Richard Wagner: Parsifal, New Theatre Oxford, Saturday 25 October2003
On the Saturday, a full house had managed to solve the problems of parking in Oxford for the 4.30 start of Parsifal. We awaited, with hushed expectation, the conductor, Vladimir Jurowski, already on his podium, to raise his baton for this acclaimed production. The first notes of the prelude, in which he adopted a slow, measured, tempo with long pauses combined with the gradual revelation of the scene of dormant knights drew one into the dark and troubled world of Monsalvat. Alfred Reiter, as Gurnemanz, in fine voice, commanded the stage and appeared in complete control of the slow motion choreography of the act. The scene change to the Hall of the Grail was especially cleverly managed with moving panels giving the impression of real progress from one place to another.
After the first act, one thought this was going to be a memorable and cherishable Wagnerian experience, completely respectful of the composer. Had one not been so overwhelmed by the power of the music and the drama and the quality of the singing, one might have paid more attention to little discordant details. The balsam, which Kundry is supposed to bring to alleviate the suffering of Amfortas, appeared as a handful of sand scraped up from the ground. Amfortas, himself, was dressed in what appeared to be an enveloping shroud, exposing only a naked right leg: somewhat excessive bandaging for a wound confined to his side. He rested on a hospital trolley as if having just come into an A and E department. For the most part the action was as prescribed but these were indications that the director had his own agenda
The second act opened, with Donald Maxwell, as Klingsor, showing that as a Wagnerian singer he out-classed the singers of the first act, good though they were. This was a marvellously clear enunciation of his scene-setting monologue. But then things started to go off the rails. The bust of Kundry appeared about three metres above the stage, atop an enormous red skirt. The flower maidens were dressed in sterile white diaphanous robes. (I later learned from the programme that they were supposed to be dead! Maybe undead?) Their seduction technique consisted in winding their outer garments about Parsifal's neck, which clearly failed to turn him on - he appeared bemused rather than bewitched. After this, Kundry returned, above her skirt, out of which emerged the ubiquitous hospital trolley. On this, she attempted her seduction, after descending to earth. Maybe she would have had more success on a consulting room couch. Worse still, Klingsor then appeared in Kundry's form atop the red skirt for his attempt to hurl the spear at Parsifal. Wagner's clear stage direction for this crucial moment in the drama was ignored. The spear was not pointed at Parsifal, it was not cast or suspended in the air. The climax of the opera (this, not Kundry's kiss, as asserted in the programme) was ruined!
Fortunately, the third act returned to Wagner's concept. The knights had aged, except for Amfortas who appeared unchanged; he seemed not even to have had his dressing changed in the intervening years. (Such details matter.) But the ceremonial, now conducted by Parsifal, proceeded to its conclusion with due solemnity.
This production could have rivalled the 1986 production at English National Opera, conducted by Reginald Goodall, if the director had not tried to graft onto, or replace, Wagner's Teutonic eroticism with his own Transylvanian necrophilia. Wagner's imagery is complex enough without extraneous imposition of a reinterpretation of this nature.
After the first act, one thought this was going to be a memorable and cherishable Wagnerian experience, completely respectful of the composer. Had one not been so overwhelmed by the power of the music and the drama and the quality of the singing, one might have paid more attention to little discordant details. The balsam, which Kundry is supposed to bring to alleviate the suffering of Amfortas, appeared as a handful of sand scraped up from the ground. Amfortas, himself, was dressed in what appeared to be an enveloping shroud, exposing only a naked right leg: somewhat excessive bandaging for a wound confined to his side. He rested on a hospital trolley as if having just come into an A and E department. For the most part the action was as prescribed but these were indications that the director had his own agenda
The second act opened, with Donald Maxwell, as Klingsor, showing that as a Wagnerian singer he out-classed the singers of the first act, good though they were. This was a marvellously clear enunciation of his scene-setting monologue. But then things started to go off the rails. The bust of Kundry appeared about three metres above the stage, atop an enormous red skirt. The flower maidens were dressed in sterile white diaphanous robes. (I later learned from the programme that they were supposed to be dead! Maybe undead?) Their seduction technique consisted in winding their outer garments about Parsifal's neck, which clearly failed to turn him on - he appeared bemused rather than bewitched. After this, Kundry returned, above her skirt, out of which emerged the ubiquitous hospital trolley. On this, she attempted her seduction, after descending to earth. Maybe she would have had more success on a consulting room couch. Worse still, Klingsor then appeared in Kundry's form atop the red skirt for his attempt to hurl the spear at Parsifal. Wagner's clear stage direction for this crucial moment in the drama was ignored. The spear was not pointed at Parsifal, it was not cast or suspended in the air. The climax of the opera (this, not Kundry's kiss, as asserted in the programme) was ruined!
Fortunately, the third act returned to Wagner's concept. The knights had aged, except for Amfortas who appeared unchanged; he seemed not even to have had his dressing changed in the intervening years. (Such details matter.) But the ceremonial, now conducted by Parsifal, proceeded to its conclusion with due solemnity.
This production could have rivalled the 1986 production at English National Opera, conducted by Reginald Goodall, if the director had not tried to graft onto, or replace, Wagner's Teutonic eroticism with his own Transylvanian necrophilia. Wagner's imagery is complex enough without extraneous imposition of a reinterpretation of this nature.