Wagner Parsifal at the Met
I saw the season premiere of Wagner's last opera 'Parsifal' at the Met in New York on Friday evening. I had a wonderful experience from start to finish at my first live Wagner opera. I thought the singing and orchestral playing were superb. Although tempos were slow and the performance took 5 1/2 hours with intermissions, the work seemed to unfold more quickly and compactly than I had anticipated, as the drama never flagged. Having read up on the opera earlier in the week, I thought I was able to see beyond the Christian imagery to the deeper symbolism and synthesis of religious ideas, including Buddhism and Hinduism, that Wagner was attempting, which the radiance of the music always supported and sustained. Since I am relatively new to opera and not knowedgable on singing, I will just say that I was moved by all the singers, especially Placido Domingo as Parsifal, Violeta Urmana as Kundry, and Falk Struckman as Amfortas. Conductor Valery Gergiev coaxed a rich glowing sound from the orchestra, although there were one or two spots where his control slipped a bit.
I saw Fidelio earlier this season at the Met, as many of you will remember, and in both these cases a real astonishment was at the scenery and lighting. In Parsifal it was even more stunning than in Fidelio. In the forest and meadow scenes the ground seemed to be tilted up from front to back of the stage, so that the whole audience, even those in the orchestra, could see the beauty of the glowing painting on the ground as well as in the backgrounds. Yet the actors seemed to traverse these areas effortlessly; there was no indication they were trying to keep their balance on an uneven or tilted surface, it seemed flat and horizontal from their movements. So this was a mystery. A greater mystery was how the beautiful and variegated Klingsor's magic garden, when cursed by Parsifal, withered and died to black decay at his gesture, in front of my eyes. I later learned something about the scrim curtain that makes this possible, and that was used to great effect at other times also.
The flower maidens and their music were perfectly delightful. There were about twenty extras in addition to the six who sang. A further piece of visual magic was that each one appeared clothed at one time and nude at another, depending on how their bodies and costumes moved from one pose to another. Had I not forgotten my opera glasses at home, I might have been able to make more sense out of this effect.
Because I am a painter maybe I react more strongly to the sets and lighting than many seasoned opera-goers and critics, I don't know, but I find in reviews the visual aspect is rarely mentioned and mostly only in passing. The scenic directors and artists must feel something of a lifelong slight. Opera is supposed to be a complete artistic fusion, and I find the aural and visual complement each other at the Met and raise the whole to an unequalled experience. I think it's sad that this is rarely alluded to in print.
Altogether an experience that is still resonating in my ears, mind and heart over two days later.
[This message has been edited by Chaszz (edited April 07, 2003).]
I saw Fidelio earlier this season at the Met, as many of you will remember, and in both these cases a real astonishment was at the scenery and lighting. In Parsifal it was even more stunning than in Fidelio. In the forest and meadow scenes the ground seemed to be tilted up from front to back of the stage, so that the whole audience, even those in the orchestra, could see the beauty of the glowing painting on the ground as well as in the backgrounds. Yet the actors seemed to traverse these areas effortlessly; there was no indication they were trying to keep their balance on an uneven or tilted surface, it seemed flat and horizontal from their movements. So this was a mystery. A greater mystery was how the beautiful and variegated Klingsor's magic garden, when cursed by Parsifal, withered and died to black decay at his gesture, in front of my eyes. I later learned something about the scrim curtain that makes this possible, and that was used to great effect at other times also.
The flower maidens and their music were perfectly delightful. There were about twenty extras in addition to the six who sang. A further piece of visual magic was that each one appeared clothed at one time and nude at another, depending on how their bodies and costumes moved from one pose to another. Had I not forgotten my opera glasses at home, I might have been able to make more sense out of this effect.
Because I am a painter maybe I react more strongly to the sets and lighting than many seasoned opera-goers and critics, I don't know, but I find in reviews the visual aspect is rarely mentioned and mostly only in passing. The scenic directors and artists must feel something of a lifelong slight. Opera is supposed to be a complete artistic fusion, and I find the aural and visual complement each other at the Met and raise the whole to an unequalled experience. I think it's sad that this is rarely alluded to in print.
Altogether an experience that is still resonating in my ears, mind and heart over two days later.
[This message has been edited by Chaszz (edited April 07, 2003).]
Comment