Wagner Society in NSW Inc
A (Very) Personal Response to Der Ring des Nibelungen Adelaide, 2004 By Robert Graham
In 1961, Beatles producer George Martin said that “the Ring was not for the casual operagoer”. In a way, that is what I am (though I often have strong opinions about things that I know very little about!), and all of my thoughts come from that perspective, though I am attempting to systematically educate myself about music in all of its forms.
I was delighted when Terence Watson asked me if I would be interested in writing a director's response – a piece about my thoughts and some of the difficulties of staging this massive work and the relative merits and success (failure too, I suppose) - of what some people have come to refer to as “The Neidhardt Ring ”. I said yes with some trepidation, not because I didn't have any thoughts about the production(s) but because I consider myself wet behind the ears when it comes to the work of Wagner.
I have been a member of the Wagner Society for only a year (Member number 904!) and I saw my first Wagner opera only in 2003 – the Simone Young conducted Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg at the Capitol Theatre in Sydney , followed by a problematic Cathy Dadd production of Der fliegende Holländer. This great interest in Wagner has come relatively late to me, though I was first intrigued by the beautiful sounds of Das Rheingold in drama classes taught by Professor Michael Ewans (an Honorary Life Member of this society) at Newcastle University in the early 1980s – I recall Strauss' Salomé and Electra , Debussy's Pelléas et Melisánde and Berg's Wozzeck also fascinating me.
It was made very clear to me that I must “do my homework” before going to Adelaide . In response to that very adamant direction, I listened many times to two different productions of The Ring on CD (Solti and Bohm) and studied on DVD the Otto Schenck/James Levine production from the Metropolitan Opera in New York . I also soaked up all Deryck Cooke had to say about the symbolism and leitmotivs . I understand a little of the German language, but it is through repetition that I come “to know” musical works, though I always get something new out of Wagner's operas each time I hear them. I would say that I am fairly open-minded when it comes to “assessing” various interpretations of music, drama and opera: I do not subscribe, as a rule, to the “right” or “wrong” approach, but to whether it works or not , whether it is interesting and arresting and whether it is consistent with the aims and ideals of the creative team. Art for Art's sake and deliberate provocation – “because I can ” - do not really interest me.
So, to Adelaide and the third cycle. I read an interview by Penelope Debelle with the director Elke Neidhardt in the Sydney Morning Herald and was interested to see what this middle-aged, German, female director was proposing to do (a younger, male, Australian director, for instance, might do something completely different), her attitude to the work and so on. If, as she proposed, she wanted neither a “conventional” nor a “self-consciously avant garde” production that would “divorce action from meaning”, then I believe that she has largely been successful in her aims. In this interview Neidhardt is quick to attack Christoph Schlingensief and his recent Parsifal in Bayreuth : “We didn't want a German-style deconstructed sort of concept where very often you don't recognize what is on stage. It's off the wall. It's terribly successful, I don't know why. I hate this stuff; it's just one big old wank.” This is all well and good, however, but to be “the captain of the ship” (as she refers to herself) one has to in a way impose a vision, an over-riding directive or throughline to the whole work, which can be a rather burdensome, egoistic thing, and where she is going to be at the core of any praise or criticism.
What struck me most about this cycle was that there was no really clear throughline, little that was perfectly clear about what was holding it all together: it was variable, perhaps inconsistent, in its approach. The American writer William Berger in his book Wagner Without Fear describes in an obviously tongue-in-cheek single sentence (!) what the Ring is about: “… a German Romantic view of Norse and Teutonic myth influenced by Greek tragedy and a Buddhist sense of destiny told with a socio-political deconstruction of contemporary society, a psychological study of motivation and action, and a blueprint for a new approach to music and theater [sic].” Though this is meant to be humorous, it is quite true. Berger rightly points out that “the Ring saga, like any truly great work of art, has as many meanings as there are people to interpret.”
