by Richard Wagner
seen at Covent Garden on 1 July 2018
Andris Nelsons conducted and David Alden directed this new Royal Opera production of Wagner's 1840s opera about the Swan Knight who comes to the rescue of a wrongly accused young woman, but then places an impossible burden on her by demanding that he remain anonymous if he is to stay and marry her. Lohengrin was sung by Klaus Florian Vogt, Elsa von Brabant by Jennifer Davis, Ortrud by Christine Goerke, Telramund by Thomas J. Mayer, King Heinrich by Geog Zeppenfeld and the Herald by Kostas Smoriginas.
The big draw card for this production is the chance to hear Klaus Florian Vogt sing the title role, one to which his pure lyric tenor voice is ideally suited. He certainly did not disappoint, bringing a radiant clarity throughout, from the Swan Knight's public pronouncements to the most intimate tenderness with Elsa, before his impassioned disappointment at her failure of nerve. Surrounding him was an excellent cast - a pure Elsa, a vituperative Ortrud, a desperate Telramund and an ailing king (supported by a wounded but still valiant herald). The chorus was in fine form, and the orchestra under Andris Nelsons excelled at the shimmering strangeness of the Grail music as much as in the blazing brass music of the more earthly armies.
What is one to make of this story? As a medieval fable it has the hallmarks of the interaction of a mysterious (not to say mystical) world with the ordinary - a saviour knight arrives in a boat drawn by a swan; he is on a quest; there is a taboo surrounding his identity; curiosity gets the better of the heroine; the prospect of happiness is dashed. Wagner, at this stage beginning to formulate his radical views on reinterpreting German myths and investing them with psychological depths which may well twist their original point, inevitably allows us - or perhaps encourages us - to question this lapidary simplicity. We may well be baffled by Elsa's inability to account for what happened on the day that her brother disappeared, but we also may sympathise with her dilemma when confronted with a husband who cannot confide in her. We begin to see Lohengrin as unreasonable and impractical, profoundly unsuited to 'our' world, and unnecessarily cruel to his wife. While Telramund remains deluded and fundamentally betrayed by his wife, and Ortrud is clearly a nasty piece of work, we may feel that her sense of grievance is not entirely unjustified (though it does not justify her poisonous willingness to destroy those around her).
What is one to make of this story? As a medieval fable it has the hallmarks of the interaction of a mysterious (not to say mystical) world with the ordinary - a saviour knight arrives in a boat drawn by a swan; he is on a quest; there is a taboo surrounding his identity; curiosity gets the better of the heroine; the prospect of happiness is dashed. Wagner, at this stage beginning to formulate his radical views on reinterpreting German myths and investing them with psychological depths which may well twist their original point, inevitably allows us - or perhaps encourages us - to question this lapidary simplicity. We may well be baffled by Elsa's inability to account for what happened on the day that her brother disappeared, but we also may sympathise with her dilemma when confronted with a husband who cannot confide in her. We begin to see Lohengrin as unreasonable and impractical, profoundly unsuited to 'our' world, and unnecessarily cruel to his wife. While Telramund remains deluded and fundamentally betrayed by his wife, and Ortrud is clearly a nasty piece of work, we may feel that her sense of grievance is not entirely unjustified (though it does not justify her poisonous willingness to destroy those around her).
The modern style is to concentrate on the inadequacy of Lohengrin's position, to 'side', as it were, with Elsa when she breaks her promise and asks the forbidden question. The point is perhaps emphasised here by investing Lohengrin's arrival with as little mystery as possible. In the general gloom of Brabant (set designed by Paul Steinberg and costumes by Gideon Davey) great flickering shadows accompany the vocal description of the swan-drawn boat, and the stranger is suddenly there. He conducts his judicial combat with Telramund without a sword - a mere hand gesture defeats his opponent - and all the while he stares meaningfully at the almost silent Ortrud, already aware that she is the real threat to his purposes. He is always prominent in white or pale clothing, against the drab browns and greens of the chorus, but the full strength of his otherworldliness is muted. It is easy then to conclude that his demands are overweening, unfair and unreasonable, and to regard him as somehow at fault for imposing them.
He is inept at trying to convince Elsa of his own loyalty - it is hardly a comfort to say 'if only you knew what I have given up in order to be with you'; to an impressionable and self-doubting woman the inevitable conclusion would be 'how soon before your joy in me curdles and you leave me?'. But there seems to be more panic and disappointment than righteous anger in Lohengrin as he sees the catastrophe approaching (a nice touch that both he and Elsa were occasionally transfixed by gazing at the huge reproduction of August von Heckel's mural of Lohengrin's arrival pointedly hanging in their bedroom); and after all, Lohengrin did not make the rules, and to that extent he might be a victim of them as much as Elsa.
On the public level, the production interestingly pointed up the disarray of the community. The buildings were both ruinous and oppressive, the populace barely cheerful (certainly not very festively dressed to witness a state marriage, only the bouquets lightening their colour palette) and the king evidently both ill and ill at ease. This made the need for a charismatic Brabantine leader more explicit, but worked somewhat against the splendidly stirring music provided for the choral episodes. The great martial gathering for the last scene sounded terrific, but the curtain opened on an almost faceless mass of modern-helemeted soldiers. Though Covent Garden's previous production, first seen in 1977 and last in 2009, was dated and needed replacing, the rugged grandeur of the chorus's entries and exits in the still largely pagan milieu of its setting corresponded far more viscerally with what we heard.
Once again the ambiguities and uncertainties of Wagner's text has allowed for markedly different interpretations of what is actually taking place. Though not the most convincing account, this production was well worth attending for the fine performances of the cast, chorus and orchestra.
He is inept at trying to convince Elsa of his own loyalty - it is hardly a comfort to say 'if only you knew what I have given up in order to be with you'; to an impressionable and self-doubting woman the inevitable conclusion would be 'how soon before your joy in me curdles and you leave me?'. But there seems to be more panic and disappointment than righteous anger in Lohengrin as he sees the catastrophe approaching (a nice touch that both he and Elsa were occasionally transfixed by gazing at the huge reproduction of August von Heckel's mural of Lohengrin's arrival pointedly hanging in their bedroom); and after all, Lohengrin did not make the rules, and to that extent he might be a victim of them as much as Elsa.
On the public level, the production interestingly pointed up the disarray of the community. The buildings were both ruinous and oppressive, the populace barely cheerful (certainly not very festively dressed to witness a state marriage, only the bouquets lightening their colour palette) and the king evidently both ill and ill at ease. This made the need for a charismatic Brabantine leader more explicit, but worked somewhat against the splendidly stirring music provided for the choral episodes. The great martial gathering for the last scene sounded terrific, but the curtain opened on an almost faceless mass of modern-helemeted soldiers. Though Covent Garden's previous production, first seen in 1977 and last in 2009, was dated and needed replacing, the rugged grandeur of the chorus's entries and exits in the still largely pagan milieu of its setting corresponded far more viscerally with what we heard.
Once again the ambiguities and uncertainties of Wagner's text has allowed for markedly different interpretations of what is actually taking place. Though not the most convincing account, this production was well worth attending for the fine performances of the cast, chorus and orchestra.
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