After
the Amsterdam/Haenchen Ring cycle which was very special
with minimal sets and a visible orchestra centre-stage, the
14-year-old Bayreuth/Barenboim/Kupfer production is quite
a different proposition. More traditional but also highly
inventive and illuminating, it stands at the opposite pole.
It has been perspective building to see both. I have so far
missed Barenboim’s
Walküre but found much to admire
in
Das Rheingold, though the giants were more or less
ridiculous and some of the antics of the gods were a bit
over-the-top. This ‘preliminary evening’ was, like the equivalent
Amsterdam version, fairly abstract, while
Siegfried is ‘realistic’ in
fairy-tale fashion. The first act is dominated by Mime’s
fanciful combined lodging and smithy, looking like a mix
between a stranded submarine and the witch’s gingerbread
house from
Hänsel und Gretel. In act II we are in
a mountainous landscape, painted by a latter-day Kaspar Friedrich
David. The humour of this opera – one could almost call
Siegfried the
scherzo of
Der Ring des Nibelungen – is also underlined.
Mime’s caprices are of course rather frightening when one
knows the evil character of the dwarf. There is however a
great deal of playfulness throughout, most of all perhaps
Wotan’s handling of the Woodbird, carried through by a visibly
amused John Tomlinson. Siegfried’s killing of the dragon
is a spectacular show with the reptile’s arms and claws projected
with stunning realism. Kupfer-Schavernoch have clearly set
out to make this, the most open-air of the
Ring operas,
a kind of half-dream, half-waking romantic fable.
Filmed
over a lengthy period on the Bayreuth Festspiel stage, but
not during actual performances, we get the best of both worlds.
There’s the famed Bayreuth acoustic, slightly subdued but
with enough clarity to project both orchestra and singing.
There’s also the advantage of close acquaintance with the
sets and direction as well as opportunities for second takes
when necessary. Sometimes the close-ups reveal a lack of
realism, as when Siegfried boxes Mime’s ears; the camera
shows us that the blows are empty gestures. We know that
Siegfried Jerusalem would never dream of hurting a hair on
Graham Clark’s head, however slimy the creature he impersonates.
Graham
Clark, who was also Mime on the Amsterdam set, is just as
repulsively repugnant here. Still, he retains an aura of
dignity and at times making the viewer feel sorry for him.
Such is the identification and psychology in his portrait
that he tends to steal every scene where he appears. That
was even more obvious in the Amsterdam performance with Heinz
Kruse’s well sung but tamely acted Siegfried. With Siegfried
Jerusalem looking the Nordic hero of one’s dreams and acting
the part with such nerve and conviction, the competition
is more even. As a matter of fact it is hard to imagine these
scenes better done, especially since Jerusalem, although
past fifty in 1992, looks much younger than his years and
sings with the marvellously youthful beauty of tone that
so captured many of us when he first came to notice in the
mid-1970s. While having the requisite power for Siegfried’s
most muscular outbreaks, notably the forging of Notung, he
would still be able to sing Tamino. Dressed in blue overalls
he looks and acts like a man brought up in a blacksmith’s
workshop, cooling himself down at the water-bin when the
heat from the furnace becomes too oppressive.
By
the side of these two great tenors the remaining cast makes
a wholly winning impression. We meet John Tomlinson’s sturdy
and sonorous Wanderer, noble and warm and good-natured with
a smile on his face and his eyes glittering. It seems that
the years of wandering have been good for the sometimes over-stressed
head of the gods from the preceding operas. His travels have
made him more relaxed, his singing as always deeply intense
and his diction as perfect as Graham Clark’s. Just as in
Das
Rheingold, Günter von Kannen’s Alberich is also a formidable
presence, his face so expressive and pouring out Wotan-like
bass-baritone notes. Philip Kang’s Fafner may be a bit on
the dry side but he is darkly menacing before the duel, sadly
resentful after he receives the deadly blow. Hilde Leidland,
who was Woglinde in
Das Rheingold, is a suitably chirping
Waldvogel.
In
the third act the whole atmosphere changes. Here we are on
an open plain shrouded in fog. During the stormy prelude
Der Wanderer lurches forth and stumbles. He falls to the
ground and invokes Erda, who appears from under ground, just
as in
Das Rheingold, still half-lowered. She has aged
but she sings gloriously, arousing memories of her compatriot
of an earlier generation, Kerstin Thorborg. In their dispute
Wotan is no longer the good-natured, smiling god in retirement
but a furious ruler of the world back in office. The ensuing
confrontation between Wotan and Siegfried, where Siegfried
finally breaks Wotan’s spear and thus dethrones him, is a
real combat of giants. Here are two glorious singing actors
spitting venom with unflinching vocal security.
The
famous final scene, when Siegfried finds Brünnhilde and wakes
her up, the uncertainty at first and the final ecstasy, comparable
to the first act finale of
Die Walküre for exuberant
intensity, is unfolded by Barenboim in Furtwänglerian fashion.
Here is a tension that never slackens and the Festival Orchestra’s
strings glow with passion. Anne Evans, caught at the height
of her powers, is the warm and loving Brünnhilde one has
always wanted to hear, her sovereign tones radiating both
determination and vulnerability. This scene has always been
one of my favourite passages in the
Ring since I first
got to know it through a DG recording from the 1950s with
Astrid Varnay and Wolfgang Windgassen. Evans and Jerusalem
are in their league and seeing as well as hearing them lends
an extra dimension.
When
reviewing the Amsterdam
Ring I was often bowled over
by the freshness of approach, the timelessness of the concept,
while having regrets about some of the singing. Generally
Siegfried was
vocally the most convincing part of that cycle and it is
a version that I will gladly return to (see my
review), but
in overall excellence it has to yield to this Barenboim/Kupfer
production.
One
deciding factor is Barenboim’s reading of the music, so deeply
considered and so magically played. Haenchen, for all his
positive qualities, feels shallower. I have always had a
soft spot for the Barenboim in its sound-only incarnation
and with the added impact of the visual it becomes even more
impressive. Newcomers to the
Ring will more easily
be won over by this Bayreuth set and understand the complexity
of the text. Once they have been hooked they should also
try Haenchen as a refreshing alternative. In both cases they
will have Graham Clark’s hard-to-beat Mime.
Göran Forsling
See Das
Rheingold
Die
Walkure
Siegfried
Gotterdammerung