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| (photo © Matthias Baus) |
We see the Crucifixion during the prelude, while Act 1 is peopled with weary knights, with a mini castle perched upstage right on one of the rocky outcrops that form the set – I couldn’t help thinking of Monty Python, of both The Life of Brian and The Search for the Holy Grail.
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As the evening progresses, though, at least that first
question is answered, as time itself shifts forwards. The second act features (and
here it’s shades of Indiana Jones and the
Temple of Doom) what looks like some sort of Inca temple, which is home to a
shaman-like Klingsor. But then we return to that first landscape, several centuries later; the castle is in ruins, and everyone’s dress is now
contemporary with Parsifal’s.
Plenty of other questions remain, but there’s no doubting
the production’s overall seriousness, my low-brow cultural reference points notwithstanding
– a long essay in the booklet provides a much more sophisticated account of the
influences. The skill of Stölzl’s stagecraft is never in doubt either, the sure
hand with which he directs, in particular, the outstanding Deutsche Oper
chorus, often requiring them to keep still for demanding but theatrically
striking tableaux.
The end of Act 2 is a bit of a cop out, but several other individual episodes are extremely powerful. The
direction of Thomas Johannes Mayer’s brilliantly acted Amfortas is outstanding, particularly in the final act, while the Crucifixion scene is
powerfully done, and cleverly fills in the backstory by showing Kundry’s ur-laugh.
What these aesthetically powerful moments really added up to wasn't always
entirely clear. Perhaps they aren’t really supposed to add up to anything specific
at all.
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| Click to enlarge |
I also wondered to what extent the mixture of realism and –
in the case of the non-illusion of the distant castle – effects that were
almost kitschily unrealistic was being ironically framed. Further viewings
might or might not make this clear. But happily this is a production that
presents its ideas without enforcing a particular interpretation; I’d imagine
everyone watching understands and interprets it differently.
Stölzl is also a supremely musical director, the action he
presents always complementing what’s emanating from the pit. And in this case
that was a wonderfully instinctive and patiently paced account of the score
from Donald Runnicles, played with a beauty alternately seductive and
piercing. Here was a very respectable cast, too, if not as starry as some that
have graced this production since it was unveiled almost exactly four years
ago.
Anchoring it all was the imposing Gurnemanz of Stephen
Milling. His interpretation is a little neutral, perhaps. The voice can be a bit
craggy as it goes up and he doesn’t yet enliven the words as some can – and
there are, of course, lots of words. But he sings seriously, and his big burly
bass fills the theatre with ease. Klaus Florian Vogt’s Parsifal is a known
quantity: reliable and ethereal-sounding, better at communicating wonder than
the erotic tensions of Act 2. Mayer, as Amfortas, is vocally maybe a size
smaller than ideal for this house – an impression emphasised by the voice’s soft
edges – but his was nonetheless a powerful and moving performance.
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| Klingsor's domain (photo © Matthias Baus) |
Daniela Sindram’s Kundry was extremely impressive. She acted
compellingly throughout and had all the notes, even if her rich mezzo timbre
seemed to lose a bit of its sharp focus as Act 2 progressed. Derek Welton sang
imposingly as Klingsor – perhaps rather too much so, pushing his velvety voice harder than it needed to be pushed. To round it off, Andrew Harris’s was possibly one
of the healthiest sounding Titurels I’ve heard.
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