I believe that Elke Neidhardt has, in the main, deliberately avoided political (including Marxist) associations (with the exception, perhaps, of some of the Gibichungs who closely resemble coalition forces now fighting in Iraq ), traditional German (nationalistic) connotations and big statements about philosophical, social and psychological (Freudian and Jungian) readings. Some might see this as a weakness, a watering-down of artistic integrity. Neidhardt has, on the contrary, sought to please and entertain, not to shock or agitate. Hers is a Ring for everyone and though some will carp about a possible dissolution of artistic integrity, an attempt to do too much or too little, I think that she has served Wagner quite well. Talking to people during intervals and after performances, the responses were invariably positive with only minor reservations. One of the most interesting and affirming things for me was seeing many young people at these performances and listening to them animatedly gushing about what they were hearing and seeing, and analysing the characters and situations. As a teacher, I was starting to feel a little more positive about the education of young people!
As a mark of respect, I wore my dinner suit to Das Rheingold: I love that sort of tradition! From the total blackout (a fantastic idea!) and the slowly emerging chords of the Rhine I knew I was going to be enthralled. The Rhinedaughters in their blue/grey wetsuits (later to have regally-coloured purple skirts added) sliding about the tilted forestage with a lascivious black leather-clad, equally sexy and popstar-like Alberich set the tone for what would follow: an eclectic approach with a great sense of fun, with aspects of both tradition and modernity. This is in keeping with Neidhardt's insistence on not “tying the production to a particular era or style” though there is a risk of confusing an audience by being too broad or vague and inviting critics to scream “cop out!”. Nick Schlieper's lighting was at its best and most evocative here: a shimmering blue-green haze that made us feel like we were underwater.
The set designs by Michael Scott-Mitchell were wonderfully inventive: imposing, sometimes glaringly bright, at others dim and chiaroscuro, at times angular and symmetrical (perhaps mirroring the at times predictable and changeable nature of the gods' thinking and behaviour). Stephen Curtis' costumes were a mixed bag, ranging from the appropriateness of the slippery Rhinedaughters and the grubby Mime, to the silliness of Siegfried's hippie gear and the ridiculous looking Woodbird as clown. The most impressive aspects of the Ring , for me, were the beautiful playing of the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra under Asher Fisch and the exquisite lighting by Nick Schlieper.
Is it possible that total clarity is attainable in such a monumental work? Neidhardt wanted a “fresh vision” and tried to “tell the story as simply and purely” as she could, “primarily true to Wagner's words and music.” She said to Penelope Debelle: “The story, I hope now, will be totally clear. It is in a modern setting, but not limited by time, so it's not set in any period. The gods look like gods and you will know they are gods because they are all white, on a white floor. They are absolutely ghastly, not friendly, but I did nothing that is not written.”
Well… What do gods actually look like? The seeringly white 1950s looking see-through fibreglass/plastic set for the mountaintop clearing certainly carries connotations of power but also of purity and transparency. These dopey gods, dressed predominantly in white with some silver, read building plans upside down and lounge about on funky retro lounges, the women with hairdos and skirts for nightclubbing, bearing plastic breasts and pearls, some of the men equally blonde and vapid (I wasn't close enough to see if they had blue eyes or not!) – Donner's cricket bat was a humorous nod to the “Australianness” of this production.
The much-vaunted water curtain created a fleeting impressive effect but, like the dragon's claw and Brünnhilde's rock, the limitations and usefulness, in the greater sense, was questionable. I found, on the other hand, the Nibelheim setting to be one of the most powerful in the whole cycle, along with the Gibichung hall that utilized the depth of the stage very well. When Alberich puts on the Tarnhelm and becomes a giant serpent in Nibelheim, the children (playing Nibelung slaves) are used to great effect – certainly not done for laughs, the way many productions apparently go. The ring itself is not outlandish or oversized, but at particular moments we see it glinting in light. I suspect that the blue, radiating panels around the whole proscenium are meant to symbolize the ring and its watery birth. There are numerous circular shapes in Scott-Mitchell's various settings to remind us of this ring and of the old cliché “what goes around, comes around”.
