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Katherina Wagner’s Die Meistersinger – The Final Wrap!Robert Lloyd Before viewing the ‘Baptism of Fire’ documentary and knowing nothing of her credentials, I anticipated a fresh, new broom approach— a young Director's interpretation. At the same time, I feared her interpretation might be dripping with stultifying reverential awe. Either way, I needn't have worried! Aware that first impressions can be misleading, the engrossing ‘Baptism of Fire’ alerted me to the shock tactics she employed to present her iconoclastic, insensitive offering. With culpable indifference and questionable taste, Katherina Wagner has marshalled the worst aspects of today's popular culture in trying to ‘communicate’ and be relevant to a so-called modern audience. Having now seen the entire production on DVD, I feel more entitled to express what is a very personal view—one which I hope will be challenged with passion. Surely it is the timeless universality of the Wagner repertoire that encourages new exploration and freedom of interpretation. The foundation, the Director's starting point, is the score: the orchestration answers every question. To impose a too rigid or fixed concept is to conflict with the basic musical structure. Whether viewing a DVD screening or attending a live performance, this balance between score and interpretation is especially important if it happens to be an audience member's first experience of the work. Right or wrong, good or bad—the impression left is usually indelible, possibly damaging. Evaluating the merit of a given production—either as a shared experience surrounded by the collective energy of fellow Audience member, or on DVD as a record of the performance, restricted by stage lighting and selective camera work—we are dealing with two quite different productions. In this case, it is only on the DVD that I can make any judgement. Katie French's excellent and informative article in our last Newsletter pointed out these details with great perception and clarity. Having the advantage of attending the Production in the Festspielhaus, she experienced much in Katherina Wagner's production that pleased her and thus was able to make a valuable comparison. My appreciation of her opinion has tempered my extreme reaction into a manageable and enjoyable outrage. Long after this production has been removed from the Festspielhaus' repertoire, this record will remain; its importance should not be underestimated. Lapping up the performance Act by Act and with only the DVD to consider, I sincerely hoped that my personal bias and jaundiced eye didn't prevent my seeing any hint of beauty or wit. There were some promising moments captured, but these were sadly elusive. A commendable decision by the Director was to appoint Christian Thielemann as her Music Director. The music, the orchestra and the singing kept my spirit afloat. On the technical problems associated with video productions, I can speak with some assurance, having directed and edited a number of live musical performances—often on location, using a multi-camera set-up linked to corresponding monitors; literally ‘calling the shots.’ Careful preparation and attending the rehearsals with the crew gives one the structure needed to plan the operation, with the cameramen taking instructions by linked headphones, being alerted to prepare for a change in position or angle. Editing live is an adrenalin-charged exercise and success depends on team work and trust: it is a very shared experience. What gave the ‘Baptism of Fire’ documentary such energy and immediacy was the excellent hand-held camera work. Known fondly as ‘Wobbly Cam’, operators hopefully can add pace and interesting angles as against static fixed camera positions. While not appropriate—or easy—in the Festspielhaus, in the DVD version one frequently needed shots showing audience reaction and involvement. Mind you, pictures of an outraged audience throwing their cushions and handbags at the stage might have added a certain frisson to the proceedings. Only joking-honestly. Katherina Wagner's demands on the cast, often requiring them to handle difficult business, awkward positions and almost unmanageable props, would have made taping her production additionally difficult for the Camera Director. In constantly focusing on close ups, usually to the detriment of the general action, he had little choice. A good example of this is in Act 2 where poor little Eva, wearing her simple blue drip dry shift is being graffitied by the dreaded Walter wielding his lethal paintbrush. She had to hold a series of positions for agonizing minutes on end. Fortunately, she didn't have to sing. What Hans Sachs was doing, I