Bayreuth - III - Tannhäuser (as fotos)

(Sebastian Baumgarten)

Eis algumas das fotografia do Tannhäuser de Baumgarten, este Verão apresentado em Bayreuth.

Bayreuth - II - Tannhäuser

Absolutamente pervertido, o Tannhäuser de Sebastian Baumgarten foi apupado do princípio ao fim! Segundo consta, a liberdade da encenação confundiu-se com uma obra grotesca, nos antípodas da concepção de Wagner.

Perversão metafórica em Bayreuth, evidentemente, mas não só... Para detalhes mais sórdidos, sugiro uma leitura atenta da critica de Mark Ronan, como segue.

«What a reception! The production team were booed to the rafters with not a single handclap, and Venus was so roundly booed she didn’t return for her second curtain call. Such a relief to cheer the chorus, along with Michael Nagy’s beautifully sung Wolfram and Günter Groissböck’s powerful voice and presence as Hermann the Landgraf.

Bayreuth is celebrating its 100th festival, delighting management if not its audience by opening with another extraordinary production, this one by 42-year-old Sebastian Baumgarten. His concept — and directors’ concepts are of the essence here — is that Tannhäuser is a huge experiment, reflecting a notion that the hero experiments with excess and its subsequent rejection.

An audience on stage observes everything, and apparently Baumgarten wanted to run the opera without intervals. When the caterers objected, he settled for the stage audience staying put while the real audience left and the experiment continued.

The Venusberg is a cage with ape-men and animals, including three giant tadpoles — could these represent the three Graces who intervene to halt the ever more frantic proceedings? When it descends below stage, we see three huge chemical processing plants in red, green and blue. Bold colours and big designs by Joep van Lieshout, but one is soon lost in the details.

The Act 1 shepherd in yellow trousers and white shirt is drunk, reappearing in a similar state at the Act 2 song contest, where scantily dressed girls in knickers and stockings, with holsters on their belts, occasionally enjoy caresses with one another, and the pregnant Venus comes to watch proceedings.

From high gantries Tannhäuser douses the other singers with water before embracing Venus, and the lovely Elisabeth slashes her wrists. Then in Act 3 Wolfram accompanies Elisabeth to the huge BIOGAS cylinder and locks her in.

“Kinder schaff’ Neues” (Children do something new) said Wagner, but did he really mean them to alter his dramas in this way? Elisabeth represents a pure type of love, and Wolfram adores her, yet he apparently murders her and sings his evening star song to the pregnant Venus, whose baby is passed round among the female chorus at the end.

Words and music remain Wagner’s, and conductor Thomas Hengelbrock gave us thrilling crescendos in the prelude to Act 3. Production concepts notwithstanding, Lars Cleveman in his many costumes sang strongly as Tannhäuser, and Camilla Nylund made an attractive Elisabeth, with Michael Nagy and Günther Groissböck as Wolfram and the Landgraf giving the performance real vocal heft.»

Bayreuth - I

À semelhança dos demais festivais líricos – quiçá por força da crise – os ecos de Bayreuth escasseiam!

Contudo, a abc faz uma síntese do desastroso Tannhäeuser (nova produção), cuja encenação bordeja o lixo. Já no tocante a Lohengrin, outro galo canta, apesar da rataria…

«Wagner fans take note: if you like your opera pure, two productions at this year's Bayreuth festival are not for you.

But come, if you have a love of the experimental. While Tannhaeuser fails in attempts to move from the traditional to the trendy, Lohengrin makes that leap of faith. And both productions reflect directing and staging audacity, even if only Lohengrin succeeds in being both bold and believable.

Tannhaeuser is the bigger buzz this year — less because it's a new production, more because of its audacious directing and stage effects that relegate the opera to a supporting role.

Already torn between the quest for carnal pleasure and platonic love that will prove his undoing, the bard Tannhaeuser must deal this year with the additional challenge of his backdrop, compliments of director Sebastian Baumgarten and stage designer Joep van Lieshout.

Instead of the serene pasture or noble hall, the production seen Monday plays out on a factory floor of tanks and connecting pipes depicting a closed cycle of sustenance at its most banal; food, alcohol — and the excrement produced which then is used to fuel the system.

It's enough to drive a person to drink — and extras dressed as factory workers do, occasionally tapping the big red alcohol tank. Some of them earn their keep in the performance seen Monday as members of the choir.

The others just clutter an already messy stage.

In a further challenge to the audience, the love nest where Tannhaeuser trysts with Venus between excursions to the "other woman" — the virginal Elisabeth — is bedlam in a cage that occasionally rises from the factory floor.

Tannhaeuser and Venus rub shoulders with mating ape-like creatures, and giant tadpoles spawned in their cesspool slither and wiggle across the stage. The point seems clear — yuck!

But at the end, Venus bears Tannhaeuser's child, muddying Wagner's original message that virtue triumphs over vice.

All in all, "too much, too much!" — Tannhaeuser's words reflecting his disgust at this orgiastic lifestyle also apply to the oversize liberties taken by Baumgarten and van Lieshout that scuttle this production.

But not all that is modern is maudlin this year at Bayreuth.

Lohengrin, another Wagnerian tale of medieval tragic love, gets yanked into the 21st century by director Hans Neuenfels and stage designer Reinhard von der Thannen — and is more interesting for it.

Instead of knights in armor, man-size rats with glowing red eyes populate the stage, an experimental laboratory where minders in scrubs and face masks prod and push characters on and off stage.

Irritating at first, the conceit works by meshing with Wagner's opera instead of conflicting with it. The rodents are a rat-eat-rat horde — like the medieval men at arms in the original version whose loyalties shift with every development.

And instead of muddying the plot, like Baumgarten, Neuenfels advances it. Over the more than three-hour staging, the rats slowly turn into humans, transformed perhaps by the aura of Lohengrin, the knight blessed by god, who defeats evil, but is ultimately defeated by the inconstancy of Elsa, his beloved.

A visual and intellectual pleasure — accompanied Tuesday by singing that ranged from sub-par to superb.