The gold piled up around Freia is most effective: crates that look like they should be carrying contraband weapons create beautifully the oxymoronic sense of protection and danger. Erda waddling on is less effective, though I understand that a singing torso presents its own difficulties. She is dressed in suitably earthy colours displaying what appear to be overly-large breasts, conveying the Erdmutter idea. Unfortunately, she seems merely to drift around, without stability, permanence and that sense of fixedness that would make one want to trust her opinions. Liane Keegan's earnest singing, however, gave the part a little more substance.
The rainbow bridge was presented as a glowing staircase situated upstage centre, leading to the opening of Valhalla . I can't say that it was a moment of pure magnificence visually, but the power of the music here, and in significant other places, helps out when the production crew have struggled with or ignored Wagner's directions. The feeling of splendour here comes almost entirely through the music, as does the destruction, fall and burning of Valhalla and the rise of the Rhine at the end of the cycle. It is at moments like these where verisimilitude is impossible – so why try? I think the director was wise in this respect. Neidhardt and her team bring to life many of the themes/ leitmotivs in Das Rheingold quite clearly. The lime-green workmen's overalls for Fasolt and Fafner immediately display their role in the drama, without the need for stilts. They are bald, 21 st Century giants with oversized shoes, showing that bigger is certainly not always better.
Neidhardt said that the Ring “is 16 1/2 hours of music, and 16 ½ hours of ugliness I don't think is on” and that she wanted Michael Scott-Mitchell “to recreate the theatrical magic of the Sydney Olympics when Cathy Freeman lit his cauldron before it rose from the water below.” There are many beautiful and effective moments in this cycle, perhaps none more striking than the “Wunder Bar” in Die Walkure . Many would see this as a momentary jape taken a step too far, that perhaps the amusing cleverness of the design is not quite enough to sustain the weight of a whole scene – overkill, if you like. The same could be said of the dragon's claw in Siegfried . Was such expense gone to merely to have the dragon flip its middle finger at the hero?
Hunding's shiny, circular, high-tech rather than primitive house cleverly united upstanding metallic spears, water and a hint of Brünnhilde's rock in a cage-like environment which clearly displayed Hunding's possessiveness. The shallow water enables us to concretise aspects of the characterization: that Siegmund's face is Sieglinde's reflection, that his voice is her own echo and that she is the image which he has kept hidden within himself. Water is an extremely powerful and versatile symbolic element. I talked to some people who did not like the Arthurian approach instead of the sword Nothung in the World Ash Tree, but it seemed to work well enough.
It is noticeable that rarely in the entire design concept does any natural substance appear (apart from water and fire), and there is precious little in the way of natural colour too, with the exception of Erda. In this scene, Neidhardt cleverly has Sieglinde slip out dressed in Hunding's colours (red) and to shed these, upon her return, in favour of Siegmund's (green). As a relative newcomer to Wagner's work, I was puzzled about why I did not feel any real revulsion towards the incest presented in this drama. Perhaps we don't really think deeply about confronting themes, and would rather be carried away by the music and spectacle? In truth, most of what happens in the Ring is totally ridiculous.
Wotan instructs his daughter on a set filled with life-size transparent plastic figures with silvery, winged helmets, all facing stage right. It is not clear as to the meaning of this, though these hollow figures would appear to be vessels ripe for filling with Wotan's knowledge and experience. Brunnhilde is presented clearly as being different from the rest of the Valkyrie sisters. She wears a long, relatively demure emerald-green dress, with coat and hood, which is at odds with her outlandish, aggressive, punk-like sisters. The “Wunder Bar” makes a small concession to traditional productions by placing a horned helmet atop the name, otherwise it is a sparkling white set with nine spinning barstools, a bar behind which can be seen television screens soon about to display thunder and lightning. The avoidance of real horses (and previously [in the Australian Opera's production – Ed.] Fricka's chariot drawn by rams) comes as no surprise to us. The wildness of the ride and the Valkyries' dissenting behaviour comes through perfectly in the loud, sinister, war-like music and the wailing women. Despite pleading that she cannot understand Wotan's arguments about why Siegmund had to die etc., Brunnhilde is placed on an isolated rock, surrounded by fire. Neidhardt has Wotan do this very tenderly and reluctantly, which certainly fits the heart-rending music. Memories of Cathy Freeman looking nervous in 2000 come flooding back, though this set does not malfunction and we cannot see Lisa Gasteen trembling (who wouldn't tremble, though?) because she is laying down and we are intrigued by the jets of flame coming up through holes in the stage floor and we literally feel the heat of this situation. In a sense, this scene marks the end of the reign of the gods – at this point Wotan has given up and we wait expectantly for what is to follow.
