Die Walküre

by Richard Wagner

seen by live streaming from Covent Garden n 28 October 2018

Keith Warner's 2005 Ring cycle, designed by Stefanos Lazaridis, is completing its second and reputedly last revival this year, with Die Walküre the only opera of the four to receive a live streaming (apparently to over 800 cinemas - ours had only about 20 in the audience, compared with many more for the Met's Puccini the night before). Antonio Pappano conducted Stuart Skelton as Siegmund, Emily Magee as Sieglinde, Ain Anger as Hunding, John Lundgren as Wotan, Nina Stemme as Brünnhilde and Sarah Connolly as Fricka.

Genetics (family) and Fate are symbolically present in this cycle, manifested respectively by metal helices circling from the height of the stage down into the floor, and by a thick red rope. Here, in the first two acts, one of the helices is transformed from shiny metal into the twisted roots of a tree as it reaches the ground, to represent firstly the ash tree in Hunding's house, and secondly a generic 'outside' for the battle. It is not quite so clear why it should be present in the first scene of the second act which is more usually considered to be in the realm of the gods; also, on a more practical level, it proves an clumsy obstruction to the singers who have to clamber over it, especially awkwardly in the first act where an upper room of the house already restricts the acting area. The rope, seen only in the second act, is particularly useful in marking the twists of Fate, as Fricka pulls it down when she wins her point in her argument with Wotan, then later Siegmund uses it to guide Sieglinde to a sheltered spot (only an upturned sofa; but we are beyond realism here), and finally Brünnhilde treads beside it unwillingly to confront Siegmund and declare his doom. It has to be conceded, though, that this last detail may have escaped many in the audience, as the rope was by then lying on the floor; it was however obvious to the camera.

Directorial decisions about the acting were often intriguing, but perhaps the least successful was an evident desire to give more prominence to Sieglinde's situation. The urgent opening to Act One, full of restless storm music, usually accompanies Siegmund's battered arrival at Hunding's house. Of course, he still does arrive, but much of his wandering was obscured by the set, and our attention was drawn instead to a terrified Sieglinde clutching a wrapped but not rigid parcel, cringing at the noise of the storm in the blood-red room above her husband's dining hall. At first I even wondered if it was not Sieglinde at all, but rather a 'backstory' image of the mother of the twins, until I decided that the parcel could not possibly be two infants in swaddling clothes. The parcel came into its own in the recognition scene, when it was opened to reveal a wolfskin cloak identical to the one Sigmund was wearing when he arrived at the house. Later, in Act Two, as Brünnhilde approached Siegmund, Sieglinde was prowling slowly around the edge of the stage, sword in hand, rather than lying in troubled sleep while her brother/lover watched over her. This was rather distracting, considering that the confrontation between Siegmund and Brünnhilde is one of the most important in the whole cycle.

Elsewhere Valkyries silently milled about at the opening of Act Two before Brünnhilde and Wotan had their first brief interaction; this seemed entirely plausible given the early (but not full-throated) appearance of the Valkyrie motif in the orchestra at this point, and they sensibly disappeared before the Act really got going, having underscored the point that Brünnhilde, just as much as they themselves, is unruly and perhaps unpredictable. They still made a forceful impression during the famous Ride which opens Act Three, the grimness of their task being made grotesquely obvious by their wielding horse skulls rather than actually riding anything, and by constructing a 'hero' out of wrapped and bloody body parts, whose spirit then flickered into the skies courtesy of a screen projection.

Stuart Skelton was a vocally heroic Siegmund, at times tender and weary, and yet delivering an astonishingly prolonged and anguished appeal to his supposed father when demanding a sword. Visually, especially at close quarters, his physical bulk told against him as a hard-pressed almost vagrant young man. Emily Magee sang well in the first act, though perhaps with too full a tone for quite such a put upon young woman; unfortunately after that she seemed to flag badly so that her distress in the second act lacked conviction and vocal assurance. Ain Anger was an interestingly cold Hunding, looking almost suave rather than boorish, but nonetheless obviously a brute to live with. He looked quite bewildered at his success in vanquishing Siegmund, as well he might, before being contemptuously dispatched by Wotan.

John Lundgren was an impressive and dominating Wotan whose emotions ran strong and dangerous in many directions. His steely confidence looked unbreakable until two women in turn broke it; first his wife and then his daughter. The confrontation with the imperious Fricka of Sarah Connolly was a chilling display of marital sourness mixed surprisingly with a lingering but still strong erotic charge. The complicated relationships between the various characters was highlighted when Fricka became outraged by the wolfskin cloak Wotan was fondling, thinking fondly of his two earthborn children; this only added to the magnificent ire with which she berated her errant husband.

The crucial encounter is of course with Brünnhilde, the favoured but disobedient daughter. Here Lundgren was matched by the ever-impressive Nina Stemme whose vocal technique and deep understanding of the part were fully in evidence. The journey of the Valkyrie from blithe assurance through unwilling acceptance of her father's decision regarding Siegmund to genuine awe at the latter's refusal of the pleasures of Valhalla, and then further to accepting the consequences of her actions but still managing to wheedle a concession from her vengeful father was a masterclass in how to present a Wagner heroine as a conflicted and developing personality. To this end both Stuart Skelton and John Lundgren responded, the latter's Wotan being particularly successful. It was almost as if the vengeful punishment really was as painful to him as to her, but having once been uttered it could not be retracted; the agony on his face was convincing. I have seen a production in which this punishment represented the culmination of an essentially abusive relationship; here the toils of Fate entrapped them both.

It's almost impossible to be completely satisfied with a Ring production; there were both hits and misses here. Some clunky stage moves forced on everyone by the layout of the set; Valkyries dressed in almost shapeless black dresses - redeemed slightly by the ghoulish effect of whirling their cloaks about them; actions given to Sieglinde which distracted from the drama Wagner created; these were all blemishes. Weirdest of all was the blank wall which dominated Act Three, which for much of the time was fine as a slightly grubby backdrop, but which was swung around perhaps too often in a half or full circle (being pushed by Valkyries or by Wotan himself), and which completely obscured Wotan putting Brünnhilde to rest. Maybe it was too awkward to manage this in view of the audience, she having already been kissed asleep on her feet; but in general it is not a good idea to have the audience staring at a completely empty stage even while listening to sublime music when everyone knows that something important is happening just out of sight.

On the other hand, the strange set had its advantages. The sword gained full prominence by lying in front of the curtain while the audience filed in; a shadowy Wotan removed it as the opera began, and then it appeared 'magically' at different points on a helix as Sieglinde gestured towards it (low by the ash roots); as Siegmund speculated about her meaning (higher up and totally out of reach) and finally, pommel at last downmost, ready to be drawn from the 'tree'. The general clutter (when it was not actually impeding anyone) and broken panes of glass signified a world in disrepair, matching the urgency of Wotan's predicament.

Musically this was a treat, and the character interactions were confidently managed by the singers. Antonio Pappano summoned wonderful playing from the house orchestra, while the fateful conflict between father and daughter was a powerful and moving conclusion to the evening.