Wagner, Tristan und Isolde: Soloists, chorus & orchestra of San Francisco Opera, Donald Runnicles (cond), 18.10.2006 (HS)

 

 

Cast

Tristan: Thomas Moser

Isolde: Christine Brewer

Brangäne: Jane Irwin

Kurwenal: Boaz Daniel

King Mark: Kristinn Sigmundsson

Melot: Matthew O'Neill

A sailor, a shepherd: Sean Panikkar

A steersman: Jere Torkelsen

 

 

Production

Conductor: Donald Runnicles

Production Designer: David Hockney

Stage Director: Thor Steingraber

Lighting Designer: Duane Schuler*

 

 

 

Christine Brewer (Isolde) and Thomas Moser (Tristan)

 

 

Toward the end of Act II, some three hours into San Francisco Opera's Tristan und Isolde, the Icelandic bass Kristinn Sigmundsson strode onto the stage, opened his mouth, and out poured a gorgeous bass sound with effortless projection. Finally,  true Wagnerian singing. I almost wanted to cry, because conductor Donald Runnicles was shaping such sensuous and compelling music with the orchestra in the pit. Those sounds deserved better than the other singers, valiant as they were, could manage.

In a smaller opera house than the cavernous War Memorial, no doubt Christine Brewer's silver and cream Isolde would have triumphed, competing effectively with the marvelous swellings and sumptuousness coming from the pit. Tenor Thomas Moser, reportedly battling a cold, likewise found it difficult to get much heft into his Tristan. Jane Irwin, a regular with Scottish Opera making her U.S. opera debut, shaped Brangäne's music beautifully but her high mezzo was perhaps too close to Brewer's timbre to differentiate them easily.

That's too bad, because all three singers put a great deal of detail into their characterizations. Brewer has the breath control and musical understanding to spin out Isolde's long lines. Moser knows when to dig a little deeper to emphasize one of Tristan's phrases. Irwin reacts to what's happening on stage naturally and communicates Brangäne's dilemmas well. They just lack that extra few ounces of intensity that distinguishes great Wagnerian singing from the rest. (In contrast, Boaz Daniel's Kurwenal had the baritonal heft but lacked the attention to the text and the musical shape the others showed.)

 

Jane Irwin (Brangäne)

It was not a matter of the orchestra being too loud. You could feel Runnicles reining the musicians in to give the singers a chance at finding a balance, but when the music must surge, it must surge, and it's up to the singers to match the sound.

For Runnicles' part, then company's music director was busy shaping one of the most spacious, emotionally riveting performances of this, let's face it, erotic music. The opening of the prelude found an undertone of sexual longing under the surface of tender wispiness, and when the music started to well up, it happened almost imperceptibly, naturally. Throughout the whole evening, musical matters such as tempo, balance, timbre, crescendos and decrescendos seemed to move organically.

Up on stage, the story played out against David Hockney's painterly sets, which favor broad strokes over details. In the original staging, which I saw in Los Angeles in 1987 (featuring Jeannine Altmeyer, William Johns and conductor Zubin Mehta), much was made of special high-intensity gel lights that saturated the stage in rich colors. Without these lights, the sets come off as cartoonish, which is jarring against Wagner's complex libretto and music.

There is still plenty of color, especially in the silvery blue of the night that starts Act II and dissolves into the reds, golds and oranges of dawn at the close of the act. The slow progression from dark to light echoes the poetic references to the dark night of Tristan and Isolde's love contrasted against the daylight of the real world. The astonishing shape and steep rake of Tristan's crag in Act III delivers a jolt on first sight, but without its ever-changing colors it's not quite as powerful for the entire act.

 

Kristinn Sigmundsson (King Marke)

Much is missing from what I remember from the 1987 run, most notably a magical moment when Brangäne's warning interrupts the love duet in Act II. In L.A., the lovers had a small mound to lie upon. When Brangäne came out to her balcony, the deep blue, gray and silver lights saturated the lovers so thoroughly they seemed to melt into the mound. SFO's version had no mound. Brewer and Moser simply walked into the forest. Where's the magic in that? Not only that, but director Thor Steingraber has the lovers circling stage almost independently instead of focusing on each other. Please. They only care about each other. Nothing else. Show us.

There were moments when everything—singing, orchestral playing, staging and acting—did come together. Mark's appearance and the array of red-hatted hunters around the fight between Melot and Tristan to end Act II came off brilliantly.

And, finally, in the Liebestod at the very end of the opera, Brewer was at her most radiant, the long breath and beautiful sound making for ravishing music. At the very end, she stands downstage right and spreads her arms in a gesture that we had seen first after she and Tristan drink the love potion in Act I and again during the love duet in Act II. Both times, Tristan echoes the same gesture behind Isolde. This time, as the light fades, Tristan rises from his death pose, moves slowly behind Isolde and frames her outstretched arms with his own, bringing them together into an embrace just as the spotlight on them fades to total black.

It is a perfect effect to a finish beautifully performed in all respects. Too bad it took four and a half hours to get there.

 

 

Harvey Steiman

 

Pictures ©Terrence McCarthy