The Winchester Screen’s Live from the Met series continued
last night with Götterdämmerung, the
fourth and last opera of the Ring cycle, in the production by the Canadian Robert
Lepage. The gentleman who introduced it (‘We hope the next six hours will fly
past’ was greeted with nervous laughter), told us the Met is committed to the
Great Tradition while ‘propelling itself into the 21st century’ (or
words to that effect) with inventive state-of-the-art production values. Both tradition and techno propulsion were
certainly on display this evening. The costumes would have been snapped up by
Spinal Tap: Lord of the Rings leather tunics, long heavy dresses and big pointy
spears and swords, the twenty-first century’s idea of the nineteenth century’s
idea of the medieval Teutonic badlands. The
staging (of the singers, that is) was similarly conventional: most scenes were
essentially proscenium arch formations, and there was a restrained approach to
physical action: some more physical interaction between characters might have brought out the psychological undercurrents a little more, for example the ambiguous relationship between Gunther and Gutrune. As for the techno side, this is a Ring that will undoubtedly
be remembered for the set, Carl Fillion’s remarkable ‘Machine’ made up of 24
aluminium planks that rotate around axles into a myriad of configurations
suggesting mountains, halls and the Rhine. The Machine (as it has come to be known) also serves as a screen
for Lionel Arnould’s video projections, which are sometimes abstract patterns, and
sometimes photographically concrete images: in one of the strongest of these,
when Gunther washes Siegfried’s blood from his hands, the whole Rhine is
stained red. When Hagen hears the ravens, they flit across the video among the rushing waters. Wagner’s Gesamkunstwerk is here interpreted for the digital video
age.
Does the set upstage the action? Yes, to an extent: the
mesmerising metamorphoses of the machine have stuck in my mind more than any of
the great set-pieces of the drama. Like
a sleeping dragon, it came to life between scenes in dazzling transitions and
then slumbered during them, subliminally prompting us to do the same. It was beautiful to behold but sometimes pulled attention
away from the music and text rather than towards them. And any gizmo is subject
to the law of diminishing returns. I was slack-jawed with wonder for the first act, but over the next five flying hours, awe started to fade. The final effects were unfortunate: Brünnhilde rode into Siegfried’s
pyre on a mechanised Loge (rather beautifully managed until then), who clearly
runs along grooves and then stops; and the destruction of Valhalla was
symbolised by giant statues whose heads exploded in the heat, which is not a dignified twilight however suspended your disbelief. It was an
expensive price tag for the moments which worked so well, like Siegfried
stepping from the Rhine onto Gunther’s land. And with all the excitement of the marvellous mechanics, the messages
about Power, Greed, Corruption, Love and Freedom - I take it that's what the work is about - could be missed.
I don't know enough to appraise the singing, or the orchestra. It all seemed suitably turbo-charged to my novice ears. I can opine with a little mrer confidence that the acting was terrific. Live transmission lets you see the
singers’ faces better than just about anyone with their four-hundred dollar
tickets can, and there was much fine characterisation to enjoy. Jay Hunter
Morris’s Siegfried was boyish and vulnerable (his shy little wave to the Rhinemaidens
was a gem of a moment); Gunther (Iain Paterson) came over as the little man (he
reminds me of the character in the movie Fargo, a nobody who hires two thugs to
carry out his selfish plan); and Gutrune came over in Wendy Bryn Harmer’s
performance as a lost soul, trying to make her attachment to Siegfried into
something real. Deborah Voigt as Brünnhilde seemed to me to gain in
strength at the end, raging against the dying of the light, and then finding
the apotheosis of love in death. Hans-Peter Konig’s Hagen seemed more amoral
than malevolent, arranging the extraordinary rendition of Brünnhilde
with a bureaucrat’s eye for detail. In pure singing terms, the show-stealer for
me was Waltraud Meier who played Waltraute (what are the chances ...): her plea
to Brünnhilde
to return the ring, and her account of Valhalla, was superbly emotive and
dramatic, and this scene between the two women was the one in which conflicting
feelings came over most strongly. The men’s chorus, left with nothing to do for
great stretches of time, occupied themselves in the modern Method fashion with
meaningful looks and nods. And their singing, as we expect from the Met, was gloriously
full-bodied.
Live from the Met is a great idea, particularly for those of
us within a short walk from a participating cinema. In many ways it beats the
real thing: no trains, no hikes across town and a seat three miles from the
stage. So, looking forward to Verdi’s Ernani next, more Great Tradition with
whatever propelling tricks the director and computer team have in store.