can’t remember. Frequent wide shots of the entire stage would have been useless because of the impenetrable gloom that seemed to dominate this production. A friendly Labrador and/or a white stick might have helped the unfortunate cast. Unlike the little black dress, I for one will be glad when the new fashionable black, so loved by Designers and Directors alike, is no longer fashionable. We are supposedly dealing with what is laughingly called a Comedy! In all fairness, l imagine this was not the case when seeing the production in the Festspielhaus. I have to confess that the scene with the inflatable sex doll, seen in the 2007 documentary tended to disturb my concentration when viewing the entire DVD production; I was never sure when she was likely to literally ‘pop up’. Mercifully, this Plastic Floozy had either exploded or been pensioned off for the 2008 production. The scene that replaced it is, predictably, equally repugnant. Gloom-laden, the Act I set resembled the exercise yard of a less than salubrious prison. The glum chorus, drilled into submission, when not marching in single file, spent their time building tables. Wearing strange grey wigs and stranger short pants, they resembled inmates from a Dickensian Reformatory, seconded for the occasion. Set in the present day, with the cast in modern dress, made identifying the different characters rather confusing; and the gloom didn't help. Hans Sachs—chain smoking and shoeless was a delightful idea—a gentle comment on the Cobbler's profession. Also, the ceiling frescos and duelling jigsaw puzzles were a sensitive reminder of the Opera's genesis. Walter was another matter; with obvious ‘street cred’, he, a Graffiti Artist, looked like someone to be avoided at any cost. Armed with a bucket of paint and lethal paintbrush, he daubed anything or anyone who stood still long enough to express his desperate need to be creative. No surface escaped his attention, including a cello. Eva and Magdalena looked sadly less than chic or remotely desirable, dressed as they were in a style best described as early Schindler's List. Targeting Eva, her appearance only encouraged Walter’s ardour; he also sang. The tables, once built and placed together to form one huge rostrum, gave the now manic Walter yet another tempting surface, a new blank canvas, to express his dubious talent. Paint splattered, the Boardroom meeting ended with the grey Reformatory Inmates clearing up the mess. With all the business suits, Beckmesser and David were often lost in the crowd. Hans was always easy to spot—the only one on stage not wearing shoes. But it was the glorious music and equally lovely singing that enabled easier identification. The Act 2 setting—the ‘genial summer evening’ with the Elder and Linden trees sadly missing and the stage predictably gloomy—had all the charm and comfort one enjoys astride a milk crate on the pavement outside Bar Coluzzi on a wet afternoon. Hans was there, his typewriter at the ready. David was busy doing something, but I m not sure what. A huge hand dominated the stage, but its importance escaped me; then it fell down, which was probably meaningful. This did however provide an elevated position for Walther to graffiti Eva, now wearing her simple blue drip dry dress. She had to hold artistic poses for agonising minutes on end, while Walter, wielding his dripping paint brush expressed himself yet again. Instead of Manna from heaven, a deluge of Dunlop shoes rained down; multi-coloured, they certainly added welcome colour and movement to the scene. A lute-less Beckmesser was accompanied in his wonderfully grotesque serenade by Hans tapping away on his typewriter. A highlight of this Act was the beautifully choreographed and performed riot scene. That was until the Andy Warhol moment. Another deluge. This time, suspiciously coloured Campbell’s Soup poured down on the hapless cast. I interpreted this to be a condemnation of American Popular Art and its debilitating influence on the cultural world. I got the message, I think. It took the hour interval and an army of resolute cleaners to wipe up the mess. Act 3 was equally puzzling, with Hans' simple workshop now resembling the Waiting Lounge of a cut-price airline. Walter, now trying his hand at stage design with predictably little success, spent an inordinate amount of time cutting up cardboard and endlessly toying with his model stage. Constantly wandering in search for excitement, he also had fun with a large soup can. By now, Hans was wearing shoes. Neither dripped, nor dried, Eva was still to be seen in her favourite Blue Dress from the day before. She also wore sandshoes—one red, the other, green which, while showing originality, revealed that