Forbidden Love
Richard Wagner: Tristan und Isolde, 22 March 2008.
Is Tristan und Isolde Richard Wagner’s most perfect work of art? The question is posed by Roger Scruton in his profound and challenging study of the drama, Death-devoted Heart, where the claim is made. It is an intriguing question. It may be a silly or meaningless question but it is one that provokes an almost immediate and unqualified response from those with some knowledge of the composer’s works.
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Apart from the Ring cycle, which may or may not qualify, there are three contenders: Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal. In recent discussions with fellow admirers of the composer, I find opinion almost equally divided between the three – depending on the relative emphasis given to the humanistic, romantic or spiritual aspects of the works. My own vote goes to Tristan for the universality of its appeal as against the more Teutonic resonances of the other two. I certainly do not dismiss Tristan und Isolde as a simple warning of the consequences of ecstasy-induced adultery – a not unknown point of view.
The opportunity to see Tristan und Isolde ‘live in High Definition’ from the Metropolitan Opera in the Phoenix Picturehouse was not to be missed on many counts. First, it was an opportunity to see Wagner in a live cinema presentation to judge how well it sustained an illusion of being present in the opera house, albeit with a roving eye capable of long-shot and close-up (a marvellous feature of previous operas seen in this format).
Secondly it was an opportunity to enjoy the Met’s staging and the performance of the musicians and singers notably Ben Heppner and Deborah Voigt in the title roles. In the event, Tristan was played by Robert Dean Smith (a second substitute) summoned from Berlin at twenty-four hours notice. Voigt herself was returning after indisposition when Isolde was sung by Janice Baird whom we had heard in the role in Toulouse.
In judging the cinematic presentation, I pose the same question as I do of any aspect of an operatic production: am I enjoying the opera with the help of or in spite of this feature? In the case what we saw on the screen was at times a serious impediment to enjoyment. The message needs to be given to the Met loud and clear that what the cinema audience wants is the illusion of being present in the auditorium or even as part of the action. The last thing it wants is another obtrusive layer of direction which destroys the connection with a live performance by breaking up the screen into multiple images in framed boxes of one or more characters. While this started moderately unobtrusively in Act I it got steadily worse to the point of seriously interfering with the enjoyment of Act III.
In the cinema the performance got off to a tremendous start with a frontal view of James Levine conducting the Prelude in a slow tempo with portentous hesitations between the opening phrases. The curtain came up on the deck of the boat carrying Isolde to Cornwall in a staging faithful to Wagner’s directions. Voigt immediately established herself as a proud and vengeful princess in a strong interpretation. Her conciliatory Brangäne, Michelle deYoung, was another fine Wagnerian, maybe a little lacking in power for perfect musical balance.
On screen the drama comes across with almost more impact than in the theatre since the all-important narrative recounting the previous encounter of the lovers could be followed through the subtitles without shifting the gaze. The men, Kurvenal (Eike Wilm Schulte) and then Tristan, appear, costumed and coiffed as if to suggest Samurai (maybe a directorial invitation to make a cross-cultural association).
For the first two Acts, we had an almost perfect fusion of music, drama and staging – performances of the highest quality from all involved, giving support of Deborah Voigt. The interrupted ecstasy made its full impact despite there having been no stage rehearsal – maybe this added spontaneity. Matti Salminen made a dignified Marke.
The staging of Act III was a disappointment. It did nothing to enhance the atmosphere of expectation and foreboding created by the music. According to Wagner, it takes place in a castle garden: ‘At one side high castellated buildings, on the other a low breastwork, interrupted by a watch tower ...... through openings the view extends over a wide sea horizon ..... impression of being deserted by the owner...’. While no one today should expect these directions to be taken literally (I am constantly being told), they contain elements that should be respected by any director.
