Tristan und Isolde
Music and Libretto by Richard Wagner
Washington National Opera
Kennedy Center Opera House

I’ve studied Tristan und Isolde, but this is the first time I’ve seen it staged. And this was a great first production to see. The cast was excellent (although I would have liked just a bit more clarion quality to Ian Storey’s Tristan). And Iréne Theorin was an excellent last-minute replacement for Deborah Voight.

The set was very spare: a suspended platform, looking like a cross between a drawbridge and a ship’s deck (it was suspended by huge cables on either side), surrounded by enormous white sheets giving the sense of sails. I couldn’t see it from where I was sitting, but the stage floor was covered in a thin sheet of water, solidifying the ship effect. (I could see the water splash on a couple of occasions, and I could see the reflections of the rippling surface on the sheeting across the back of the stage.) This minimalist stage underscores the “chamber opera” that Wagner was aiming for (and missed so stunningly). The costumes for the cast were basic, stock medieval garments, but the helmets on King Marke’s retinue made me think they ought to have been following Alexander Nevsky or Prince Igor.

It was interesting to hear the Holztrompete (the “Tristan” trumpet), an alpenhorn-like instrument made of wood. This is another one of Wagner’s crazy instrument ideas, and it has a raucous, rustic sound which makes it particularly suitable for the shepherd’s joyous signaling of Isolde’s arrival. This particular instrument seems to be making the rounds: it recently was used by the Seattle Opera (link courtesy of Ionarts).

The music for the love duet in Act II is really, really sensuous—erotic, even. The staging was necessarily tame, but the music told you what was really going on. I can see how this would have been so disconcerting and divisive when it was premiered. And listening to Act I, I could see how writing this opera between the second and third acts of Siegfried would have affected Wagner so profoundly, and how the love duet in Act III of Siegfried could not have existed without Tristan.

I had a bit of trepidation coming to this opera. I saw Parsifal—another long Wagner opera filled with extensive monologues—and I was bored stiff. I didn’t know if I’d have the same reaction to Tristan, which consists mostly of monologues and rather static (from an action point of view) duets. But the music really carries everything, and the generally static blocking isn’t a problem. Like Gotterdämmerung, this is an opera that doesn’t feel anywhere near as long as it really is.

Manon Lescaut
Music by Giacomo Puccini
Libretto by Domenico Oliva and Luigi Illica
From the novel by Abbé Prévost
Washington National Opera
Kennedy Center Opera House

As operas go, I like Puccini’s Manon Lescaut way more than Bellini’s Norma. Even though this is early Puccini—his first success, really—the orchestral writing is much more interesting. I suppose that’s a bit unfair to Bellini who was writing 70-odd years earlier. I forget how comparatively early he really is: a contemporary of Schubert, really. Puccini, on the other hand, had the benefit of learning from Wagner.

But Manon Lescaut suffers from fragmentation. Puccini picks four scenes from Pre’vost’s novel, and he’s careful to minimize duplication with Massenet’s Manon of a decade earlier. This production fills in the gap by presenting the opera as a narration by des Grieux. Each act begins with excerpts of his writing projected a rumpled sheet of parchment attached to the curtain. This fills in the backstory which you need as context for the act to come.

I thought some of the faster passages were a bit ragged, and the chorus wasn’t completely in sync with the orchestra. And the staging of the third act was a bit disjointed. Manon doesn’t seem to be terrribly well guarded; they have plenty of opportunity to make a run for it. And the roll call of the prostitutes seemed backwards: the Captain presented the women to the Sergeant, who then called out their name. This was a little odd on its own, but it was more pronounced when he actually called the name of a woman who turned out to be missing. (Not that he seemed overly concerned by it.) This flaw was more prominent because the rest of the staging seemed quite organic (in contrast to the leaden staging of Norma). The opening scene in the outdoor tavern in front of an inn was very lively, and the scene in Geronte’s palace was also well handled. There’s not much to be said for the “desert outside New Orleans” of the last act, but then that’s really just an extended scene for the two leads, and all you really need is a sufficiently bleak wasteland.