she was colour blind and lacking a certain fashion sense. During the usually lovely and touching shoe fitting scene, Eva had to endure very inappropriate touching by an ardent Hans. I feared the worst. It's not easy fitting sandshoes; one can easily get carried away. The sly Beckmesser, opera’s favourite pedant and ever the deluded optimist, lurked with admirable stealth. The scene in the emotionally charged, almost claustrophobic, confines of Sach’s workshop ended with the glorious quintet. This wonderful moment was beautiful realised. Large gold picture frames lowered, left and right, to frame family portraits; a prophetic glimpse of the future awaiting our now married couples, their respective children sharing the moment with doting parents. The pleasure generated by this touching scene was soon shattered when Magdalena's young son showed the telltale sign of an unfortunate bladder condition. That brought us down with a thud. Anticipation of the always spectacular scene change to the open meadow—the breath of fresh air, sunlight, the sheer exuberance, and proud dignity of the Guilds—makes this one of the great moments in all opera. Tinged with a little sadness, knowing this delight will soon come to an end, a ripple of excitement envelopes the audience. We become active participants sharing the joy—personally involved. So what did we see? A disappointingly dark stage and a row of dead composers with big heads thinking they were the New York Rockettes. The suitably morose chorus, jam-packed into stadium-style seating which slowly rose up from the Stage floor. Technically very impressive; the result was less than joyous. Eva had at last changed her dress, which was a decided plus—things were looking up! The doll-like dancing girls that so excited David's interest also had big heads and made one wonder what his problem was. I couldn't find Magdalena; Hans was wearing shoes for the occasion. To my relief, the scene where previously the desperate Beckmesser has a dalliance with our accommodating Plastic Floozy, the inflatable sex doll, didn't eventuate. Whether she exploded, was punctured or simply past her ‘use by’ date, one hardly cared. The scene that replaced these former high jinks was equally turgid and gave new meaning to the word gratuitous. Beckmesser, still lute-less, as well as clueless, rendered his tortured offering to the contest audience. A large surgical trolley was wheeled on stage, piled high with what looked like potting mix. After some time, an excrement-smeared gentleman emerged alive and well—and totally naked. He proudly revealed all, first to the audience then turned around to the now more animated chorus. With that, he walked off, followed by the trolley. Sandshoes might have helped. As if Beckmesser's song isn't enough, at this point I gave up, no longer caring who won who or what. In trying to fathom the meaning behind this concept, I thought it best left to Sigmund Freud. Taking my brick-bat, I went home. Still happily Outraged of Elizabeth Bay. Terence Watson My first performance at the 2009 Bayreuther Festspiele was the notorious debut production of Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg by the new Festival Director, Katherina Wagner (premiered 2007), but I found it in parts interesting, with a serious point of view, and in parts stupid and crass. All of the current Bayreuth productions have made me think about the paradox that performing Wagner seems to engender in many directors these day. Wagner spent all his life extracting all the local, identifiable historical detail from his libretti to turn them into mythic statements about human nature, while almost all contemporary directors spend vast amounts of energy working out how to import history of one sort or another into their productions. At Bayreuth we have good selection of strategies, of which Stefan Herheim's for Parsifal is the most successful. (As the first part of Dr Jim Leigh's review in this Newsletter shows.) Meistersinger is, of course, the exception in Wagner’s later work and perhaps accounts for its popularity: one doesn’t need to deal with layers of symbolism and mythology. In Meistersinger, Katharina Wagner and her sidekick dramaturg Robert Sollich, have decided that the setting is more or less contemporary Nuremberg, though the setting seems to have changed from a church to a small auditorium in the local conservatorium. The time depends on one's view of when abstract expressionism / action painting / performance art / graffiti-as-art may have arrived in the town, since Walther seems to be an fervent if untalented practitioner. Wagner’s and Sollich’s conception of his character is central to the production. When he emerges from inside a