Siegfried begins with a wonderful rendering of Mime's cave deep in the forest, a postmodern metal-smithing junkpile belonging to a hoarder. Once again, the circular, slightly sunken space that was used as Hunding's hut is used, assisting us to see connections between settings and events. Richard Greager is a wonderfully warty and whining Mime (one of my favourites!). Wotan appears as a touristy-looking Wanderer, wearing a camera around his neck and a red sun visor on his head. Indeed, Neidhardt has him reappear every now and then, wandering around the fringes of the stage. He has aged and looks weary, and the costume designer has cleverly given the gods, from this point on, a creeping greyness, from the feet upwards, in their predominantly white costumes, suggesting their aging and diminishing significance. After much reflection, I still cannot understand the value of Siegfried's costume: a vaguely hippie-like, baggy linen outfit which would have been much more suitable in Hair or a film like Big Wednesday . The re-forging of Nothung, however, from junkpile to near-perfection, is staged simply but most effectively. The smashing of the anvil becomes a lopping of one of the tall metal, spear-like protuberances emerging from the circular pit in the stage.
The setting for Act 2 may be the most colourful (albeit artificially) in the entire cycle: a raft of green balloons suspended above the stage recreated the freedom and airiness of the forest, but again I found it hard to come to terms with a Woodbird dressed like a clown in a frizzy red wig, running around carrying a balloon shaped like a large red mouth. Why was she onstage at all? This may be an opportune time to think about the hairstyles given to the characters in this cycle. We have come to recognize that the male gods and their progeny have, in the main (or is that “mane”?) long, thick and wavy red hair: Why? To represent passion, blood, fire, shame, embarrassment, temper? Or the more Biblical impression derived from a supposedly red-headed Judas and his lack of trustworthiness and his two-timing? The female gods we have seen with bouffant blonde styles, a ditzy cross between Marilyn Monroe and the B-52s. Strangely, we see the Woodbird with red hair and this is quite confusing. Is Neidhardt telling us that this Woodbird is somehow related to the gods? Or is she trickily trying to suggest that these selfsame gods are totally responsible for their own destinies?
Fafner as dragon emerges from a large golden iris (another ring) upstage centre – but only one claw. As effective as this was, it appeared to be an overly complicated and expensive way to carry out a single, momentary visual gag: the middle finger flipping “Get f----d!” as the dragon is slain. For the money that was spent, I believe that the dragon's head and jaws would have been more justifiable, probably more interesting and certainly with more dramatic mileage.
In Act 3 Scene 1 Wotan gives the impression that Erda's all-knowingness is disappearing (though Neidhardt refutes this by bringing her back at the very end of Gotterdammerung , holding what appears to be a small ash tree). Strangely, there was little emphasis given to Nothung's shattering Wotan's spear.
The device of bringing down the house curtain to cover some scene changes simply did not work and remained, in such an expensive production, a point of weakness. Audiences love to see scenery moving in and out and a clever use of lighting at these points, accompanied by the wonderful orchestra, would have been an added spectacle. Using the house curtain in this way exacerbated the problem of why the workings of the dragon's claw were shown (nothing else was highlighted in quite this way) – perhaps Neidhardt was mirroring the unpredictability, inconsistency and confusion of the gods?
So to Gotterdammerung . I love William Berger's description of the Prologue: “Trying to make literal sense out of the Norns is as hopeless as deciphering Led Zeppelin lyrics”. The three Norns with their iridescent rope of world knowledge weave away under Brünnhilde's tilted rock, now with a soft grassy covering, leading into the most impressive setting in the whole cycle: the Hall of the Gibichungs. Again, this orchestral interlude did not need to be covered by the bringing down of the house curtain. This is where we see the vast stage of the Festival Theatre used to its potential – the creation of depth and space in Michael Scott-Mitchell's red-lit, receding angular superstructure (which was on trucks so that it could be moved concertina-fashion) that created an effective space/prison dichotomy and looked like it might be collapsing at its furthest upstage point.