The greater part of Act III is dominated by Tristan’s delirium and the anticipation of Isolde’s arrival. Will she come in time? The audience’s eyes like those of the Shepherd should be searching the horizon. But here there is no horizon; the scene is a castle courtyard with, in the background, scale models depicting jousters and equine sports, presumably a reference to Tristan’s youthful pursuits but a completely irrelevant distraction from what is going on. Furthermore the arrivals come, not as if from the shore, but through stage trapdoors.
Upon Tristan’s death, the models conveniently fold back into the stage in preparation for Isolde’s final monologue. In what cannot be complete coincidence, this is delivered, as in Joel’s production in Toulouse, by the singer, costumed in a red dress, standing up and singing as if addressing the audience. This is not satisfactory. The Liebestod is not an epilogue or an apotheosis but the culmination of the drama. The scene should be infused with Tristan’s presence, first corporeal and then transfigured in Isolde’s imaginings. This is lost in these productions. Directors should not attempt to out-smart Wagner’s instructions: ‘ unconscious of all around her, turning her eyes with rising inspiration on Tristan’s body’ and at the end sinking, ‘as if transfigured, in Brangäne’s arms upon Tristan’s body’. The effect of Voigt’s commanding performance was diminished.
Despite my reservations about Act III this production will remain as a pinnacle in my experience of the opera, to be judged alongside performances seen in the opera house though full involvement was marred by the obtrusive high definition editing.
By chance, the following week we took in a performance of Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure. This was a modern-dress version by the Creation Theatre Company in a three-week run at the North Wall Arts Centre. The compact adaptation, by Jonathan Holmes, discarded much that was extraneous to the main plot and reduced the number of Shakespeare’s characters. The result was a tremendously enjoyable production with superb acting, direction and stage management but not least due to the ambience of the North Wall Theatre, an ideal venue for such productions. However this is a view which may not be shared by patrons who had booked seats in the galleries unaware these were backless.
The reason for mentioning this production is a Wagnerian connection. Measure for Measure is the source of Wagner’s first performed opera of 1836, Das Liebesverbot. The story concerns a novice, Isabella, who is prepared to sacrifice her virginity to Angelo, deputy governor of Vienna, to save the life of her brother Claudio, condemned under morality law for getting his girlfriend pregnant but is substituted at the last moment by Angelo’s ex-fiancée Mariana. All ends uneasily.
Wagner transfers the setting to Palermo and distils the essence of Shakespeare’s plot for the operatic format. The choice of subject reveals Wagner’s early preoccupation with themes of sexuality and death that reached its apogee in Tristan und Isolde nearly thirty years later. What might he have made of The Taming of the Shrew?
The opportunity to see Tristan und Isolde ‘live in High Definition’ from the Metropolitan Opera in the Phoenix Picturehouse was not to be missed on many counts. First, it was an opportunity to see Wagner in a live cinema presentation to judge how well it sustained an illusion of being present in the opera house, albeit with a roving eye capable of long-shot and close-up (a marvellous feature of previous operas seen in this format).
Secondly it was an opportunity to enjoy the Met’s staging and the performance of the musicians and singers notably Ben Heppner and Deborah Voigt in the title roles. In the event, Tristan was played by Robert Dean Smith (a second substitute) summoned from Berlin at twenty-four hours notice. Voigt herself was returning after indisposition when Isolde was sung by Janice Baird whom we had heard in the role in Toulouse.
In judging the cinematic presentation, I pose the same question as I do of any aspect of an operatic production: am I enjoying the opera with the help of or in spite of this feature? In the case what we saw on the screen was at times a serious impediment to enjoyment. The message needs to be given to the Met loud and clear that what the cinema audience wants is the illusion of being present in the auditorium or even as part of the action. The last thing it wants is another obtrusive layer of direction which destroys the connection with a live performance by breaking up the screen into multiple images in framed boxes of one or more characters. While this started moderately unobtrusively in Act I it got steadily worse to the point of seriously interfering with the enjoyment of Act III.
