Wagner: Parsifal
Poul Elming (tenor) - Parsifal
Margaret Medlyn (soprano) - Kundry
Manfred Hemm (bass) - Gurnemanz
Jonathan Summers (bass-baritone) - Amfortas
Daniel Sumegi (bass) - Klingsor
Robert Dawe (bass) - Titurel
Adelaide Symphony Orchestra
State Opera Chorus, Prince Alfred College Chapel Choir, St Peter's Cathedral
Choir
Jeffrey Tate (conductor)
Elke Neidhardt (director)
Saturday 29 September 2001
Adelaide Festival Theatre, Adelaide, Australia
Australia's first staged performance of Wagner's Parsifal comes courtesy of the adventurous South Australian Opera Company and can generally be accounted a great success. After the company's well-received 1998 Der Ring des Nibelungen, it was natural to invite conductor Jeffrey Tate to take over the
reins. Unlike that Ring, however, Parsifal is a home-grown rather than an imported production. Director Elke Neidhardt, who has worked in Australia since the 1970s, will also be responsible for the 2004 staging of the Ring in Adelaide, and clearly that city now lays claim to being the Wagner center of Australia.
Neidhardt somewhat mischievously told the press that this would be a "Parsifal with the jokes." Gurnemanz slipping on a banana skin was hardly to be expected, but it was probably a good idea to dispel the aura of intense solemnity usually evoked by this work. Neidhardt (along with Australian Wagnerites such as Peter Bassett) has been stressing the Buddhist influences at work in Wagner's conception, possibly to appeal to the multicultural (and not necessarily Christian) audience which can be expected in the country these days. One can argue that the medieval Christianity informing the original Grail legends had its unorthodox aspects, which might have contributed equally to the not-very-Christian aspects of this retelling. Perhaps more significant was Neidhardt's flat rejection of any racist elements readable in the text. The emphasis was on Parsifal's journey from uncomprehending indifference to suffering, and thence to compassion for the afflicted.
The setting was as minimalist as the 1998 Ring, if not more so, with no attempt whatsoever at naturalistic forests, bushes, gardens, lakes, castles and so on. Similarly, no actual swans, doves, wine, bread, water or chalice manifested themselves. There were, however, many quite stunning effects achieved through lighting, dress and choreography, as well as, of course, through singing and music.
The basic set comprised paneled walls, mirrored on the sides, against which different lighting effects and images were projected. The stage floor was raised somewhat; a step down above the pit, with a strip along the front with some sand towards the right, represented the shore of the lake and allowed Kundry and others to roll in it at various times. (Sand-rolling seems to be quite a feature of recent Australian opera stagings.) A central square, oriented with its points towards the audience, the back of the stage and the sides, variously rose and fell and sometimes remained on a plane with the rest of the floor. Other smaller portions of the stage were also lowered to create openings for different purposes. The overall colour scheme was grey-blue, both set and clothing.
The first act's orchestral prelude was accompanied by a sort of prequel: Parsifal as a little boy with his mother, reclining on a sheet covering the central square. Parsifal plays with his bow and arrows, which are gently confiscated by his mother and replaced by two dolls, in which he shows little interest; this did not seem to be adding a great deal to the story and might just be perceived as filler. (When Kundry appears she has one of these dolls — happily, an idea soon forgotten.) After their departure, untidy heaps to stage front left and right could be made out as the Knappen.
The gathering of the Grail company around Amfortas was suitably solemn, the knights in blue robes with red lining, Amfortas in red and white. Much was made of a large book (A Bible? — not necessarily) carried around by Amfortas for all the company to touch. The Grail itself was represented by a narrow cone of red light, projected upwards from a pedestal, with swirls of cloudiness within it. (One tried not to think of a lava lamp.) After Parsifal's totally uncomprehending observation of the proceedings, a wall-like curtain fell, separating him from the company. He then kicked it, provoking one of the laughs of the night (though not a very big one).
Most of the laughs came, unsurprisingly, in Act II, but again they were not exactly of the rolling-on-the-floor variety. The stage featured a raised dais, covered in red, on which sprawled a splendid Klingsor, Daniel Sumegi, in tight black trousers with a satin apricot robe revealing his bare chest. From a glittering silver codpiece rose the thick red lance, which he languorously caressed. This was eunuch-as-sex-symbol with a vengeance, the paradox of pointless desire made flesh. (One of the local newspapers described this Klingsor as "a maiden's dream," which rather seems to miss the point.)
The Flower Maidens were initially draped in the specified zartfarbigen Schleiern, but one by one they ditched these to reveal 1950s-style swimming costumes, matched by their spiky bathing caps. The dais had now sunk to form a pool, around which the bathing beauties organised themselves in Busby Berkely fashion, and indulged in synchonised leg movements. (This was definitely a laugh.) Having resisted their blandishments, Parsifal was then joined by a beautiful cocktail waitress, Kundry, in platinum wig and low cut long red frock. The pivotal moment of the opera, Kundry bringing Parsifal to awareness with a passionate kiss, was dramatically well defined. The ultimate moment of Act II, however, was very low key. According to the libretto, Klingsor was supposed to throw his lance at the hero who grabbed it from the air. Instead, Klingsor held the lance aloft and Parsifal walked up behind him to remove it from his grasp.
Act III then proceeded on its stately way. Gurnemanz and Parsifal appeared with greyed heads, Kundry in far drabber garb. For the baptism scene, a small square opened in the floor to represent the sacred well. For the final Grail gathering, Amfortas was carried in on Titurel's coffin, and the knights appeared in their robes with the red lining turned outwards. Kundry removed her brown outer garment to appear in pure white, and rather than falling lifeless to the ground, stood at the front of stage looking out, transformed. The red beam of light representing the Grail was turned out towards the ceiling of the auditorium, so the audience was bathed in its red radiance as the last notes of the opera sounded.
Poul Elming knows this role inside and out, and sang fluently and accurately. He does look rather mature to be an innocent youth, and indeed he portrayed the Act I Parsifal as something approaching a gormless dolt, with a particularly loutish posture. His dramatic performance, however, lacked something: while his demeanor after the transformation of Act II was considerably less doltish, there was no particularly overwhelming sense of grace and compassion in Act III. Daniel Sumegi nearly stole the show with his leering Klingsor, and his voice was rich and powerful. Mannfred Hemm was rock-solid in the demanding part of Gurnemanz, while Jonathan Summers was somewhat dry of tone as Amfortas. Kundry was sung by Margaret Medlyn (last seen in Adelaide as a Spanish-Civil-War Leonora in Neidhardt's production of Il Trovatore); her strong dramatic soprano was generally equal to the demands of the part, though with some wandering from the melodic line here and there. Using Merlyn Quaife as a Flower Maiden almost amounts to Rolls-Royce casting. The singers were all more than adequate for the task, and most were dramatically impressive, yet there was, it must be said, no particularly beautiful singing on display.
In contrast, the combined choral forces were impeccable in their coordination and produced some sublime ensemble singing. The heart of the performance, however, was Jeffrey Tate's conducting of the Adelaide Symphony. The score was exquisitely played, with no hurrying; every phrase was allowed to contribute to the architecture of the whole. The dynamics were particularly well observed, moments of quiet contemplation contrasting with beautifully modulated but powerful climaxes. There is no doubt that this sensual, whole-hearted immersion in the score ensured the success of the enterprise. The audience seemed happily careless of the notion that applause might not be appropriate for this work (a particularly pompous Wagnerian idea), and clapped, cheered and whistled at the end of each act.