Hagen, looking a lot like his father Alberich, Gunther, in commanding officer's gear of the coalition forces in Iraq, and polio-stricken Gutrune, with a calliper on her leg and a dowdy outfit (Australian chenille?) with cardigan (though I did not see a used tissue up the sleeve), and various hangers-on who resemble white collar corporate raiders or modern airline stewards. One of the most impressive sections of this opera follows Hagen 's calling of his vassals. Many of them are dressed like Paul Hogan in his television show (flannelette shirt without sleeves, work shorts, sturdy boots and football socks – another concession to this being an Australian production). When they arrive for this first chorus in the entire cycle, the effects are impressive and Neidhardt shifts them around the stage with style. Brünnhilde's dress is deep red with a creeping yellow ring around the bottom, looking very flame-like.
The return of the Rhinedaughters in Act 3 bearing umbrellas is kind of fun, but just an excuse to have them do something different. They are supposed to live in water! Siegfried's murder is suitably low-key (he obviously had it coming to him) and the hydraulic lift is used once again, this time as a pyre where our hero is laid, wrapped with his sword. There follows a powerful sequence when the Gibichung vassals/warriors solemnly march past in an apparently endless line behind a screen upstage, paying homage. More fire is added to the stage for the immolation sequence, with a line of flames licking and growing behind this screen. Lisa Gasteen worked very hard during her demanding aria, though there are those who know more about singing than I do who thought that she struggled a little bit with the higher registers. Nonetheless, she was effective and engaging with her heroic grieving as the end of her voice coincided with her telling of the end of the gods. I'm not sure about the black coat that she was wearing – someone said it looked suspiciously like Ms. Gasteen was trying to cover up a costume that she didn't approve of!
The collapse of Valhalla could have been much more effective: why wasn't the concertina-like Gibichung set designed so that it really could fall in on itself? The audience could feel the heat of the flames (I certainly could, even from the second to back row of the theatre), but Brunnhilde slipping out between curtains upstage was actually a bit of a squib and the time it took for the water curtain to be put into place again (and the plasticy, dribbling noises that could have been covered up by the orchestra) certainly didn't evoke this destruction as powerfully as it could have.
If the Gibichungs represent humanity and whom Wagner made clear must not be harmed by the final cataclysm, and the gods are all immolated, then this section did not make it clear. In an Eliot-like sense, this finale is a whimper, and not a bang. The final image of Erda holding a small tree, presumably an ash, behind the water curtain suggests powers of redemption and regeneration and hope for the future. Is it, though, clear enough that this redemption is specifically for the world and for the ring itself and not for the gods?
In Elke Neidhardt's Director's Note from the program, she writes that “My answer has been to look closely at the text – Wagner's own words – and to present what the characters themselves are saying in a way that resonates in our own age. The mythology from which his narrative derives belongs to no time and every time. Its strength, which he recognized, is that it comments on the human condition without being tied to specific historical circumstances.” In other words, a flexible, eclectic production that is very much a potent theatrical experience. To these ends, the Adelaide Ring is successful, though perhaps a qualified one. Most of us were moved and affected, and certainly not bored, as Neidhardt would have wished, and the production team should be proud of its accomplishments. I am glad and privileged to have been a part of this wonderful work and I now hope that I will get to Bayreuth one day – as long as I continue to do my homework… January 2, 2005 .
[ Robert Graham is Head of English at Oxley College , Bowral. He is an Honours graduate of the Drama Department at Newcastle University and has an MA in Theatre Arts from the University of Pittsburgh . He has directed productions for school and university students and for community theatre groups. He is the recipient of two Canberra Area Theatre Awards for Best Director and is currently working on a production of Ibsen's A Doll's House with his Extension 1 English students.]
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25-Feb-2005
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