The lovers giving
excellent performances are RenÈ Kollo and Johanna Meier, and their teeth are
not good, but if the production had not been televised (and now presented on
DVD, with close-up feature — don’t hit that button) no
one would notice or care. Back when Kollo and Meier were trained for the
opera stage, photogenic was not quite the requirement it is today, and
perhaps we had all better settle down to this new era.
Otherwise, a fine all-around Tristan, the staging informed by
Freudian theory. Direction, scenery, costumes are the work of Jean-Pierre
Ponnelle, who has great ideas and not-so-great ideas. His sets are unified by
a developing shape: the rising, phallic prow and root-encrusted ship’s
cabin of Act I (somewhat disguised by diaphanous sail until the finale) grows
into a tree in bountiful bloom in Act II; that in turn becomes the blasted,
leafless tree of Act III’s wasteland. The gnarly plot is echoed in all
three acts by the gnarl of the growing — or tormented — wood. The
lighting of Act II progresses from effulgent garden to the stark
black-and-white of torchless night to glowing colored shadows of the
Liebesnacht’s supremely erotic climax to harsh, bleached-out concluding
scenes. The costumes underscore mood and impulse, the yin-and-yang of it all:
Tristan always in black (with a jet black wig) until bloody bandages
supersede, Isolde always in white (with a crown full of blossom on which she
vents her fury).
Some of Ponnelle’s take may be a bit too focused on tying it all
together as ur-myth. We first see Isolde writhing in a smothering cocoon of
silken cloak, her head crowned by a flowery basket — is she supposed to
be a growing plant or queen of an insect colony? She serves Tristan the
potion in a platter rather than a bowl — a saucer of tea? — and
when he takes it, demands to share it. They drink from the thing together
— which spares us the usual
Tristan-rubbing-his-eyes-and-miming-“Wha?,” but on the other hand
— have you ever tried to drink two at a time from a small pan? I mean,
after the age of six did you ever try this? Did any of the liquid reach
anybody’s mouth? The stage picture is interesting (the platter becomes
a mirror in which the lovers see, perhaps, their inner selves — making
them one doomed psyche: animus combined with anima), but I found it difficult
to put the notion of six-year-olds spilling their milk out of my head.
More should be said of the acting because it is so very good, and the
singers clearly worked intimately with the director on the details. Meier is
not a pretty woman, and Ponnelle has almost emphasized this in Act I, giving
her cold, angry, desperate movements while her singing is, frankly, harsh. In
Act II we might be seeing (and hearing) a different soprano: long, unbound
golden hair softens her profile and her every movement — from the
moment she appears, at curtain-rise, almost dancing about the tree with the
torch in her hand — is graceful, yearning, lyric eroticism. The voice,
too, is softer, sweeter, almost coy — a trick far more famous Isoldes
(Nilsson, notably) could not quite pull off. When Tristan finally appears,
she is clinging, delirious, beside herself. Some stridency in the higher
notes aside, she creates the illusion of an adorable Isolde, and
Kollo’s Byronic Tristan matches her, ardent gesture for gesture, with a
blank, anguished stare for the act’s end — though he saves the
best for his madly capering hallucinations in Act III, which in this version
takes place almost entirely in Tristan’s feverish head during the last
instant or two of his life.
The entire cast is strong — the reason I would go no farther than
“strong” will become clear as soon as the Liebesnacht is over,
when Matti Salminen’s King Marke first opens his mouth. At once we are
in the Golden Age of Wagner singing, and no one else around is quite up to
this standard. Salminen — who sang his farewell to the Met in this part
last winter, still sounding wonderful — was something godlike
twenty-five years ago. Each note, each phrase is as beautiful as a bass can
be, but he goes further, twisting the words, impelling the sadness, the
self-disgust, the incomprehension of the man betrayed by everything he has
honored and loved. When a Salminen — or a Kurt Moll — or a RenÈ
Pape — sings Marke, he becomes the center of the opera despite its
title; his anguish — how can a moral person betray all the standards of
society? — and Wagner’s answer: when overcome by the power of
love, makes the work’s philosophic point.
That point is underlined — perhaps to excess — by
Ponnelle’s controversial staging of the end of the opera: Tristan,
dying from his wounds, in his very last stunned, hallucinatory moments, seems
to perceive Isolde emerging from the cleft in the stricken tree (where have
we seen that shape before?) to sing her farewell and enlightenment to an
immobile Tristan before he slumps to death — whereupon the stage goes
dark, to come up on the tableau of the act’s beginning: Shepherd,
Kurwenal, Tristan. Did he imagine all the rest of the act in his final
instant of life? Is he finding surcease (as the libretto suggests) by
accepting death by returning through the very organ that gave him birth? Then
what did become of Isolde? Did she and Marke work out their troubled
marriage, or did she die herself, as Kurwenal hints? Well, it’s food
for thought and the images bring fascinating angles to the story without
being either repulsive or ridiculous, as is so often the case with
director’s opera in the era since Ponnelle.
Kollo’s sturdy full-throated singing is matched by his enthusiastic
delirium as he tears off his bandages, and the blank stare with which he sits
through Meier’s radiant final stanzas. Hanna Schwarz, as Brangaene,
looks lovely as always but has trouble with the sustained high notes of the
warnings, Hermann Becht is the sympathetic Kurwenal, and Helmut Pampuch
effective in the greatly elaborated part Ponnelle devised for the Shepherd.
After beginning a bit too brightly, hurriedly for my taste, Barenboim leads a
winning performance that hits all the marks at the right moment and mood for
this staging.
As a production, this must have been a performance to ponder and analyze;
as a recording, this is a Tristan Wagnerians will return to,
intrigued, and will share with pleasure.
John Yohalem
image=http://www.operatoday.com/DG0734321.png
image_description=Richard Wagner: Tristan und Isolde
product=yes
product_title=Richard Wagner: Tristan und Isolde
product_by=Tristan (RenÈ Kollo); Isolde (Johanna Meier); Brangaene (Hanna Schwarz); Kˆnig Marke (Matti Salminen); Kurwenal (Hermann Becht). Chorus and Orchestra of the Bayreuth Festival conducted by Daniel Barenboim, recorded 1-9 October, 1983. Production by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle.
product_id=Deutsche Grammophon 073 4439 [2DVDs]
price=$31.99
product_url=http://www.arkivmusic.com/classical/album.jsp?album_id=173927