grand piano, a little like Venus emerging from the sea in Botticelli's famous painting, Walther is clearly being presented as the Ur-painter, wild, romantic, untrammelled by conventions, effectively a kindergarten kid with an endless supply of paint that he uses to liberally daub the environment with adolescent graffiti and protest slogans. He demonstrates his talent by tagging some of the busts of Durer, Holderlin and other revered German artists that line the Con’s walls. The point in Act 1 seems to be to establish him as behaving without rules of any kind, and hence an (infantile) archetype of the rebel. Acts 2 and 3 present him as gradually being brought ‘under control’ through Hans Sachs's inculcation of the rules of the Meistersingers, at the same time as Sachs is shown becoming even more rule-bound and ‘bourgeoisiefied’ (demonstrated in his putting on shoes and jackets!), so that he ends up as an incarnation of conservatism. The Meistersingers are depicted as boring pedants rigidified by their obsession with the rules into parodies of artists. Their protégé's, the apprentices (played by male and female chorus members of incongruous ages and builds), are very amusingly depicted in what I took to be quasi-mediaeval page-boy bobs and standard gray school uniforms, with shorts not long trousers – another dig at the conservatism of the conservatorium. They are made to carry out a rather pointless, if clever, ritual for most of Act 1 of carrying what seem to candlesticks that turn into table legs for the Meistersingers' tables for their meeting after the church service. Beckmesser is as young as Walther, in itself an innovation, since most productions cast him as middle-aged at least-but already a rule-bound, prissy fuddy-duddy, completely out of place with both the Meistersingers and the younger crowd who frequent the Con’s coffeehouse of Act 2. When he is humiliated in Act 2 by the outrageous behaviour of Walther and dismayed by Eva's obvious preference for Walther, he decides on a parallel but inverse reaction to the direction Walther and Sachs are taking, ie to rebellion. As they become more conventional and traditional, Beckmesser launches into the same sort of Ur-painter, wild, romantic, graffiti artist role that Walther is abandoning. As an illustration of his new artistic edginess, Beckmesser turns Sachs's bookcase into a satirical naked installation, complete with dangly bits. Instead of the procession of the Mastersingers and the dance of the apprentices, that, admittedly, can be pompous and/or awkwardly kitsch-neo-volkisch, Wagner gives us a ‘statues’ (parodic puppets of German greats, such as Goethe, Schiller, Bach, Kleist, Lessing, Durer, Beethoven, Holderlin – and others less familiar to English speakers, such as Schadow, von Knobelsdorff, Schinkel, with exaggerated heads and appendages) who carry on a mixture of artistic activities and ordinary domestic business (such as reading the newspaper on the toile) – all to remind us of the rather trite point, I take it, that artists can be boring people too, with peccadilloes and festishes. But, they all take their turns upstaging each other in the lead up to the competition – even doing a Rockettes high-kick routine – and take their bows at the end of the night, before being consigned to the rubbish bin. During the prize-song competition itself, which is recast as a bizarre Idol singing competition, Beckmesser turns to shock-artist (or Dadaist, according to some reports) tactics by unburying a naked man from a pile of dirt (perhaps a reference to the Jewish Golem story) while bemused then increasingly outraged Nuremburgers look on and boo, although a few progressive (or just more fashion/dad conscious) members applaud – another dig at the mixed nature of Bayreuth audiences. To complete Beckmesser’s piece of rebellious performance art, a member of the stage audience strips and dances with the Golem (but doesn’t simulate sex as in the premiere). For his part, Walther creates a kitschy stage set (possibly for Tristan und Isolde), complete with fairy lights and a mediaeval prince and princess who mime badly around a pond while Walther, now in a full business suit, serenades them and the mostly entranced bourgeois Nuremburgers, as if he were Barry Manilow (or perhaps Peter Hoffmann in his pre-Wagnerian career) – a little dig at the conservative audiences who prefer the works to be done ‘as Wagner intended’ and have booed Katherina Wagner’s productions elsewhere? To put a final point on their production, Wagner and Sollich show how far to the conservative side of art they contend Sachs has moved during his education of Walther in the Meistersinger rules. To place his Deutsche Art outburst in what they