Astrid Weber, a last-minute stand in for Annette Dasch, failed to convince as Elsa, Lohengrin's paramour. While powerful, her voice had no center and lacked in range, forcing Weber to glide into the top notes. Her vibrato was irritating and her enunciation fuzzy.

Klaus Florian Vogt was in brilliant contrast as Lohengrin, effortless in delivery and diction, his voice so fluid and natural that it almost seemed untrained — no overreaching, no straining.

Petra Lang as Ortrud was another highlight, using her powerful mezzo and considerable dramatic skills to convincingly portray Elsa's evil counterpart, whose scheming ways lead to Elsa's doom. Also good: Georg Zeppenfeld as King Heinrich; Tomas Tomasson as Telramund and Samuel Youn as the Herald.

Conductor Andris Nelsons and choir leader Eberhard Friedrich provided powerful orchestral and choral backing to the soloists, masterfully balancing Wagner's imperatives of musical totality.

For Tannhaeuser, best were Camilia Nylund, a vocally and visually striking Elisabeth and Guenther Groissboeck as her father, Hermann, whose demeanor and supple bass were ideal for the gravitas called for in this role.

Michael Nagy was convincing as Wolfram von Eschenbach, as were Lothar Odinius as Walther von der Vogelweide and Thomas Jesatko as Biterolf. Lars Cleveman as Tannhaeuser shone dramatically but occasionally struggled to make himself heard.

For the most part seamlessly blending or carrying the voices as called for by the score, the orchestra, under Thomas Hengelbrock, sometimes lagged in tempo, unnecessarily slowing the pace of already languid musical sequences.

But even the generally satisfying musical renderings cannot redeem the visual transgressions of this Tannhaeuser.

The opera was booed at its first Paris performance, prompting composer Charles Gounod to proclaim: "God grant me a failure like that!"

He did not see this year's production.»

Pape & Wagner

«El primer disco en solitario del bajo René Pape consagrado a Wagner encierra poderosos atractivos. De entrada, la belleza y nobleza de su timbre, la extensión de un instrumento manejado con una emisión segura. Pero donde marca la diferencia es en la dicción, en la riqueza de matices. La palabra, clara y rotunda, cobra una nueva dimensión, desde el acento más intenso al matiz más intimo. Cuenta, además, con el asombroso acompañamiento de Daniel Barenboim, intérprete wagneriano de referencia, capaz de una delicadeza, claridad y brillantez al frente de la Staatskapelle Berlin formidablemente captada por los ingenieros de sonido. Commovedor Wotan (La walkyria), resignado y elocuente Hans Sachs, comunicativo Gurnemanz junto a Plácido Domingo (Parsifal), Pape brilla en una selección que incluye arias de Lohengrin y Tannhäusser.»

El Pais dixit, do último registo de René Pape, consagrado a Wagner.

Parsifal(s), periféricos (?), para todos os gostos! (I/II)

(Parsifal, d'après Romeo Castellucci, Théâtre de La Monnaie)

Em Bruxelas, no La Monnaie, Romeo Castellucci estreia-se na lírica, assinando uma nova encenação de Parsifal:

«(…) ce Parsifal, qui recrée en trois actes le parcours initiatique de l'antihéros wagnérien, de la bestialité à la conscience.

A chaque cercle sa vision castelluccienne, saisissante et hallucinatoire. D'abord le vert sombre des "hommes du Graal", espèce quasi reptilienne tapie au sein d'une épaisse forêt matricielle, avec des lumières au lointain d'une poésie à couper le souffle.

Le deuxième acte verra le royaume magique et sensuel de Klingsor pris dans les glaciations galactiques d'une chambre froide. Le magicien chef d'orchestre manipule des filles nues et "bondagées", mimétiques du serpent albinos qui s'enroule autour de Kundry la tentatrice. Les liens de la luxure, comme ceux de la mort, sont ici réfrigérants – Kundry ne parviendra pas à séduire Parsifal.

Le troisième tableau, rimbaldien, mettra en scène "l'en marche" d'une humanité (300 choristes et figurants) mue par la seule attraction du vide.

Certes, le travail scénographique est renversant. Mais il ne masque pas un malentendu. Le metteur en scène, en effet, n'a pas distordu le chef-d'œuvre wagnérien en le détournant de lui-même, mais en le contournant. Quand il n'a pas procédé à l'éviction de la musique.

Ainsi les chœurs hors champ du premier acte qui accompagnent la présentation du Graal, réduits à une bande-son quasi inaudible. Plus loin aussi, la mise en cage stéréophonique du chant de séduction des filles-fleurs, de part et d'autre dans les loges de scène, cependant que sur le plateau s'articule une inepte rhétorique chorégraphique. Les duos (entre Kundry et Parsifal, entre Parsifal et Gurnemanz) sont strictement traités en parallèle.

Seule, au troisième acte, la traversée de la foule par le chœur, comme surgi de la mer Rouge, fera l'effet extraordinaire d'une musique proprement sauvée des eaux au moment le plus sombre, qui voit le cortège funèbre du vieux roi et le suicide annoncé de son fils mortifère.

DÉNI DE LA SALVATION

Ennemi des résolutions, Castellucci, à l'instar de Wagner, a conçu une œuvre ouverte qui pose les mêmes questions fondamentales – désir, amour, faute, sagesse, sacrifice, rédemption – sans apporter de réponse.

Mais il a laissé vacante la représentation de la douleur (cette justification suprême du questionnement) en la désincarcérant scéniquement de la musique. A aucun moment le corps souffrant d'Amfortas, l'expiation de Kundry, ni même l'empathie de Parsifal prenant sur lui les péchés du monde, ne sont nôtres.

Castellucci a dépouillé Wagner de son apparat idéologique (le christianisme, le bouddhisme, la légende païenne du Graal, le renoncement schopenhauerien). Il a fait l'apologie de la mystique par le vide (pas une goutte de sang dans la coupe du Graal) et du retour à l'ordre par l'errance (Parsifal ou le déni de la salvation). Ce faisant, il s'est mis à couvert de la musique, évitant la confrontation avec la forme opéra, ses sédiments séditieux, ses pompes dévoreuses d'énergie et d'espace. Il a fait de la musique un décor invisible.