I liked Racette a lot. I thought Caoduro was fine, but this isn’t really the sort of role that blows you away. The most intense part of the opera is that last scene, which is what impressed me the most about this opera when I first heard it. In college, I was the studio engineer for the weekly opera show hosted by one of the retired professors. He would sit in the interview studio and read books and magazines during the acts, after reading his prepared intros. I would sit in the control room and follow along with the librettos. Between his commentary and the liner notes, that was quite a musical education.

Before the opera, I went on a backstage tour. According to the guide, the Kennedy Center Opera House is second only to the Met in size—in the U.S. The set for Norma was semi-disassembled and wedged into the stage left wing and the upstage area. Various pieces needed for later acts in Manon Lescaut were collected in the stage right wing. Both wings are as large as the actual stage, so there’s actually room to roll the entire set off to one side (if the set is
designed and constructed appropriately). We also met two of the “three sisters”: the stage manager, Beth Krynicki, was being assisted in this production by her twin sisters, who are also stage managers on their own. According to The Washington Post, even though they’ve all been in the visit for… a long time (a couple of decades?), this is the first time that all three have worked the same production. (They’ve worked in pairs before.)

Norma
Music by Vincenzo Bellini
Libretto by Felice Romani
Washington National Opera
Kennedy Center Opera House

So all things considered, I guess Norma is okay. I shocked and appalled a couple of good friends when I said I wasn’t overly fond of bel canto, and actually I’m finding my tolerance or disdain is hit or miss. I wouldn’t go out of my way to see Norma, but I’ll see it if it shows up on a subscription series. I first saw it when WNO did it during their exile at Constitution Hall, and I remembered being not annoyed by it. The opera has its fair share of florid tweedling in parallel thirds—most notably in the two big duets between Norma and Adalgisa, but it wasn’t as sappy, say, as Gounod’s Romeo and Juliet (which I don’t think I’m willing to give a second chance). On the other hand, Angela Meade and Dolora Zajick have such plummy voices and heavy vibratos that the pitch was a bit muddy in a couple of the more florid spots. Zajick sounded a bit pinched on the high notes in the first act, as did Rafael Davila, but they seem to have warmed up as time passed. Mead was generally impressive, as was Dmitry Belosselskiy. Mauricio Mirando, not so much; Julia Mintzer was fine.

The set was one of those abstract things: a grey, barn-like structure held up by beams stage right (representing the Druids), and a black, stone facade on the left (representing the Romans). In the middle was a circular garden pit, which doubled as Norma’s home when a tall gauze curtain descended from the flys. The Gauls were dressed as medieval peasants, and the few Roman guards were dressed in costumes that looked like they were rented from a Halloween shop. Pollione was wearing a long, black leather trenchcoat; he looked like he wandered in from the set of Don Carlo. I guess it was all okay; it didn’t conflict with the sparse set, it just wasn’t particularly imaginative. Functional: opera audiences are used to suspending belief, so they can fill in details when necessary. (In the second act, Norma tells Clotilde to call Adalgisa from the temple where she’s weeping; instead, she takes the children to the benches in the circle garden, and Adalgisa just shows up on her own. Picky, picky, eh?)

The plot is still strained—another typical failing of bel canto libretti. And it seems to move slowly. I thnk that’s the fault of the extended recitativo accompagnando which separates the big numbers. In Mozart, the recitatives are generally quick, accompanied by harpsichord, and the arias and ensembles follow more quickly on each other. And most of the big numbers were in slower tempos, like “Casta diva”; even the big choruses weren’t particularly rousing. “Rousing” isn’t always appropriate, of course, but there was a certain blandness about the music. (I can see my friends cringing as I type that.) The staging was functional; there’s really not much you can do with it. The six dancers representing the vestal virgins from the temple flitted around like a group of Isadora Duncans. They didn’t add much to the proceedings, but they were a diversion during the brief scene “changes” (i.e., while two pairs of supers carried the benches on and off).