see as a relevant context, the director has two huge torsos of Goethe and Schiller in pseudo-Greek style emerge from the stage floor (reminding Sydney-siders of the woeful inadequacies of our pretend opera theatre) to flank Sachs, who they light with intense white light from below, so he looks very sinister. It is surprising to me that Goethe and Schiller were selected to represent the forces of reaction, since, in many ways, they were liberating influences who pointed to the imprisoning effects of the rationalist movement in Europe. In another ploy that has become almost de rigueur at Bayreuth, Wagner had the chorus who were on stage in bleacher seats behind the action and dressed in contemporary street clothes suddenly strip of their clothes to reveal their evening dress - ie a fairly clumsy reminder to the audience on the other side of the footlights that YOU are part of this continuous battle of the conservatives and progressives in art, as well in politics and all other aspects of life. I took it that Wagner had a serious point about the nature of art and its audiences, but all the stage busyness often distracted one's attention from the point or buried it under cleverness. Perhaps the most serious accusation that could be levelled at the production is that, while making a point about modern painting and painters, Wagner trivialises her great-grandfather's own points about the value of poetry and music. Clearly, one cannot muck around with the poetry and music, otherwise the work becomes something else, so the director had to deploy the metaphor of painters and paintings to make her point. This overlay Wagner's work of art with a coating of metaphor that was not always relevant to his intentions. The equivalent of what the director was doing to her great-grandfather's work was what Marcel Duchamp did in painting a moustache on the Mona Lisa. However, Duchamp's' action was very targetted and restrained in comparison with the uncontrolled romp into which Katherina Wagner turned Meistersinger. As Patricia Baillie lamented in the last issue of the Newsletter, the quintet was one of the major casualties, as the singers were not only framed in huge kitsch gilt frames (admittedly in keeping with the painting-metaphor), but also decked out with suddenly-created children in an obvious parody of happy families. The contortions in literalising the metaphor in this situation simply made the music and sentiments of the characters seem trifling, rather than one of the greatest achievements in western operatic writing. Similarly, Walther's final prize song, addressed to the faux prince and princess, and delivered by a faux pop singer reduced the stature of the music sadly. In fact, however, the director's choice on this point seriously called into question her own logic. Surely, if she were lamenting Walther's loss of primal spontaneity and creativity as the original performance artist, through Sachs' education process, and wanted to create an equivalently spontaneous and creative version of the prize song, she would have had Walther sing it in a punk rock or head-banging heavy metal version? But, of course, this brings us back to the limitation of the initial conception-even the composer's great-granddaughter would not dare to meddle with the poetry and music. In short, while I had much sympathy for the director's exploration of the age-old tussle between conservatism and change in the arts, which was part of Wagner's own story in his Meistersinger, the parallels between the plastic arts and the musical and dramatic arts that Wagner would have found interesting were buried in often confusing and over-produced stage business. Ironically, Kate Connolly in the Guardian of 27 July 2009 reported that: The enfant terrible of German theatre, director Christoph Schlingensief, delivered a harsh verdict on Deutschland Radio, saying it felt like she had set the opera in a ‘fitness studio or a porn shop’ (www.guardian.co.uk/world/2007/jul/27/germany.classicalmusic). I have to agree with Shirley Apthorp’s summary from her review on the Bloomberg website: ‘Katharina's calculated subversion of the plot could have been brilliant if it had been more sparingly realized. In her frenetic struggle to prove herself clever enough, presumably aided by intellectual dramaturge Robert Sollich, a few good ideas and strong images are lost in the dross’ (www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601088&refer=home&sid=apZfndfDH0yc). Without doubt, Klaus-Florian Voigt as Walther is as good to look as Peter Hoffmann was and with a similar voice, and with the likelihood that he also will not last, as his voice does not seem to have Wagnerian strength and heft. Alan Titus as Sachs was, according to friends who saw it last year, in better voice, but he had problems maintaining volume and focus, and his acting seemed a little less than fully committed. Michaela Kaune as Eva was perfectly adequate, and my sympathy went out to her as she had to put up with Walther's feeble attempts to turn her into a human canvass, and his paintbrush tickling her ‘under the ribs.’ Most impressive, however, was the relative newcomer, Adrian Eroed as Beckmesser. As young as, if not actually younger than, Voigt, he brought a welcome freshness to both the character and the singing, with a rich, resonant tenor voice that belied his small stature. I see that Jan Bowen was equally impressed by him as Siegmund in the Vienna Ring Cycle (in the September 2009 Newsletter No. 116 - www.wagner-nsw.org.au/reviews/r09/r09_013_polished.html). My final comment about the performance is on the quality of the orchestral sound. It may be an illusion, or my poor memory of previous visits, but I felt that each of the conductors, who are of a younger generation - Sebastien Weigle for Meistersinger, Danielle Gatti for Parsifal, Christian Thielemann for The Ring Cycle - and even Peter Schneider, a slightly older conductor, for Tristan - were achieving a quite different sound from such conductors I've heard there previously, as James Levine and Daniel Barenboim. It occurred to me that the latter conductors were more likely to bring to Bayreuth the ‘soundscape’ that they had created over many years in their home theatres than the younger ones who may have been more interested in and susceptible to the special qualities of the Festspielhaus. It may be also that Pierre Boulez's conducting of the Centennial Ring in 1976, which was heavily criticised for being ‘too light’ or ‘too thin’ to do justice to Wagner's score, set some people thinking, and his 2004 Parsifal particularly in the light of the period instrument movement. Boulez is reported as considering that ‘To conduct Parsifal as a slow, grandiose celebration of religiosity could all too easily turn into a proto-nationalist ritual, so it's no wonder Boulez wanted to strip away these connotations (The Guardian, Friday 23 July 2004 or at the website: www.guardian.co.uk/music/2004/jul/23/classicalmusicandopera). I have heard some performances of Wagner and Bruckner, for example, by Roger Norrington and others of the period instrument movement, that have been ear-opening in the clarity and precision of the playing, without sacrificing the bigness of the sound, when needed. Boulez's conducting of Parsifal was praised for bringing a glistening subtlety and suppleness to the score - no mention of being too light. Perhaps the younger conductors, taking their lead from Boulez and the period instrument movement, are re-thinking their approach to Wagner. On top of this, the acoustics of the Festspielhaus clearly respond to a ‘thinning out’ of the overall texture of the music in the sense of holding back some of the lesser instruments in climaxes so that one is not overwhelmed by the total volume, but can hear the inner voices more clearly and consistently. In passages of Meistersinger and Parsifal, I was astonished by the silky satiny sound the orchestras produced when the conductors balanced the parts more delicately than Levine or Barenboim, who seem more to aim for the total soundscape and so sometimes sacrifice clarity of instrumentation and part-writing. Wagner, after all, learned a lot from Bach in polyphonic writing and it is worth being able to hear more of it. On the basis of hearing his Ring Cycle, Thielemann deserves his Wunderkind reputation. Thielemann did amazing things with the Bayreuth orchestra. He had them stop climaxes on a pfennig and drop to the lowest pianissimo, creating breathtaking effects. He also held the louder instruments back so that the inner voices shone through—a definite tribute to Boulez's approach in his Centennial Ring, to my mind. All in all, I would love the opportunity to hear these conductors again exploring the wonderful sound that the Festspielhaus is capable of producing from perfectly honed orchestras under sensitive and insightful direction. It also make me wonder if I really want to hear the Met Orchestra under Levine do its next Ring when there are such innovative conductors in other places doing such wonderful things with the music. Nevertheless, Bayreuth is still so much the Mecca for lovers of Wagner’s works, in some cases in spite of their production values in the Festspielhaus, that some 438, 136 people from 80 countries applied for 53, 900 tickets – so now you know your chances! Back to Society Home PageThis Page was last updated 29-Mar-2010->-> © Wagner Society in NSW Inc 2010 |