Προηγούμενες Κριτικές Παραγωγής
13Dass das dunkle Paar auch live höchst überzeugend seine Intrigen zu spinnen vermag, das war klar. Martin Gantner ist ein ebenso mustergültiger Telramund wie sich Ekatarina Gubanova als eine fulminante Ortrud bewährt, die nicht nur ihr Seherauge, sondern auch das Abgründige leuchten zu lassen vermag. Sie hat zudem für ihren spektakulären letzten Auftritt so viel Kraftreserven, dass kein Zweifel an ihrer Entschlossenheit zur Rache aufkommt. Adam Kutnys etwas mulmige Artikulation passt immerhin zu der Rolle als eine Art Clown, die die Regie dem Heerrufer zumisst. Gábor Bretz ist ein prägnanter, klarer Heinrich mit königlichem Timbre.
Parto subito con il dire che protagonista assoluta di questa recita è stata la fantastica Staatskapelle Berlin, sotto una direzione meravigliosa di Thomas Guggeis. Il direttore tedesco ha guidato con polso sicurissimo l’orchestra di cui è Kapellmeister (giovanissimo, stiamo parlando di un 1993!) in una resa coerente, drammatica, eppure molto sottile ed elegante. Ben lungi dal cadere in pesanti rigonfiamenti e tronfie perorazioni retoriche, Guggeis ha diretto un Lohengrin capace di rifrangersi in colori e languori fin dal meraviglioso Preludio (candido come il cigno che conduce la sua barca), ma senza sdilinquirsi nel lungo duetto tra Lohengrin ed Elsa. L’insieme tra buca e palco non ha mai dato cenni di incertezza, il coro ha offerto una prova eccelsa, solidamente preparato da Martin Wright, e la concitazione ha tenuto incollati alla poltrona in ognuno dei tre atti, senza per questo perdere di profondità nei passaggi più statici e contemplativi. Veramente notevole, rimaniamo a guardare con grande attenzione al percorso di questo giovane musicista che, dopo gli studi a Milano, è fortunatamente stato ospite dell’Orchestra Verdi. Mi auguro davvero di vederlo sempre più spesso anche in altri teatri, se continuerà questo suo percorso.
Act II of Tristan und Isolde is the ‘beating heart’ of the opera and its anxious beats can be clearly heard in its opening music. The following 70-or-so minutes have almost continuously melodious music, often with unresolved, aching, harmonies. Tristan and Isolde are infatuated with each other after their true feelings are unleashed by a potion and their illicit passion can only be consummated through the blessed oblivion of eternal night. Wagner’s intoxicating music draws the listener uniquely into the powerful trajectory of the characters’ abandoned emotions – or at least it should. As is to be expected, the LSO played superbly for Daniel Harding who seems to have a keen ear for orchestral detail and kept a propulsive control on the sweeping arcs of Wagner’s incandescent music. More importantly from where I sat, the singers were never drowned by the climactic outbursts and there was a palpable frisson to the moments of ecstasy and great portent.
Argentine stage director Marcelo Lombardero answered Parsifal's enigmatic question of “Who is the Grail?” by literally replacing the mythical chalice with the suffering celebrant: a blood-stained Amfortas was lifted by ropes and hooks several feet above the proscenium during the consecration in Act I. His Christ-like body shone in contrast to the darkness of the abandoned power plant chosen by the Knights (dressed as contemporary soldiers in combat fatigues) to celebrate their ritual. The ceremony was ordered by a Titurel in military uniform projected in an old-fashioned newsreel onto a small screen at the back of the stage. No Argentine would have failed to associate Amfortas’s pain with the tortures suffered by political prisoners not very long ago. A further updating of the Grail myth to uncomfortable domestic realities was the staging of the outside world surrounding the temple. It consisted of a desolate forest of ruined buildings, among them the courtyard of a forsaken hotel beside a sombre lagoon where Gurnemanz had taken refuge. Lombardero tells me that this eerie landscape evokes the environmental apocalypse suffered by Epecuén, a spa town south of Buenos Aires, flooded in 1985 when an adjacent salt lake burst its banks after a long period of rain. The video accompanying the interlude leading to Act I’s second scene showed the remains of Epecuén after the waters receded nearly twenty-five years later. In Act III, redemption was in the air when green buds timidly started emerging in the courtyard, as if summoned by the Good Friday music. The glowing end was staged as a ritual shared not only with the Knights, but also with the audience: a spotlight left the stage to wander around the hall, stopping on a young child standing in the middle of the stalls. At that moment, the Knights suddenly advanced to the edge of the proscenium to sing their final ecstasy. Against this landscape of suffering and redemption, Klingsor's illusory world in Act II is a gigantic transparent globe with esoteric graphs projected from the iPad of a magician in a smart grey suit. Inside this bubble, flower maidens wearing leotards with thin LED lights running from shoulder to ankle rehearsed their enticements in mechanical contortions rigorously synchronized with the score. Real seduction was then practiced by Kundry on a Parsifal sitting on Klingsor’s throne as if on a shrink's sofa. After kissing him, Kundry immediately took some distance to observe his reaction, as if hoping for the refusal needed to enable her own salvation. Then Parsifal fell to his knees and the bubble burst and fell apart. A solid cast was assembled to cope with four performances over only seven days. Christopher Ventris sang a sharply-focused Parsifal, and convincingly acted Lombardero's proposal for an initially untidy and afterwards soberly self-contained redeemer. Stephen Milling was a forceful Gurnemanz, whose polished phrasing was replete with meaningful emphasis. Nadja Michael excelled as Kundry thanks to her richly, sensual voice and superb dynamic control and Héctor Guedes sang Klingsor with a deep voice and penetrating phrasing. Finally, Ryan McKinny's Amfortas was simply irresistible in his heart-breaking plea as the human Grail at the heart of this insightful and moving production.
«Le baryton australien Derek Welton offre ses superbes graves à Oreste».
‘Orest … was sung by the Australian bass-baritone Derek Welton, whose attractive dark timbre fulfilled this heroic and lyrical music … Welton sang with extreme beauty and style, creating a noble character.’
