrich’s chorus gave a superlative performance: one could have taken verbal
as well as musical dictation. And that, let us remember, was at the same time
as having to perform highly intricate individual stage manoeuvres, often whilst
dressed in rat costumes. There remains no greater opera chorus on earth.
Klaus Florian Vogt likewise
retains his standing – at least for many of us – as the world’s premier ranking
Lohengrin. The nay-sayers will not be convinced; they do not care for his
tenor, light but extraordinarily powerful, and they are perfectly within their
rights not to do so. The unearthly quality of his voice seems just right to me,
its purity as chilling as it is alluring. Again, it is not, of course, the only
way, but it is a uniquely compelling way. He looks and acts the part too. Edith
Haller replaced Annette Dasch. She had a few uncertain moments, not least
concerning intonation in the first act, but her performance grew in conviction,
peaking like that of many others in the final act. Thomas Johannes Mayer
offered an outstanding Telramund, his perfect marriage of poem and musical line
having one wish he were singing Wotan. (But then he might be wasted in the
Castorf Ring.) Petra Lang was
likewise a truly world-class Ortrud; I can only think of Waltraud Meier in the
same breath. Her stage malevolence and vocal magnificence were truly as one.
Wilhelm Schwinghammer’s subtle portrayal of King Henry made him a far more
interesting character than one often hears: partly Neuenfels’s doing, no doubt,
but also the consequence of a thoughtful approach to musical dramatisation on
stage, in which weakness and power (both relative) found themselves in fruitful
contradiction. Samuel Youn had one notable slip with tuning, but otherwise made
for a characterful Herald. Above all, the characters increasingly worked
together – and with the chorus and orchestra. A wonderful, much-needed tonic,
however disturbing!