C'est là que ce Parsifal blesse. D'autant que les musiciens sont bien présents. Dans la fosse où le chef d'orchestre allemand, Hartmut Haenchen, exerce un magistère économe et transcendant, en dépit des faiblesses de l'Orchestre de la Monnaie parfois plus trébuchant que sonnant. Sur le plateau où règne sans partage la Kundry impériale d'Anna Larsson, voix de feu et présence incandescente.

On en oublierait presque les chevaliers : l'Amfortas monolithique de Thomas Johannes Mayer, le Gurnemanz usé de Jan-Hendrik Rootering, et même le vibrionnant Klingsor de Tomas Tomasson. Seul reste debout le Parsifal d'Andrew Richards, silhouette émouvante parce qu'elle est en creux, proche de l'inertie et qu'elle s'effacera sans laisser de trace.»

Pergunto-me: qual a legitimidade de uma encenação que destitui a obra do seu simbolismo e significado original? Não haverá limites para a “criatividade”? Será legítimo encenar uma Aïda cuja acção se passe na Buraca, em que os gangs suburbanos representem o conflito entre egípcios e etíopes? E por que não, já agora…

A liberdade criativa (também) contém uma estupidez desmesurada…

Der Ring 2/4, ossia A Valquíria

(Voigt e Terfel em A Valquíria, Met, Abril de 2011)

Segundo round de O Anel, d’après Robert Lepage, em cena no Met!

Depois de um circense O Ouro do Reno, eis que Lepage estreia A Valquíria, primeira jornada de três, que compõem a tetralogia wagneriana – as derradeiras verão a luz do dia na próxima temporada da sala nova-iorquina.

Uma vez mas, o dispositivo cénico levantou dificuldades aos intérpretes, que se viram e desejaram para levar a carta a Garcia! A notícia do The New York Times diz tudo: A ‘Walküre’ Still Obsessed With Its Big, Expensive Toy. Não é suposto, pois não?!

No tempo da outra senhora, a encenação servia a obra… Mas hoje em dia, a obra é crucificada diante do capricho narcísico do encenador!

Em todo o caso, o que merece destaque, na minha opinião – posto que se trata de uma récita lírica –, é a prestação da orquestra, maestro e intérpretes.

Quando, no mesmo palco, se reúnem bestas operáticas do calibre de Terfel (Wotan), Kaufmann (Siegmund), Voigt (Brünnhilde), Blythe (Fricka) e Westbroek (Sieglinde), dirigidas por um maestro oleado em Wagner como Jimmy Levine, o resultado só pode ser um estrondoso sucesso!

Lá para finais de Maio, por ocasião da minha derradeira deslocação a NYC (esta temporada), dir-vos-ei de minha justiça…

«Two scenes in the Metropolitan Opera’s highly anticipated new production of Wagner’s “Walküre,” which opened on Friday night, showcased what is both captivating and exasperating about Robert Lepage’s production, the second installment in his staging of the complete “Ring” cycle.

During the opening storm scene, the 24 movable planks of the imposing set by Carl Fillion that dominates the production (which the cast and crew call the machine) rose upright (with, as always, some audible creaking) to become a wall for video images of gusting, snow-flecked winds. Then the images and beams morphed into a forest of ominous gray trees through which you could see young Siegmund (the tenor Jonas Kaufmann), exhausted and injured, fleeing an avenging band of sword-wielding clansman as they searched for him with lanterns. It was an arresting realization of action depicted in the opera only in fitful orchestral music.

But a problematic staging touch came at the opening of Act II. Here the planks jutted out to evoke the “wild rocky place” that Wagner calls for. Wotan, the bass-baritone Bryn Terfel, came bounding onto the beams, now horizontal, which were alive with images of rocky terrain. Then his rambunctious daughter Brünnhilde, the soprano Deborah Voigt, appeared. As Ms. Voigt started to climb the planks that evoke the hillside, she lost her footing and slid to the floor.

Fortunately Mr. Lepage and the cast had correctly decided to play this scene for its humor. Brünnhilde, a warrior maiden who wants nothing to do with marital ties, has come to tease her father and alert him that his bossy wife, Fricka, is fast approaching. So Ms. Voigt rescued the moment by laughing at herself. She stayed put on the row of flat, fixed beams at the front of the stage and tossed off Brünnhilde’s “Hojotoho” cries.

The problem here was not just that in this crucial dramatic moment, with Ms. Voigt about to sing the first line of her first Brünnhilde, Mr. Lepage saddled her with a precarious stage maneuver. The problem was that for the rest of the scene, whenever Wotan or Brünnhilde walked atop the set, the beams wobbled and creaked. At times Mr. Terfel, a big, strong man, had to extend his arms to balance himself. No imagery is worth having to endure the sounds of creaking gears and looks of nervousness on the faces of singers.

What moved me about this “Walküre” and made the five-hour-plus evening seem to whisk by was the exciting, wondrously natural playing that James Levine drew from the great Met orchestra and the involving singing of the impressive cast. Mr. Levine has had a rough time recuperating from back surgery. His conducting on Friday, if not as commanding as his work in Berg’s “Wozzeck” this month, was inspired and beautiful. Certain passages were perhaps not as together as in Levine “Walküre” performances past. But this one had fresh urgency and sweep. Taking bows onstage at the end, with the supporting arms of Mr. Terfel and Ms. Voigt, he looked frail. Still, he did superb work and was greeted with a huge ovation.

Among the cast Ms. Voigt had the most at stake. A decade ago, when she owned the role of Sieglinde at the Met, she seemed destined to be a major Brünnhilde. Her voice has lost some warmth and richness in recent years. But the bright colorings and even the sometimes hard-edged sound of her voice today suits Brünnhilde’s music. I have seldom heard the role sung with such rhythmic accuracy and verbal clarity. From the start, with those go-for-broke cries of “Hojotoho,” she sang every note honestly. She invested energy, feeling and character in every phrase.