In the cinema the performance got off to a tremendous start with a frontal view of James Levine conducting the Prelude in a slow tempo with portentous hesitations between the opening phrases. The curtain came up on the deck of the boat carrying Isolde to Cornwall in a staging faithful to Wagner’s directions. Voigt immediately established herself as a proud and vengeful princess in a strong interpretation. Her conciliatory Brangäne, Michelle deYoung, was another fine Wagnerian, maybe a little lacking in power for perfect musical balance.
On screen the drama comes across with almost more impact than in the theatre since the all-important narrative recounting the previous encounter of the lovers could be followed through the subtitles without shifting the gaze. The men, Kurvenal (Eike Wilm Schulte) and then Tristan, appear, costumed and coiffed as if to suggest Samurai (maybe a directorial invitation to make a cross-cultural association).
For the first two Acts, we had an almost perfect fusion of music, drama and staging – performances of the highest quality from all involved, giving support of Deborah Voigt. The interrupted ecstasy made its full impact despite there having been no stage rehearsal – maybe this added spontaneity. Matti Salminen made a dignified Marke.
The staging of Act III was a disappointment. It did nothing to enhance the atmosphere of expectation and foreboding created by the music. According to Wagner, it takes place in a castle garden: ‘At one side high castellated buildings, on the other a low breastwork, interrupted by a watch tower ...... through openings the view extends over a wide sea horizon ..... impression of being deserted by the owner...’. While no one today should expect these directions to be taken literally (I am constantly being told), they contain elements that should be respected by any director.
The greater part of Act III is dominated by Tristan’s delirium and the anticipation of Isolde’s arrival. Will she come in time? The audience’s eyes like those of the Shepherd should be searching the horizon. But here there is no horizon; the scene is a castle courtyard with, in the background, scale models depicting jousters and equine sports, presumably a reference to Tristan’s youthful pursuits but a completely irrelevant distraction from what is going on. Furthermore the arrivals come, not as if from the shore, but through stage trapdoors.
Upon Tristan’s death, the models conveniently fold back into the stage in preparation for Isolde’s final monologue. In what cannot be complete coincidence, this is delivered, as in Joel’s production in Toulouse, by the singer, costumed in a red dress, standing up and singing as if addressing the audience. This is not satisfactory. The Liebestod is not an epilogue or an apotheosis but the culmination of the drama. The scene should be infused with Tristan’s presence, first corporeal and then transfigured in Isolde’s imaginings. This is lost in these productions. Directors should not attempt to out-smart Wagner’s instructions: ‘ unconscious of all around her, turning her eyes with rising inspiration on Tristan’s body’ and at the end sinking, ‘as if transfigured, in Brangäne’s arms upon Tristan’s body’. The effect of Voigt’s commanding performance was diminished.
Despite my reservations about Act III this production will remain as a pinnacle in my experience of the opera, to be judged alongside performances seen in the opera house though full involvement was marred by the obtrusive high definition editing.
By chance, the following week we took in a performance of Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure. This was a modern-dress version by the Creation Theatre Company in a three-week run at the North Wall Arts Centre. The compact adaptation, by Jonathan Holmes, discarded much that was extraneous to the main plot and reduced the number of Shakespeare’s characters. The result was a tremendously enjoyable production with superb acting, direction and stage management but not least due to the ambience of the North Wall Theatre, an ideal venue for such productions. However this is a view which may not be shared by patrons who had booked seats in the galleries unaware these were backless.
The reason for mentioning this production is a Wagnerian connection. Measure for Measure is the source of Wagner’s first performed opera of 1836, Das Liebesverbot. The story concerns a novice, Isabella, who is prepared to sacrifice her virginity to Angelo, deputy governor of Vienna, to save the life of her brother Claudio, condemned under morality law for getting his girlfriend pregnant but is substituted at the last moment by Angelo’s ex-fiancée Mariana. All ends uneasily.
Wagner transfers the setting to Palermo and distils the essence of Shakespeare’s plot for the operatic format. The choice of subject reveals Wagner’s early preoccupation with themes of sexuality and death that reached its apogee in Tristan und Isolde nearly thirty years later. What might he have made of The Taming of the Shrew?