| OPERA REVIEW Masterful Meistersinger October 10, 2001
Photos by Larry Merkle |
By Thomas Grey
The new San Francisco Opera production of Richard Wagner's sprawling tribute to "holy German art," Die Meistersinger, fully justifies the composer's well-developed sense of his own contributions to the cause. Beautifully played and (on the whole) sung, thoughtfully staged by Hans-Peter Lehmann with constant attention to the drama's intricate layers of detail, the opera's five-plus hours hardly feel long at all. Sets by John Coyne and costumes by Walter Mahoney are largely variations on long-familiar themes — fair enough for work celebrating the claims of tradition and craftsmanship alongside those of inspiration and innovation, and one whose historical setting demands its due.
A focal point of interest is James Morris's debut in the role of Hans Sachs, a seemingly inevitable step for the world's leading Wotan. For all the similarities between these two characters who face their respective mid-life crises with wisdom, wit, and noble resignation, Morris seems to have made a point of approaching Sachs as something new and different. His Sachs is much more outward-directed, observant and attentive, less of a self-absorbed brooder, despite the central "Flieder" and "Wahn" monologues of Acts 2 and 3. This is reflected not just in matters of stage deportment, but even of voice: with a sharper edge to it, somewhat less roundness or depth of support at the lower end, the whole performance takes on a more casual, conversational hue, eschewing Wotan's (sometimes) ponderous self-importance.
Only perhaps in the Act-3 "Wahn" monologue did the familiar lineaments of the world-weary chief of the gods rise to the surface momentarily. Even here the voice seemed more forward, a hint thinner than in the past. Yet with the delicately nuanced contribution of the orchestra and James Morris's sensitivity to Wagner's brand of melodic declamation, Sachs's reflections on the preceding night's "midsummer madness" came through as the emotional centerpiece of this long act.
Morris by no means monopolized the scenes shared with the other masters. In fact, it was rather René Pape, as the rich and influential Veit Pogner, who tended to dominate the ensemble scenes, with a fuller, fresher, and more supple voice than Morris at this point. Assisted by thoughtful conducting from Runnicles, Pape's feeling for rhetorical contours, shifts, and pauses made Pogner's lengthy proposal to the assembled masters in Act 1 (offering up Eva as the grand prize in tomorrow's song contest) interesting and attractive, instead of the somewhat stiff recital it can be. John Del Carlo, on the other hand, took the inherent stiffness of Fritz Kothner's role (guardian of the Tabulatur and master of protocol) as a point of departure for a winning comic portrayal. Del Carlo underlined a note of Falstaffian self-regard in Kothner's manner with his richly monumental "reciting" tone as well as foppishly delicate touches of archaic coloratura (like the ruffled lace collar of an "old Dutch master"). At the other end of the spectrum, Doug Jones stood out as a diminutive and fluty-toned Vogelgesang. Lehman's mastersingers are on the whole a more youthful and more individualized group than usual. Despite their hidebound ways in matters of art, they come across as affable folks with minds of their own, rather than a stodgy, impersonal council of elders. (Thus Pape's Pogner, for example, looks more like the father of a teenage girl rather than her grandfather, as Pogner often does.)
The quartet of younger characters was strongly cast, with the two "comprimario" roles, Catherine Keen as Magdalene and Michael Schade as David, outshining the two leads in certain respects. Keen infused an earthy, comic vigor into a part that often comes off as merely starchy and mildly officious. David's part can likewise be unrewarding — wordy and gratuitous. But Schade, with the help of Lehman's lively and attentive direction, made David a thoroughly welcome figure; his nimble delivery of the endless catalogue of the modes and genres of master-song was itself a minor masterpiece of deft vocal characterization. Janice Watson was a satisfying Eva, particularly in balancing strains of coyness, coquettishness, and childlike petulance (and she certainly looked the part of the eager blonde ingenue). It's more of a challenge to bring out the moments of spirit, independence, and incipient maturity that should transform Eva from operatic Barbie doll into a worthy "muse of Parnassus," as Walther's prize-song lauds her. Watson rose some of the way to that challenge in Act 3 where, leading up and into the "baptismal" Quintet, Eva gets her brief chance to blossom; she led the Quintet with assurance, but without quite the creamy or velvety tone that would ideally clinch the moment.
Making his U.S. debut after a considerable European career, American-born tenor Robert Dean Smith was a vocally well-equipped Walther (a part he sang recently in Bayreuth), if not wholly charismatic. The voice is generally strong and clear, and at its best attains a Bjoerling-like brassy sheen (as it did for Walther's first rehearsal of the Prize-Song). As Walther's nemesis, Beckmesser, veteran baritone Thomas Allen delivered an aptly edgy, anxious, and irascible performance that didn't shortchange what "music" there is to the part. Lehmann's careful attention to detail is signally displayed in the elaborate "mickey-mousing" of physical and musical gestures in Beckmesser's pantomime-scene as he inspects Sachs's vacant workshop in Act 3. To some tastes the detail may over-accumulate, as with the apprentices' hyperactive horseplay in their earlier scenes. Mostly I felt it was all in keeping with this busiest, most detail-oriented of Wagner's works, both as drama and as musical score. (Incidentally, Christopher Bergen's supertitles deserve special mention for their resourceful handling of Wagner's prolix but often clever and allusive text.) I failed to understand the point of a projection of a Nuremberg house (a drawing or negative image?), at the climax of the Act-2 brawl, flashed on the back of a set that already presented the necessary workable houses and some fairly detailed backdrop-screens. (There also seemed to be some miscalculation in Lehmann's staging of the transition from sleepiness to total mayhem when the neighborhood issues out into the street.)
Otherwise, sets and direction were sensible and straightforward. The interior of Sachs's workshop is shown in cross-section, but also floated as a sort of island in center-stage, dominated by the representations of the townscape on layered flats behind, conveying the symbiosis of Sachs and his civic environment. The festival-meadow scene of the song-contest, which fairly stages itself, was lively and colorful without undue hokeyness. Lehmann opts for the Versoehnungsschluss or reconciliation of Beckmesser with Sachs at the final curtain, though here the chastened Beckmesser approaches this gradually, and with plausible apprehension. Having given Beckmesser a bit of malicious stage-business at the Act 1 curtain, celebrating his apparent defeat of the young knight, his reappearance at the end also effects a nice symmetry (likewise with the Act 2 curtain where Beckmesser slowly limps off the emptied stage). Donald Runnicles approached the score with considerable flexibility of tempo even within set pieces or scenes, letting the music breathe where necessary but without dragging. Apart from a notably broad pacing of the Act 3 prelude, which elicited all the dignified poetry of this wistful meditation on events just past and still to come, tempos ranged from fleet to moderate. The performance of the monumental Act I prelude set the standard here, with nuanced shifts of tempo arising naturally from rhetorical pauses at various "joints" between sections. Once again, the orchestra played splendidly, and the chorus accomplished wonders. The placement of the chorus mostly at the back of the stage for the final scene may have undermined the force of certain moments. But the final hymn to Sachs and his fellow German masters had its full impact, nonetheless — a convincing proof likewise of the durability of this modern Meister's work. (Thomas Grey is Associate Professor of Music at Stanford University. He is author of Wagner's Musical Prose: Texts and Contexts, and editor of the forthcoming Cambridge Opera Handbook on The Flying Dutchman as well as the Cambridge Companion to Wagner.) ©2001 Thomas Grey, all rights reserved |