There were certainly some vocally patchy passages. Now that she is past this first performance, she may better realize her conception of the character, who evolves from a feisty tomboy to a baffled goddess deeply moved by Siegmund’s love for Sieglinde. All in all, this was a compelling and creditable Brünnhilde.

More than in the production of “Das Rheingold” that opened the season, Mr. Terfel’s stated intentions with Wotan came through here. He may not have the noble, sonorous voice of Wotans in the Hans Hotter lineage. But his muscular singing crackled with intensity, incisive diction and gravelly power.

During Wotan’s long narrative in Act II, in which he explains the whole sorry story of his life to Brünnhilde, many singers emphasize the despair of this broken god. Mr. Terfel ranted and raged as he relived the events.

The audience fell in love with the new Met Siegmund, Mr. Kaufmann, who proved his Wagnerian prowess last summer as Lohengrin at Bayreuth. Handsome and brooding, he captured all the valor and torment of this uprooted demigod. His dark, textured and virile voice has ideal Germanic colorings for the music. He is a true tenor, and the role may sit a little low for him. He could not wait, it seemed, to sing the big high A in Siegmund’s last phrase of Act I, which he held onto thrillingly. He had a great night.

Not so, unfortunately, the Dutch soprano Eva-Maria Westbroek, in her Met debut, as Sieglinde. Fresh from her triumph in the title role of Mark-Anthony Turnage’s new opera “Anna Nicole” at Covent Garden, Ms. Westbroek was eager to introduce herself to Met audiences in a Wagner role for which her big, gleaming voice is well suited. In Act I she looked lovely and sounded good if a little steely. Before Act II Peter Gelb, the Met’s general manager, announced from the stage that even though Ms. Westbroek was ill, she would sing anyway. But once the act got going, she decided not to appear, and Margaret Jane Wray, an experienced and dusky-voiced Wagnerian, sang that act and the next.

As Fricka, the mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe was in typically astonishing voice. This aggrieved goddess has just one crucial scene in the opera, a marital confrontation with Wotan in which she demands that Siegmund, having violated the covenants of marriage and engaged in incestuous love, must be allowed to die in his battle with Hunding (the stentorian bass Hans-Peter König). Mr. Lepage has Fricka play almost the entire scene sitting on an exotic throne that is rolled out a little shakily. But Ms. Blythe is such a compelling presence and formidable singer that she did not seem confined. Stephanie Blythe rules.

The stage effects in this production are sometimes amazing, sometimes clunky and intrusive. (And what was the persistent white-noise whirring that seemed to be coming from the ventilation fans in the boxes that house the video projection equipment?)

The long Act I encounter in which Siegmund arrives as a stranger at Hunding’s dwelling was played behind the extended apron of the set, back in a sunken portion of the stage. Why place this most intimate action so far back, where the voices were sometimes swallowed up? For most of the act the legs of the three singers were cut off from view — from the knees down. Left alone at night, Mr. Kaufmann’s Siegmund briefly leaped atop the extended apron, and here, suddenly, was the character in full, and much closer to us; Mr. Kaufmann looked liberated and sounded terrific.

During the “Ride of the Valkyries” Mr. Lepage had fun. The eight sisters straddled individual beams as if riding horses, holding reins and staying in place as the planks rose and fell to evoke the galloping steeds.

Still I do not understand Mr. Lepage’s devotion to using body oubles. In the final scene, some of the most sublime music ever written, Wotan places Brünnhilde in a sleeping state and leaves her atop a mountain surrounded with fire. But here Mr. Terfel led Ms. Voigt, in a trance, off the stage. The machine went into action, and soon we saw a body double as Brünnhilde hanging upside down on raked planks with images of rocky cliffs and spewing fire. We had, in effect, an aerial view of the mountain top.

But having bonded with Ms. Voigt’s Brünnhilde, I wanted to see the living, singing goddess meet her fate, with a much simpler staging. Mr. Lepage cannot help showing off his 45-ton toy, even when it means sending his Brünnhilde to the wings at what should be her most transcendent moment.»

Un Siegfried plutôt musical...

(Siegfried - Opéra Nationale de Paris, encenação de Günther Krämer, Março de 2011)

O Siegfried de Paris – d’après Günther Krämer – reacende a velha querela entre encenação e música. No tempo da outra senhora – vide Richard Strauss, em Capriccio, nomeadamente -, a questão centrava-se na primazia da música sobre a palavra (ou vice versa).

Presentemente, a controvérsia é outra, fruto de um novo paradigma. A verdade é que, nos nossos dias, o chamariz de muitas produções radica, justamente, na concepção cénica. Estupidamente – ou não! -, os intérpretes foram considerados secundários. O Anel d’après Lepage reitera esta tese, não?

Seja como for, pour une fois, a crítica francesa, unanimemente, considera o actual Siegfried um prodígio musical. O mesmo não se pode dizer da encenação de Güntker Krämer... Até o s(on of)nob(ody) Renaud Machart enaltece as qualidades musicais da produção – não sem antes vomitar um chorrilho de considerações possidónias, como é seu timbre!

«Le troisième volet du Ring déçoit, malgré le triomphe de l'orchestre.

Est-ce parce que l'on y allait à reculons, tellement déçu par les deux volets précédents? Toujours est-il qu'on a été plutôt agréablement surpris par le premier acte du Siegfried mis en scène par Günter Krämer à l'Opéra Bastille: l'esthétique en est toujours aussi fruste, mais voici au moins du théâtre, lisible, spirituel, impertinent, avec ce Mime travelo (après tout, n'est-il pas pour Siegfried à la fois le père et la mère?) et ce ton de comédie qui sied bien à cet épisode qui occupe dans la tétralogie la fonction du scherzo dans une symphonie.

