Bayreuth Festspielhaus
Siegmund – Johan Botha
Hunding – Kwangchul YounWotan – Wolfgang Koch
Sieglinde – Anja Kampe
Brünnhilde – Catherine Foster
Fricka, Waltraute – Claudia Mahnke
Gerhilde – Allison Oakes
Ortlinde – Dara Hobbs
Schwertleite – Nadine Weissmann
Helmwige – Christiane Kohl
Siegrune – Julia Rutigliano
Grimgerde – Okka van der Damerau
Roßweiße – Aleksandra Petersamer
Frank Castorf (director)
Aleksander Denić (set
designs)Adriana Braga Peretski (costumes)
Rainer Casper (lighting)
Andreas Deinert, Jens Crull (video)
Bayreuth Festival Orchestra
Kirill Petrenko (conductor)
If Frank Castorf’s Rheingold proves somewhat frustrating in
its alternation between genuine dramatic power and what seemed to be boredom on
the director’s part, frustration here in Die
Walküre tilts more strongly in the direction of the latter. It is
eventually revealed that we are in Azerbaijan, oil exploration rearing its head
more overtly: Baku, 1942, for some reason, or not. So far, in its reversion
from a later-twentieth century Rheingold,
so ‘post-dramatic’, perhaps. Wagner plays with time, of course, especially
through his web of motifs; he even, like the Bible, has two creation myths,
that of Alberich in the first scene of Das
Rheingold, that of Wotan as recounted by the Norns in Götterdämmerung. Narrations provide us with new information, new
standpoints, but there is nevertheless always a coherent narrative, however
incomplete it may be. In Wagner, that is. In Castorf, incoherence seems
deliberately to be the thing. That might be interesting, but the problem is
more that relatively little is done with it. A decidedly sporadic engagement
with Wagner results in something which, ironically, comes more and more to
resemble an old-fashioned approach of ‘park and bark’.
Too much of what we see proves
to be just a setting, against which the singers essentially sing their parts. Aleksander
Denić ingenious set, Hunding’s farm house transforming into an oil well, and
film clips showing anything and everything from a woman eating cake to an issue
of Pravda, a man on the telephone (it
later seems that he might be Wotan, but our unreliable narration kicks in
again, not unfruitfully) to a reappearance for the Rheingold barman, now in Azerbaijani oil man guise, are too often
little more than scenery. I can only assume that Wotan’s delivery of his
second-act monologue is purposely stationary, even un-directed: attempted
deconstruction, perhaps, of the plethora of action in Castorf’s Rheingold, a reinstatement, presumably
contemptuous, of ‘opera’ as he perceives it, but certainly not as Wagner did.
Certainly Fricka’s mad behaviour is the most conventionally ‘operatic’ I have
ever seen and could hardly contrast more strongly with Wotan’s subsequent
standing and (mostly) delivering. Much the same happens in the greater part of
the third act, once the other Valkyries, some with horned helmets, have
departed the scene. It frankly becomes boring, the impression having been
given, rightly or wrongly, that often the singers have been left to fend for
themselves.
Castorf seemingly has little
interest in the Lenz of the Volsungs’
love, Siegmund’s heroic rejection of Valhalla, or the relationship between
Wotan and Brünnhilde, and in much else besides, without succeeding in putting
anything in their place. Romanticism, or something akin to it, is presumably
part of the problem – but that should surely prove a spur to criticism rather
than an aid to indifference. It seems less a matter of failing to explore or to
deconstruct Wagner’s ideas than of never having bothered to consider them in
the first place. Narrative incoherence is clearly part of the point, but, even
with the film, it does not carry enough weight to compensate for what is lost.
And there is a very thin line between incoherence as an æsthetic principle and
incoherence by default.
Kirill Petrenko’s conducting
had improved considerably. After a largely one-dimensional Rheingold, there was far greater ebb and flow here. If tempi
remained on the fast side, the music was nevertheless allowed to breathe, which
was just as well, given how much it had to fend for itself. There was far
greater variegation, woodwind lines in particular gaining new life, and
impressive dynamic range: none of Pierre Monteux’s ‘indifference of mezzo forte’. Climaxes could have been
more shattering, but they were generally well placed and well approached. It is
difficult to know how differently Petrenko would approach the work in another
production, but I wonder how much a laudable desire to unite music and Wagner’s
‘gesture’ had initially led to subordination of the former, only for Castorf’s
apparent dramatic abdication in Die
Walküre to be met with a greater role for Petrenko here. Perhaps Siegfried and Götterdämmerung will provide further hints.
Wolfgang Koch’s Wotan is too baritonal truly to plumb the dramatic depths, but his Act III anger was devastating to hear (if not to see). After a disastrous start, her Hojotohos out of sync with the orchestra, Catherine Foster recovered with considerable credit as Brünnhilde. Her diction is not always as clear as it might be; indeed, there were, unless my ears deceived me, a few lapses with regard to the poem itself. But she is a likeable singer, who draws one in, has one sympathise. Anja Kampe had some rough moments, especially earlier on, but offered a performance of true dramatic fire; she, it seemed, was really the only one who could provide the direction Castorf apparently declined. At her best, she was mesmerising, even shattering. In Johan Botha, it was a joy to have someone who can sing the role of Siegmund with such ease. His swordsmanship, however, was embarrassing, his acting skills remaining at best rudimentary. Kwangchul Youn’s Hunding was powerfully, menacingly sung, his attention to words as well as music an object lesson, not least to the director. Claudia Mahnke’s ‘operatic’ Fricka was rather hit and miss, just as in Das Rheingold. The Valkyries were a generally impressive bunch, with more of Wagner’s poem audible and comprehensible than is generally the case.