A week ago, a strong cast in "Das Rheingold" was somewhat overshadowed by faulty behavior of the Met's Ring production. On Saturday, April 13, the "machine," as it has been often referred to, behaved, but the cast suffered a blemish that required a switch midway through the first act.
Prior to the start of the opera, manager Peter Gelb came on stage and stood atop his beloved "machine" to reveal to the audience that tenor Simon O'Neill was suffering from an allergic attack. However, Gelb noted that O'Neill would take the risk of singing; at least until "his death at the end of Act 2," joked the manager. O'Neill came out and valiantly battled through the opening scenes. His voice is a large one and his phrasing was truly elegant. However, at numerous moments he would have phlegms get in the way, particularly in the upper reaches. Right before the famous "Ein Scwert verhiess mir der Vater (also commonly referred to as Siegmund's Monologue)," O'Neill ran stage right and was immediately replaced by company debutant Andrew Sritheran. Unlike O'Neill, the young tenor did not have as voluminous a voice, but his timbre had a sweeter and more youthful quality. He took on the gargantuan task of the monologue full-on and during the two climactic "Walse," his voice vibrated through the theater. During the latter part of the monologue as he related his transformative meeting with Sieglinde, his delicate singing elicited tenderness. His "Winterstürme" was filled with swooping phrases, including a glorious crescendo on the word "vereint" (an F natural in the score) in the final phrase of the section. At the end of the act when Siegmund declares that he will be joined by his sister to promulgate the Volsung blood ("so blühe denn Wälsungen blut!"), Sritheran let out a brilliant A flat as he struck a gallant pose; he really had saved the afternoon.
Debutante Martina Serafin was the highlight of the evening in the role of Sieglinde. The moment the soprano walked on stage, she was the striking image of vulnerability. Her head was stooped and she looked nervous when she first saw Siegmund. As she gave him a drink, she could not take her eyes away from him; her attraction was palpable and visceral. Her voice had a delicate timbre in its middle range and her polished phrasing set her apart. However, as the act progressed and her relationship with Siegmund blossomed, the voice and character took on strength and power. During her narration of the sword and its arrival in the hut, Serafin sang quietly, but built up a gradual crescendo throughout until her full potential was unleashed in all of its brilliant glory at the climactic "O fänd'ich ohn heut und hier." The vibrant singing sustained throughout the remainder of the performance, with the "Du bist der Lenz" offering up another touchstone moment. During her final glorious passage "O hehrstes Winder!" in Act 3, Serafin's voice took flight as she pushed it to the brink; her pitch tended a bit sharp in this passage, but the raw intensity of the singing made this a negligible concern and made for a rousing punctuation to a successful debut.
Deborah Voigt offered up a solid account of Brunhilde. Her opening "Hoïotoho!" seemed a bit tentative at first when she attempted to sustain the upper notes, but Voigt decided to simply leap to them and not sustain on ensuing passages. During these early sections of Act 2, Voigt ran about like a rambunctious teenager; she joked around with her father Wotan and sneered at his wife Fricka. However, her turning point came after Wotan delivered his extensive narrative. Alone on stage, Voigt's Brünnhilde stood motionless, pensive and tortured. The jovial teenager was no longer present and was instead transformed into a conflicted woman meant to take on a burdensome task. Voigt delivered the text almost as if declaiming it; it gave the moment a more introspective feel that made the passage unforgettable. Even as she delivered the final "Weh, mein Wälsung! Im Höchsten Leid muss dich treulos die Treue verlassen!," she maintained her reserved, yet droopy demeanor. During the ensuing scene with Siegmund, Voigt maintained the stern, declamatory manner but slowly softened. Her voice's lush colors slowly returned until they erupted in the sequence's climax "Halt ein, Wälsung!" During her third act scene with Sieglinde, Voigt maintained a noble, heroic stance and her voice maintained its rich qualities. However, when Wotan stepped on the scene in all his rage, her potency dissipated and was replaced with a lighter quality; Brünnhilde's guilt and pain wrapped into one.
A week ago, this writer noted that Mark Delavan's performance in "Das Rheingold" showcased a character arc of Wotan descending from a powerful figure to one unable to control his obsession for the Ring; this evolution continued in "Die Walküre." Despite fooling around with Voigt in the early part of the scene and even toying with Fricka, Delavan's increasing weakness was apparent as the afternoon wore on. He would not face Fricka as she revealed his bluff; anger filled his visage. As Fricka begged him to earn respect for her, he was overcome with remorse and could not look her straight in the eye. A few times, he attempted to move toward her, but hesitated as if attempting to not give in to her will. During the narrative, Delavan sang with arid tones emphasizing his weariness and the burden of carrying the history with him. When he returned at the end of Act 2, his emotional instability completely took hold. In one of the most touching moments of the afternoon, Delavan's Wotan held the dying Siegmund in his eyes and cradled him; Wotan almost broke down in that moment. His ensuing "Geh hin, Knecht!" was brutally accented and the punctuating "Geh! Geh!" were delivered with a breathless howl of pain and fury mixed into one.