Transparence et élégance

Mais très vite les travers du metteur en scène allemand resurgissent jusqu'à plomber la soirée: tendance au didactisme pesant, désintérêt pour la psychologie, hésitation entre illustration et second degré, politique et bande dessinée. Volée de bois vert du public pour ce théâtre aux semelles de plomb.

Tout le contraire de la direction aux pieds ailés de Philippe Jordan. On retrouve ici la transparence et l'élégance qui nous avaient frappé dans un Or du Rhin et une Walkyrie où on l'avait cependant trouvé beaucoup trop retenu. Il se libère davantage dans Siegfried, sachant épouser le texte avec une clarté et une fluidité favorisant la conversation en musique. Du grand art, tout comme le jeu incroyablement raffiné de l'Orchestre de l'Opéra, aux bois transparents et aux cordes scintillantes, sans parler de la classe du solo de cor de Vladimir Dubois. Quand le grand souffle sera moins timide, on tiendra un grand chef wagnérien.

Choisies avec soin, les voix ne sont pas toutes adaptées à l'acoustique inconfortable de la Bastille : le Wotan bien chantant de Juha Uusitalo manque d'ampleur, défaut de puissance que Torsten Kerl, pour son premier Siegfried, compense par un souci louable de legato. Bien connus et toujours admirables, la Brünnhilde jeune et vibrante de Katarina Dalayman, le Fafner abyssal de Stephen Milling et le Mime supérieurement intelligent de Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke. Tous se distinguent par l'intelligibilité de la diction allemande comme par la qualité du phrasé.»

«Ce n'est pourtant pas le pire de ce qu'on voit dans ce troisième volet de la "Tétralogie" (un prologue et trois "journées"), de Wagner, en cours d'intégrale à l'Opéra Bastille. On avait coulé sec pendant L'Or du Rhin, cru avoir atteint le fond avec La Walkyrie. Mais on patauge dans la vase avec Siegfried. Mime est une folle furieuse habillée façon Deschiens, qui cultive de la marijuana dans sa cuisine ; Fafner un chef de gang narcotrafiquant sud-américain (on a échappé de peu à Brünnhilde en Ingrid Betancourt) ; Siegfried un bonhomme Michelin ; L'Oiseau, une randonneuse en treillis qui s'exprime en langage des signes ; Erda, en robe de grand deuil, un rat de bibliothèque au design façon Jean Nouvel. Etc. Une vraie fatralogie.

"Les yeux fermés"

Comme l'écrivait si justement Romain Rolland en 1908, dans un extrait cité par le programme de salle : "On pourrait dire (...) que la meilleure façon de suivre une représentation de Wagner, c'est de l'écouter, les yeux fermés. Si complète est la musique, si puissante est sa prise sur l'imagination, qu'elle ne laisse rien à désirer ; et ce qu'elle suggère à l'esprit est infiniment plus riche que tout ce que les yeux peuvent voir." Ce soir, l'écrivain avait plus que jamais raison.

On a aimé l'essentiel de la distribution en dépit d'une Brünnhilde (Katarina Dalayman) ordinaire et d'un Mime (Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke) plus ridicule que grotesque. Il manque au pâle Wotan de Juha Uusitalo le "creux" harmonique (quelles résonances !) de Stephen Milling, fantastique Fafner. Torsten Kerl (Siegfried) tient ce rôle exigeant en dépit d'une voix un peu étroite et fermée dans l'aigu. Mais il est bon musicien et son deuxième acte était exceptionnel.

Les vrais héros de la soirée étaient l'Orchestre de l'Opéra de Paris et son directeur musical, le jeune chef suisse Philippe Jordan. Il dirige, apparemment de mémoire, en contact visuel intense avec ses musiciens dont la tenue, la concentration, exceptionnelles, témoignent du respect et de l'amour qu'ils portent à leur patron. Si, comme le dit Romain Rolland, Siegfried est une "symphonie épique", Jordan la conduit avec une intelligence et une maîtrise extraordinaires, mais qui ne sont pas particulièrement "épiques". Certains dénoncent même une façon un peu sèche et analytique de jouer Wagner. Pour notre part, ce Siegfried aura été, orchestralement, d'un raffinement idéal, d'un équilibre miraculeux. Et, pour tout dire, l'une des plus belles soirées wagnériennes qu'on ait connues.»

7/12

Em operês, a data que dá título a este post constitui um marco incontornável, dado que corresponde ao arranque da temporada lírica milanesa. Desta feita, envolta em contestação e tomadas de posição políticas (por parte de quem, por regra, raramente o faz, dentro de um teatro lírico...), a luxuosa A Valquíria afirmou-se como cereja que encima o bolo do Sr. Lissner, ossia il sgnor alla scala.

Fiquemos, por ora, com as primeiras impressões da première:

"On attendait avec impatience La Walkyrie qui ouvrait le samedi 4 décembre la saison de la Scala, avant la soirée officielle du 7 décembre. Une impatience à la mesure de l'impression laissée en mai dernier par L'Or du Rhin mis en scène par le Flamand Guy Cassiers, prologue de ce Ring qui s'annonce déjà comme la clef de voûte de l'ère Stéphane Lissner (Le Monde du 29 mai).

La Scala réunit l'une des meilleures distributions du moment. Elle a pourtant dû faire face au désistement, pour raisons de santé, de l'excellente basse allemande René Pape (46 ans), sans doute le meilleur Wotan actuel.

Le rôle a été confié au jeune Ukrainien Vitalij Kowaljow, dont la cote ne cesse de monter depuis que Placido Domingo en a fait le dieu des dieux de la première Tétralogie montée à l'Opéra de Los Angeles, en mai. S'il possède moins d'autorité et d'abattage que son aîné, Kowaljow ne démérite pas. C'est également le cas de deux autres débutants sur la scène milanaise : le vétéran John Tomlinson (Hunding impressionnant malgré sa voix fatiguée) et le jeune ténor néo-zélandais Simon O'Neill (39 ans), Siegmund acclamé notamment à Bayreuth, légèrement en deçà de sa réputation. Car ce sont les femmes qui ont tenu le plateau en haleine. D'abord Waltraud Meier (Isolde fétiche du Tristan de Patrice Chéreau), peut-être pas une grande Sieglinde, mais toujours wagnérienne-née. Puis la Fricka grand luxe d'Ekaterina Gubanova, somptueuse de timbre, de présence, de musicalité. Et, la Brünnhilde troublante et lumineuse de Nina Stemme : plus qu'une voix de rêve, un rêve incarné de guerrière pétrie d'humanité.

