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Financial Times, April 25, 2011 |
By Martin Bernheimer |
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Wagner: Die Walküre, Metropolitan Opera, 22. April 2011 |
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Die Walküre, Metropolitan Opera, New York
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Last autumn, Robert Lepage inaugurated his would-be revolutionary Ring at
the Met with a (per)version of Das Rheingold that courted theatrical
disaster. On Friday, he added a Walküre that turned out to be just a mighty
irk. Call that progress. Or call it Lepage aux folles.
The central
90,000-pound toy remains the same. Spending what may be $40m manipulating 24
twisting-bobbing-rotating-rising-falling aluminium/fibreglass planks, and
reinforcing the stage with steel girders, the director has masterminded a
cumbersome apparatus to compromise mythological logic. The machine also
creates obstacle courses for the singers.
Although Lepage musters
some compelling images, they impress on his terms, not Wagner’s. The same
log-cabin quasi-structure represents the hut in Act One and the mountainous
crest in Act Two. Irrelevant shadow-puppets illustrate Siegmund’s narrative.
A gigantic orb – an eye? – pops up during Wotan’s monologue. The Valkyries
ride silly see-saws before sliding down tilted planks. At the climactic
finale, the real Brünnhilde goes away, replaced by a body-double hanging
upside-down on a panel of kitsch flames. Call it a sight gag.
The
principals? Sometimes they strike poses. Sometimes they act, act, act.
Sometimes they do nothing.
Fricka is a statue on a mobile throne
adorned with sculpted rams. Brünnhilde merely strolls the stage during the
otherworldly annunciation-of-death episode. Wotan dispatches Hunding, here
more Falstaff than menace, with a hysterical shriek. The noble god also
gooses Brünnhilde with his spear at the peak of her battle cry. All Valhalla
residents model silver armour that blinds when spotlit.
Thank
goodness for James Levine in the pit, and vice versa. He sustains broad
tempi, dynamic grandeur and generally mellow sentiment. He also does his
considerable best to accommodate a cast that, with two exceptions, lacks
heroic force.
The exceptions: Stephanie Blythe, who makes a lush
mezzo-soprano meal of Fricka; and Hans-Peter König, whose Hunding recalls
how big black basses used to sound. Though gruff and tough, Bryn Terfel gets
through Wotan’s marathon without tiring and manages some nice nuances.
Jonas Kaufmann, attempting his first Siegmund, cannot emulate the
great Heldentenors of the past but sings with rare sensitivity and compact
force. Making her debut as Sieglinde, Eva-Maria Westbroek suffered
an indisposition and was gamely replaced after one act by Margaret Jane
Wray.
For many, the central attraction had to be Deborah Voigt, a
celebrated Sieglinde graduating to the Hochdramatisch realm of Brünnhilde.
She looked terrific in her old-fashioned warrior-maiden costume, recovered
bravely after a tumble while trying to clamber the treacherous set, and sang
a lusty “Ho-jo-to-ho”. One cannot claim that she commands the resonant
middle-register needed for the Todesverkündigung, or that she sounded fresh
at the end of the long evening. But in a day when bona-fide Brünnhildes
hardly grow on rocks, she offered an honourable ersatz.
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