casting out the self
Richard Wagner Die Walküre / The Metropolitan Opera, New York, live in HD broadcast, May 14, 2011
One of the major questions of Wagner's great opera, Die Walküre, is how it is possible to cast out or renounce oneself, and a great deal of the argumentative and pleading discussion between Wotan and his warrior daughter, Brünnhilde, is precisely about this issue. She claims, rightfully, that in protecting Siegmund she has only followed the will of Wotan, even if it is no longer his stated command. She is, she argues, only a manifestation of his will, and has no other existence. On his part, Wotan must suffer the strictures of his own laws, particularly since he has himself ignored those laws in search of power and love. Fricka, who insists on his destroying Siegmund in favor of Hunding, may seem unable to comprehend love or even less, unable to forgive, but she is right: Wotan has disobeyed his own rules, and so too have his offspring, the brother and sister lovers Siegmund and Sieglinde.
In this opera, Wotan
painfully loses those whom he loves most, Siegmund and Brünnhilde, in order to
obey his own proclamations. Suddenly the omnipotent god must be punished for
his own sins. And, in that sense, he is, symbolically speaking, renouncing his
own power; by casting out Brünnhilde from Valhalla, he is also assuring his own
destruction and, ultimately the fall of the gods.Brünnhilde, now human, becomes
a kind of Christ-like figure who shifts the center of reality from heaven and the
underworld to earth itself.
It is for these very reasons, I would argue, that, although there is great music and drama in the other operas of the Ring cycle, Die Walküre is the most poignant, the easiest of all to hear and love.
It is for these very reasons, I would argue, that, although there is great music and drama in the other operas of the Ring cycle, Die Walküre is the most poignant, the easiest of all to hear and love.
People patiently
waited it seemed, both inside the opera house and at my movie theater, yet
there was a sense, that only grew as the production got underway, that the
wonderful performers— Deborah Voigt (Brünnhilde), Eva-Maria Westbroek
(Sieglinde), Stephanie Blythe (Fricka), Jonas Kaufmann (Siegmund), Bryn Terfel
(Wotan), and Hans-Peter König (Hunding)—were now subject to the directorially
created machine. Kaufmann was a stunning Siegmund, portraying a character with
whom the audience could not help but be sympathetic, as he and the lonely wife
of Hunding, Sieglinde, slowly fall in love. The planks, standing linearly to
suggest a forest of trees, was quite effective, except that the image projected
upon them was also reflected across the faces of singers (primarily Hunding).
The great ride of the
Valkyries was quite terrifying given the see-saw movements of Brünnhilde and
her sisters, particularly after we had been told, during another intermission,
that in some of the early productions dresses had been caught in the apparatus.
I am afraid that I missed a few of the Valkyrie's cries simply worrying about
the actors as they slid one by one down the planks to the floor.At one stunning moment, as Brünnhilde was left by Wotan on her burning rock, the apparatus rose to the heavens, with a body-double Brünnhilde suspended upside down over the fire, one felt that the machine had finally done something, created a kind of cinematic effect, that would have been otherwise impossible.
It seems to me,
moreover, that the kinds of effects achieved—far tamer than the recent Archim
Freyer production in Los Angeles—might have been accomplished with more standard
stage devices, light, scrims, etc.
Let us hope that in Siegfried
and Götterdammerung Lepage might find a way to justify the immense
cost of his device without ousting Wagner's singers from the stage!Los Angeles, May 27, 2011
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