Magique baguette

Guy Cassiers a l'intelligence de ses interprètes : il réussit un spectacle beau et puissant. Les ballets de L'Or du Rhin, qui marquaient les dieux à la culotte, ont disparu, si l'on excepte au troisième acte une manière de vol baroque avec ballet équestre et nuées de guerriers morts au Walhalla. L'ingénieux dispositif de vidéos a encore gagné en pertinence. Que ce soit la boîte qui sert de hutte aux amours de Siegmund et Sieglinde, dont les parois paraissent vivantes, la forêt de lances ou le Walhalla, désert sidéral traversé d'explosions, d'astéroïdes et de comètes.

Mais le vrai Wotan est dans la fosse, dans l'Orchestre de la Scala que dirige un Daniel Barenboïm maître d'oeuvre de ce Ring. C'est lui, le héraut wagnérien à la puissante rêverie déployée dans l'espace, l'esprit en émoi, les sens en alerte, qu'il raffine en poète chambriste ou envoûte en démiurge du grand tout symphonique."

Apesar da ausência de Pape como Wotan - souffrant... -, Meier, Stemme e o magistral Barenboim tornaram esta noite num acontecimento.

Universal Barenboim

«Deutsche Grammophon and Decca Classics are delighted to announce the signing of a wide-ranging recording agreement with conductor and pianist Daniel Barenboim. Music director of Berlin's Staatsoper and Staatskapelle and Maestro Scaligero at Milan's Teatro alla Scala - with projects including a new Ring production at both houses - Barenboim will record with both labels in extensive plans stretching beyond 2012, when the artist celebrates his 70th birthday.»

Permiti-me transcrever, apenas, a parte mais suculenta da notícia relativa à colaboração de Barenboim com o grupo Universal: justamente a que se refere ao registo de uma interpretação de Der Ring, de Wagner!

Sounds great!

O Anel de Lepage: la première (II)

Contrariamente à presse française – em especial, a que se dedica à música erudita (por demais narcísica e petulante) -, a cobertura do The New York Times refere o percalço da première de O Ouro do Reno (do Met), sem o enfatizar. This things do happen!

«It is a moment of glorious climax, and one of the most memorable in Wagner’s “Ring” cycle. Borne along by surging brass chords and shimmering strings, the gods cross a bridge into Valhalla and bring “Das Rheingold” to a close.

At the new Metropolitan Opera production, the divine ones are supposed to traverse a section of a giant set that tilts into a passageway toward the back of the stage.

At the opening on Monday night, the moment fizzled. Richard Croft — as Loge, the god of fire — was left standing on a barren stage after his fellow singers had wandered into the wings. The vast platform of the 45-ton set did not move upward from the back as it was supposed to, so the bridge section could not be formed. Valhalla was nowhere in sight.

The only signs of a bridge were multicolored strips of light projected onto what would have been the walkway. The lost moment followed an evening of technological wizardry and sometimes stunning images produced by the mammoth set.

The Met blamed an error in the computer program that controlled the set’s movement. Not enough room was allowed for the tilting platform to clear the stage floor, so safety sensors automatically shut down the movement.

(…)

When the moment works correctly, the singers are supposed to step down from a section of platform at the front of the stage and disappear into a space created as the main platform tilts down at the front and up at the back; Monday night they were stranded. Acrobats attached by cables and standing in for the gods are then supposed to appear and proceed up the tilted bridge, as Loge watches. A marble pattern is projected onto the platform, by now vertical, representing the hall of the gods.

After the dress rehearsal foul-up, the singers knew that they would leave through the wings if it happened again. Stage managers on Monday night signaled for them to come off that way when it became clear that the set was malfunctioning.

Another result of the complicated machinery was a fair amount of mechanical noise on Monday night as the planks moved. “We’ve been working to minimize the noise of the set, but a few creaks are inevitable with a moving set of this size in a repertory house — where scenery can’t be permanently installed,” the Met said in its statement.»

«Mr. Lepage’s “Rheingold” is the most intensely anticipated new production the Met has mounted in years. For the most part it was an impressive success: an inventive, fluid staging and a feat of technological wizardry that employs sophisticated video elements without turning into a video show. Wagner buffs tend to be a fanatical sort, and no doubt there will be debate about Mr. Lepage’s work. Here he received a mostly enthusiastic ovation with scattered boos. I had mixed feelings.

But let me start with Mr. Levine and the splendid performance he drew from the superb Met orchestra, which played brilliantly, and the excellent cast, as strong a lineup of vocal artists for a Wagner opera as I have heard in years. The formidable bass-baritone Bryn Terfel sang his first Wotan at the Met, a chilling, brutal portrayal; the powerhouse mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe was a vocally sumptuous, magisterial yet movingly vulnerable Fricka. And the bass-baritone Eric Owens had a triumphant night as Alberich.

Still, the state of Mr. Levine’s health and music making were major concerns going into this evening. When he took his bow during the curtain calls he looked a little wobbly and needed support. He seems to have lost weight. But there was nothing frail about his conducting.

Almost as if determined to prove something, he conducted the score with exceptional vigor, sweep and uncommon textural clarity. Inner details emerged, but always subtly folded into the overall arching episodes and spans of the opera. In the scene in which Wotan and Loge, the demigod of fire (here the tenor Richard Croft in a vocally suave and sly performance), try to wrest the booty of gold and the magic ring from Alberich in the lower realm of Nibelheim, Mr. Levine was an attentive accompanist, allowing the singers to exchange lines with conversational urgency, yet always there to nudge and juice the orchestral subtext. Mr. Levine clearly has some way to go in getting back his stamina and health. But this performance was an encouraging sign.

