The final curtain at last night's Walkuere triggered a standing ovation, the
like of which I have not seen for many years. Despite the production, (and I
am starting to lose enthusiasm for the struggle to understand Keith Warner's
concept for this cycle), it was an evening of magnificent singing and
playing. Under Pappano, the orchestra sounded more luminous than ever.
Terfel was a very human Wotan, commanding the stage with his elemental voice
while singing with the poetry and finesse of a master of the Lied. Meier was
a radiant Sieglinde and Lisa Gasteen, despite a little unsteadiness in alt
sang a vibrant girlish Brunnhilde. Halfvarson's Hunding was black-voiced and
brutish. Then there was Domingo. It's a long time since I last saw him on
stage, and I was completely unprepared for what I heard. The voice is bigger
and more expansive than ever. The unique bronze warmth is still instantly
recognisable, but there is now a core of steel running through it that let's
it cut through the biggest orchestral climaxes. Hearing Wagner sung with
that mediterranean opulence is a unique joy. This is the voice of a tenor in
his prime, not of a singer approaching retirement. In an evening of
tumultuous applause, the most effusive was reserved for Domingo.
Finally, back to the production. I am pretty broad-minded when it comes to
staging: traditional or modern, visual or conceptual, I really don't mind as
long as it works. However, I found the agglomeration of obscure references
heavy going in Das Rheingold, and now, in Die Walkuere, they seem to make
even less sense. Even so, I am more than willing to entertain the
possibility of it being my inability to fathom the meaning, rather than any
shortcoming on the part of the director. Yet for the first time ever last
night, there was a moment when I actually felt anger at what I was seeing.
The staging of the opening of Act III was a nonsensical, shambolic,
amateurish farce that should have fallen victim to management intervention
before it got anwhere near the stage. Having said that, there was a real
sense of redemption with the stunning coup de theatre that was the
appearance of the magic fire.
Last night was living proof that great music magnificently performed can
transcend anything. It was one of those rare evenings when one felt
privileged to be there.
Steve Silverman
Terry Ellsworth
<SNIP>
>
> Last night was living proof that great music magnificently performed can
> transcend anything. It was one of those rare evenings when one felt
> privileged to be there.
>
> Steve Silverman
>
It was a wonderful evening and I agree with everything Steve says,
especially the sublime musicality and the idiotic ride of the valkyrie, but
why standing ovations?
The lady sitting in front of me was dozing for a fair bit of the opera and
at other times was trying to read the synopsis in her programme. As soon as
the applause started she was on her feet. This mean't that I couldn't see
the stage. Had I stood up the people in the standing places behind me would
have had even less chance of seeing.
The interesting thing is that standing ovations rarely start from the back
of the auditorium!
For my money, standing ovations are too often a way in which people who
didn't understand or enjoy the opera pretend that they did - I wish we could
stop them beacsue I think they are essentially selfish phenomena.
Henry Fogel wrote:
Ah, but Henry, these people were merely reporting the enthusiastic
reaction of the paying audience actually in the opera house, (and the
evidence of their own ears) a reaction that seems very familiar from
what I witnessed on Friday. I don't think we can really rely on the gut
instinct of thousands of people, most of whom don't read rmo, because
what do they know, and besides, that only proves populism, not
quality... ;-)
--
http://www.madmusingsof.me.uk/weblog/
http://www.geraldine-curtis.me.uk/photoblog/
Steve Silverman wrote:
Thanks for this review, Steve. I held off reviewing it last week,
knowing that I was seeing it again this week. And I probably will write
a review of sorts over the weekend. I liked the production when I saw it
on the TV. Last week, I noticed a few things that niggled me (I was on
the far right of the amphitheatre). Tonight they more than niggled me (I
was on the far left). Especially that helix thing across the stage in
Act 1. Call me picky, but I couldn't see Placido for half of
Wintersturme. Then, during Bryn's Act 2 monologue I had a perfect view
of Tony Pappano reflected from the back of the stage. Picky again, but I
think that whilst that worked in Un ballo, it just seemed a bit
amateurish here - I felt it was unintentional. I really liked the
Walkures on the TV, and quite liked them last week, but tonight it just
looked stupid the way they were running round with those horses skulls.
I thought they would have looked less silly if they had been equipped
with hobby-horses. Still, overall, I thought it far better than ENO's
Valkyrie, which I felt was their weakest link - except that their Ride
of the Valkyries was superbly staged (IMO). And I thought it better than
Rigoletto - I absolutely hate that set. I have no problem with the
dramatic content of the production but I have taken an intense dislike
to the rotating set of Rigoletto, even more than that of Die Walkure.
Both come over much better on the TV.
And the fire was fantastic. When it was on TV, I had it explained to me
how it worked, but I've forgotten. Someone asked Bryn whether he burnt
his hand, and he said it wasn't too bad. He was magnificent this
evening. I thought him very good last week, but he was even better
tonight. And Placido was just gorgeous...!
And as for Bryn - he was just stunning. Though I would have preferred
if he had spent less time falling on the floor and more time stomping
around and being moody. One has to give him 10 out of 10 for his
furniture knocking over skills. The man is truly a god, but then again
I *am* biased.
It's always puzzled me as well. Sometimes they get up on their feet
and go on quite a lot and roar and shout things as in Bizet, Puccini.
Once or twice in Cilea, Ponchielli and Giordano and we all know how
hopeless they are.
There is no accounting for it, probably. I once did a Mary Magdalene
Massenet in France where a lot of the audience were in tears before the
end and we all know how hopeless Massenet was don't we?
As previously posted from time to time, I think it's pretty safe to
disregard the paying audience.
Which reminds me: I've got a Carmina Burana in October.
Kind regards,
Alan M. Watkins
Yes, but you can have too much of a good thing. I really felt that
continuing the graphic furniture abuse into the first curtain call at last
Tuesday's performance was carrying things a little too far. I was tempted to
dial Sofaline.
Steve Silverman