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| Images: (C) BERND UHLIG |
Schiller Theater
Hermann, Landgrave of
Thuringia – René Pape
Tannhäuser – Peter Seiffert
Wolfram von Eschenbach –
Peter Mattei
Walther von der Wogelweide –
Peter Soon
Biterolf – Tobias Schabel
Heinrich der Schreiber –
Jürgen Sacher
Reinmar von Zweter – Jan
Martiník
Elisabeth – Ann Petersen
Venus – Marina Prudenskaya
Young Shepherd – Sónia Grané
Four Pages – Julia Mencke,
Konstanze Löwe, Hannah Wighardt, Anna Charin
Sasha Waltz (director,
choreography, designs)
Pia-Maier-Schreier (designs)
Bernd Skodzig (costumes)
David Finn (lighting)
Jens Schroth, Jochen Sandig
(dramaturgy)
Dancers
Staatsopernchor Berlin (chorus master: Martin Wright)
Staatskapelle Berlin
Daniel Barenboim (conductor)
For the first night of the
Berlin State Opera’s new Tannhäuser, Daniel Barenboim and the Staatskapelle
Berlin fulfilled even this writer’s heightened expectations, playing and
conducting matching their peerless Proms Ring last
summer. If proof were needed that Barenboim has passed from excellence to
greatness, drawing upon years of experience both as pianist and conductor, as
well as inspiration from musicians of his youth such as Furtwängler and
Klemperer, it was here in abundance. Barenboim’s ability to have the music
‘speak for itself’ should not be taken to imply ‘neutrality’, whatever that
might be. There was no ‘interventionism’ for its own sake, but the Wagnerian melos, even in what we might consider
the early or at least intermediate stage of ‘Romantic opera’, sang, developed,
brought forth musical drama, founded as it was on the surest of harmonic
understanding, the surest grasp of poem, music, and staging (such as it was),
and above all, that Furtwänglerian long-distance hearing (Fernhören) of which Barenboim at his best is now as distinguished
an exponent as any living conductor. A Beethovenian impulse towards forging the
strongest and, crucially, most dynamic unity in diversity in no sense precluded
definition of ‘character’ with respect to ‘numbers’, to the old operatic forms,
which retain a strong presence within the greater whole of the through-composed
act, indeed which help determine and ‘form’ that greater whole. Yet a balance,
or perhaps better dialectic, needs striking between apparently competing
demands, a dialectic revealing itself in the specificity of performance. In
recent years, the dearth of good, let alone great, Wagner conducting in London
has been mitigated by two Royal Opera appearances by Semyon Bychkov in Lohengrin and Tannhäuser. Excellent though Bychkov was in 2010, Barenboim arguably exceeded that
achievement, both in terms of dramatic engagement and greater stylistic variety
– as pressing an issue here as in Der
fliegende Holländer – within and
towards the equally convincing whole presented by Bychkov. Estimable though
Barenboim’s own recording remains, this performance indubitably exceeded that
achievement too. There is now an urgent need for new recordings of Barenboim’s
Wagner; this Tannhäuser and of course
that Proms Ring would be good places
to start.
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| Venusberg |
The playing of the
Staatskapelle Berlin would almost be reason enough on its own. All those
necessary, apparently competing yet, in reality, mutually generative, qualities
that combine to make a great Wagner performance were present: weight and
transparency, golden and dark, rich tone, luxury and bite, sharpness of detail
and the longer line. The ravishing tenderness and eroticism, grandeur and
precision of the Overture and Bacchanale – we heard the familiar conflation of
‘Dresden’ and ‘Paris’, but at least sated ourselves on the post-coital, post-Tristan delights of the latter in the
first act – offered a master-class in Wagner playing to any orchestra. Sasha
Waltz’s staging enabled the magnificent horn section truly to take its place in
the sun, marching across the stage as hunting-party in the first act. Onstage
and offstage, the Staatskapelle’s brass excelled, quite the equal of glorious
strings and woodwind. But neither
players nor conductor mistook drama for brash crudity; drama emerged from
within rather than being applied from without. Choral singing impressed
throughout, partaking in the virtues of the orchestral performance.
An excellent cast also went
to make this the finest Tannhäuser I
have heard. Bar a brief instance of a
cappella flatness in the first act, and a few tired passages in the second,
Peter Seiffert’s Tannhäuser offered much. He may not be the most dramatically
perceptive of singers, nor indeed the most accomplished of actors, but he can
sing the role, a rare accomplishment in itself. Moreover, there was intimacy as
well as vocal heft. Some might have cavilled over Ann Petersen’s vibrato, but
the notes were focused; this was a vibrato that enhanced rather than obscured.
She shared Seiffert’s blending of intimacy and heft, more often than not quite
seamlessly, presenting a plausible human, womanly Elisabeth, no virginal
cipher. Having heard Christian Gerhaher at Covent Garden, I feared that every
subsequent Wolfram would disappoint. I am not sure that Peter Mattei’s
performance did not prove Gerhaher’s equal. The two certainly shared an
approach clearly born of Lieder-like
marriage of words and music, likewise a beauty of tone that could not help but
move one to tears. René Pape's vocal beauty was also a thing of wonder. Marina Prudenskaya’s Venus was as imbued with dramatic
ferocity as with timbral richness. And it was gratifying to see Sónia Grané,
until recently a star of the Royal Academy of Music’s operatic offerings,
successfully transfer to the world stage.
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| The Pilgrims |
Alas, Sasha Waltz’s
production failed to match the musical performances. I could not help but
wonder whether she would have been better engaged simply as choreographer, this
being her first staging of a large-scale repertoire opera. Insofar as there is
a concept, it seems to be to present some sort of dialogue between opera house
and opera, the designs for the song contest mirroring, subtly rather than
gaudily, aspects of the Schiller Theater: for instance, the seats and the
colour of the wood. Unfortunately, little is done with an idea of not
inconsiderable metatheatrical promise. Elisabeth looks every inch the 1950s
beauty in her second act gown, but again that is hardly enough in itself.
Costumes and designs are stylish, and there is an undeniable transformation of
visual as well as musical mood for the third act, David Finn’s lighting as
important as Waltz’s surprisingly convincing, seemingly heartfelt Personenregie during Tannhäuser’s
mourning for Elisabeth. Ultimately, this remains, however, more a work-in-progress
than the finished article. Dancers, undeniably erotic in the Bacchanale –
though it is difficult to suppress a smile as Seiffert’s less than lithe
Tannhäuser awkwardly slides down to join them – work hard throughout. There is
little respite for them, but nor is there for us, Waltz seemingly determined to
have them do something all of the time, whether or no the drama demands,
suggests, or even permits it. Moments of downright irritation are fewer than
might have been the case, but they become more numerous, and there is a great
deal that is at best unnecessary, however beautifully accomplished it might be.
A production that – again, in metatheatrical terms – posited a problematical
(yet fruitful?) relationship between opera and ballet might well have a great
deal to say. This, however, was not it; opera won out, though not without loss.