(…)

And the machine worked. Well, almost worked. There was one serious glitch at the end. The “machine” is what the cast and crew have taken to calling the 45-ton gizmo that dominates Mr. Lepage’s complex staging, the work of the set designer Carl Fillion. It consists of a series of 24 planks on a crossbar that rise and sink like seesaws, singly, in tandem or in patterns. To evoke the churning currents of the river where the Rhinemaidens protect the magic gold, the planks, bathed in greenish lights, undulate slowly. As in many traditional productions, the three aquatic sisters (Lisette Oropesa, Jennifer Johnson, Tamara Mumford) first appear dangling from cables. But when planks rise to create a wall of water for the maidens to rest on, there are video images of stones and pebbles on the river floor tumbling downward as the sisters rustle them.

Otto Schenk’s Romantic “Ring” production, which was retired in 2009, had passionate defenders. In talking up the Lepage “Ring,” Peter Gelb, the Met’s general manager, tried to assure everyone that this was not going to be some high-concept, Eurotrash staging. Mr. Lepage uses the latest in staging technology to “tell the story,” Mr. Gelb said repeatedly in interviews.

Actually, in many ways, even with all the high-tech elements, Mr. Lepage’s production is fairly traditional. François St-Aubin’s costumes are like glitzier, quirkier riffs on old-fashioned Wagnerian “Ring” outfits. Mr. Terfel’s Wotan has stringy hair that falls over the god’s blind left eye, and a rustic shirt missing an arm. Yet he sports a bronze breastplate right out of a storybook “Ring.” The giants, Fasolt and Fafner (the booming basses Franz-Josef Selig and Hans-Peter König) are like rugged bushmen, with scraggly hair and beards, and leggings covered with fur. Loge has a Peter Sellars hairdo (an inside joke from one director to another?), a ragtag outfit and hands that emit a fiery glow on command.

The production is also traditional in that Mr. Lepage essentially defers to Wagner. If he has strong personal takes on who these characters are, they did not come through here. One thing about those high-concept, updated “Ring” productions is that a director can put Wagner’s characters in a setting that makes you see them afresh. We will have to wait for the later installments of this “Ring” to see how, say, Mr. Lepage views Wotan’s role as a father to a rebellious daughter whom he loves and vicariously lives through.

There are breathtaking stage tricks in this production. When Wotan and Loge descend into Nibelheim, we see them walking down the planks as if descending a huge stairway. But, as presented, we look down on them from above: the Wotan and Loge that we see are body doubles harnessed to cables and walking the wall perpendicular to the stage. Mr. Lepage is like a magician eager to show off how a trick works, knowing it will still hook you. This one hooked me.

At other times, the use of body doubles seems gratuitous and distracting. When Fricka’s sister, Freia, whom Wotan has foolishly promised to the giants as payment for their construction job, first appears, she (actually a body double) careens on her stomach head-first down the planks, tilted like a playground slide. Really, this is just not a very godly thing to do.

The production worked well in scenes in which the machine turned into a stationary backdrop, and the planks became a video screen. In Nibelheim, for example, when on a lower level we saw Alberich’s slaves sweating over molten pots of gold, the wall above them was alive with shifting russet, earthen and blazing yellow colors.

Mr. Lepage deserves credit for coaxing vivid portrayals from his cast. And most of the action is played on an apron of planks that extend from the stage, which brings the singers into exciting proximity. Mr. Terfel’s singing was sometimes gravelly and rough. But his was a muscular Wotan, in both his imposing presence and his powerful singing.

Mr. Owens’s Alberich was no sniveling dwarf, but a barrel-chested, intimidating foe, singing with stentorian vigor, looking dangerous in his dreadlocks and crazed in his fantasy of ruling the universe.

The bright-voiced soprano Wendy Bryn Harmer was a sympathetic yet volatile Freia. The tenor Gerhard Siegel won your heart as the pitiable Mime, Alberich’s oppressed brother. The mezzo-soprano Patricia Bardon was not the most earthy-voiced Erda, but she sang with grave beauty. Adam Diegel, a youthful tenor in his Met debut, was Froh; the Met veteran baritone Dwayne Croft was in good voice as Donner.

Alas, the machine malfunctioned in the final scene, when the planks did not move into place to form the rainbow bridge to Valhalla. So the gods just wandered off the stage. Given the complexity of the device, it’s a wonder that it worked so well on its debut night.»

O Anel de Lepage: la première (I)

So far, reina a unanimidade em torno do esplendor d’ O Anel, d’après Lepage!

À excepção de Renaud Machart – um digno representante da velha e decadente escola francesa da crítica snob, rasteira e invejosa – a première de O Ouro do Reno não podia ter corrido melhor! À parte um pequeno incidente com a mega estrutura, em torno da qual toda a trama tem lugar – que o possidónio Machart enfatiza, até mais não -, Wagner foi tratado com respeito e admiração, tendo a obra do Mestre estado no centro da glória.

Robert Lepage serviu a dita obra, animando-a, coadjuvado por uma troupe notável e uma direcção orquestral – consta – memorável!

«Quelques huées ont cependant percé : si la lecture dramaturgique de Lepage est singulièrement fidèle au livret de Wagner et ne propose aucune (re)lecture politique ou décalée (comme celle, passablement ridicule, de La Tétralogie en cours à l'Opéra de Paris, ou celle, géniale, de Patrice Chéreau montée au Festival de Bayreuth), le Canadien a épuré son décor au point de le réduire à une machinerie ultra-technologique et minimaliste aux métamorphoses infinies.

Comme l'énigmatique monolithe du cinéaste Stanley Kubrick, ce gigantesque mur de lattes articulées est d'une présence inquiétante et mystérieuse. Il se mue en architectures diverses (escalier, mur, forêt, rempart, fleuve, etc.) éclairées par des "tatouages" lumineux d'une beauté stupéfiante. Non seulement les projections permettent des variétés infinies de motifs, mais ceux-ci sont décuplés encore par la part de hasard qu'autorise le logiciel mis au point par les équipes de Lepage.