The fury carried over into Act 3 where Delavan's Wotan violently pushed aside the pleading Valkyries and bellowed mightily. During the final scene with Brünnhilde, he calmed himself down and the weariness and pain returned. He shouted the phrase "Und das ich ihm in Stücken schlug! ("[The sword] which I struck to pieces!"), but immediately put his hands over his face and wept; the guilt of having killed his son dominated him and made his ensuing acceptance of his daughters' wishes all the more believable. It felt as if in this moment Wotan had realized the pain he had caused himself and his own inevitable decline and powerlessness; with nothing else left to him, why not offer Brünnhilde her final wish? Delavan then proceeded to deliver a heart-wrenching "Leb wohl" that was filled with pained anguish and cries of resignation. As the work drew to a close, Delavan's Wotan knelt in front of the image of his sleeping daughter. He looked away from her as if the sight were too difficult to bear for him. That final image completed the arc of the fallen god undone by his own choices, or lack thereof.
Hans-Peter König brought a booming voice to the role of Hunding; he sang with an authority that made the role dangerous and powerful all the same. Even when he wasn't singing, König demanded the viewers' attention. As Siegmund revealed his history, Hunding glared at him without a break in concentration. Only when he realized Sieglinde's fixation with the stranger did his attention shift; from that point on, he focused on her with a repressed rage that seemed like it could explode at any moment. When she went to serve him something to drink, he snatched the cup from her and did it himself; all the while he stared her down as if telling her that he knew what she was up to.
In the role of Fricka, Stephanie Blythe continued to show why she is one of the most revered artists at the Met. It was difficult not to sympathize with her during the argument with Wotan. Her voice rang through the hall with abandon as she cried for respect. However, Blythe's Fricka did not sit and cry the entire time; she was also on the offensive for much of the scene and clearly had the upper-hand. She delivered passages in her lower register with jaggedness and bite that revealed her fury.
The eight Valkyries were a stunning display of coordinated ensemble both vocally and physically. The famous Ride of Valkyries had cathartic effect as the women sang together at its climax. As they protected Brünnhilde from Wotan, they lined up and moved about together as one unit. However, when they pleaded with Wotan to spare their sister, their mumbled movements matched perfectly with their equally disparate vocal lines.
Fabio Luisi delivered a rather conservative account of the work with surprisingly slow tempi and the orchestra ascending to its voluminous heights on only a few rare occasions; it almost seemed like he was making a great deal of concessions to the production's needs. One such moment was magic fire which was performed with languid pace. Given how long the process of shifting the machine into its final position takes it is no surprise the Luisi, who otherwise prefers swifter tempi, would keep the speed in check. There were moments where he released this tension; one of those moments was the glorious lyrical section in Wotan's "Leb Wohl" during which the strings rise to hysterical heights. As the music moved toward its inevitable climax, Luisi increased the speed; the ascending sighing motifs in the violins became increasingly violent and wailed with pain.
The "machine" by Robert Lepage continues to be a mixed bag. It presents some truly memorable imagery, including the applause-inducing Ride of the Valkyries in which the planks swivel up and down to emulate flying horses. The final scene is also beautifully staged with the fiery mountain consuming the stage. However, for every striking image that materializes there are equally frustrating moments. The first act starts off well with its projection of the storm and the forest, but the hut seems like a half-baked idea. More importantly, the actors are placed behind another set of planks downstage that cuts them off at the waist. From the Family Circle (where this writer saw the premiere of the production years ago), the actors are in full view, but the barren stage emphasizes the unfinished feeling of the staging. From the orchestra seating, half of the actors' bodies are cut off. This raises a big question: Which viewers was Lepage catering to? That question can only be answered by him because this writer could only assume that the planning was certainly minimal or careless constructed in this regard.
That is a minor gripe compared to what materializes in Act 2. As aforementioned, Delavan's Wotan weakens throughout the performance, but it is unlikely that his cautious walking across the planks with his head staring at his is part of his interpretation. It is also unlikely that Voigt's similar behavior is part of her rendition of the role either. Not only is the actors' dread apparent as they walk up and down the planks, but the behavior manages to distract from the drama and diminish the level of immersion. In the "machine's" making-of-documentary "Wagner's Dream," Lepage stated that he was like Columbus trying to convince his sailors that they would not fall off the edge of the earth; it seems that two years later, the actors are still worried about falling off the "machine."
Ultimately, nuanced singing, acting, and conducting in Wagner is usually enough to make up for an unsatisfying production; this was certainly the case in the Saturday afternoon performance of "Die Walküre."
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