Après avoir assisté à une répétition technique de cet Or du Rhin cet été (Le Monde du 26 août), on espérait un spectacle démiurgique et renversant. Mais on a été quelque peu désarçonné par la retenue de Lepage : peu d'effets spéciaux et de folie visuelle. Certes, les images irréelles, sur un fond bleu aimable, des naïades se baignant dans le Rhin sont fascinantes, mais on se lasse un peu des impressions colorées assez statiques et ternes pendant les (longues) scènes de dialogues.

On se demande aussi si Lepage veut singer l'imagerie des séries et films de science-fiction avec ses costumes et certains dispositifs du "monolithe" articulable ou s'il joue avec (et se joue) les conventions de représentation. Quelle sera la courbe dramatique du cycle tout entier ? Lepage réserve-t-il ses cartouches d'artificier génial ? Nous n'en sommes en effet qu'au prologue, et il est probable que les volets suivants permettront au Canadien de libérer les forces obscures et lumineuses de sa lecture.

Sur scène, une distribution de haut niveau mais inégale. On peut rêver Fricka plus sensible queStephanie Blythe, un peu rombière, et Wotan plus profond (dramatiquement et musicalement) que Bryn Terfel, dont Lepage semble vouloir faire un voyou débraillé. Le Loge de Richard Croft est sensible mais manque de projection vocale. En Alberich, l'exceptionnel baryton-basse Eric Owens, colosse à la voix énorme et somptueuse, qu'on aurait volontiers entendu en Wotan.

Cette ouverture de saison marquait aussi le retour en fosse du chef d'orchestre James Levine, qui fête ses quarante années d'activité au Met. La saison dernière, il avait annulé la plupart de ses représentations en raison de graves problèmes physiques. Après une opération du dos, l'Américain, aminci, semble avoir du mal à se déplacer, mais sa gestique est plus expressive que jamais, et son Wagner, qu'il connaît comme sa poche pour l'avoir dirigé si souvent au Met et à Bayreuth, est d'une rondeur, d'un lyrisme et d'une clarté exceptionnels.»

«Au lieu de quoi, les spectateurs n'ont vu qu'un décor statique en position de "repos", des chanteurs quitter la scène par la coulisse et des projections prismatiques sur le fond du décor. Une fin un peu décevante par rapport à ce qui était annoncé par Peter Gelb, le directeur du Met, comme la production la plus ambitieuse qu'ait connue l'Opéra – et probablement l'une des plus coûteuses aussi, puisqu'elle avoisinerait les 16 millions de dollars (11,75 millions d'euros) de dépenses pour les quatre volets de La Tétralogie.

La même panne s'est pourtant produite lors de la répétition générale du spectacle, mais M. Gelb a minimisé les dommages, déclarant au New York Times : "Le public a énormément apprécié la production hier soir. Il a vu sur scène des choses qu'il n'avait probablement jamais vues auparavant, assure-t-il. J'aime à penser que les spectateurs comprennent l'effort énorme qui sous-tend tout ceci. Nous expérimentons des choses nouvelles, mais tout ne se passe pas toujours aussi bien que nous le souhaiterions. Ce que nous proposons est si nouveau et si extraordinaire qu'il me semble que le public est de notre côté et qu'il comprend que tout ceci est le début du voyage au long cours que constitue cette production épique."»

« Lepage treated the audience to a mesmerising display of virtual magic, giving them plenty to feast their eyes on in the intimate scenes between the coups de théâtre. Images projected on to the set evoke the depths of the Rhine, the mountaintops of the gods and the underground realm of the Nibelungen.

Wearing costumes inspired by early productions, the singers move around a stage bathed in infrared light. Computers pick up their movements and envelop them in projected pictures that move with their voices and the score. Wherever the god Loge goes, a flaming aura follows.

Consisting of 24 aluminium and fibreglass planks which pivot like see-saws around a central beam, Carl Fillion’s ingenious set twists and turns into myriad shapes. When Wotan and Loge descend into Nibelheim, the set becomes a sweeping sideways staircase, walked by acrobats standing in as stunt doubles for the singers.

As Alberich’s slaves toil over the anvils, Etienne Boucher’s evocative lighting means you can almost feel the heat emanating from the stage.

Far from overwhelming the singing, Lepage’s playful production complements it beautifully, with the set acting as a big resonating chamber. Superbly conducted by Ring cycle veteran James Levine, Rheingold features an exceptionally strong cast, with Bryn Terfel as Wotan, his first time in the role at the Met, Stephanie Blythe as Fricka and Eric Owens as Alberich.

Described by the Met as the most complicated production ever put on its stage, the mind-boggling system of computers and hydraulics the new Ring depends on went off without a hitch on opening night.

As the curtain fell, the audience went wild.

The verdict in the house was unanimous: a triumph, at once subtle and spectacular, intimate and epic.»

«The performances were as glorious as was to be expected. Bryn Terfel, making his US debut in his celebrated role of Wotan, the lord of the gods, was brooding and dark. He was powerfully supported by Stephanie Blythe as his wife Fricka. Eric Owens made a skin-crawling Alberich, and Franz-Josef Selig and Hans-Peter König as the giants Fasolt and Fafner loomed over the stage like creatures from Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are.

Lepage was perhaps not an obvious choice for a Ring Cycle, a crucial commission for the Met, which has had financial difficulties recently. He specialises in high-tech wizardry of the Cirque du Soleil variety, the kind that makes your jaw drop in sheer admiration of its cleverness.

That alone made many fans of the Ring nervous, as there were suspicions that he would be too clever by half, allowing his technical brilliance to overshadow the only genius they want to shine out of the stage: Wagner himself.

At times that looked as though it might become a problem. The centrepiece of the production is a rack of 24 planks built out of fibreglass-covered aluminium that can rise and fall powered by hydraulics and can revolve through 360 degrees.»