SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Strauss and Rihm at Bavarian State Opera:   Soloists, Bavarian State Opera Orchestra, Kent Nagano (conductor) Nationaltheater, Munich  28.10.2007 (JFL)

Production Team

William Friedkin (direction and sets)
David Bridel (choreography)
Mark Jonathan (lighting)

Strauss, Salome

Wolfgang Schmidt (Herodes)
Iris Vermillion (Herodias)
Angela Denoke (Salome)
Morten Frank Larsen (Jochanaan)
Kevin Conners (Narraboth)
Daniela Sindram (Page)
Ulrich  Reß, Tommaso Randazzo, Maximilian Schmitt, Alfred Kuhn (Five Jews)
Christian Rieger, Markus Herzog (Nazarenes)
Steven Humes, Andreas Kohn (Soldiers)
Stephanie Hampl (Slave)

Rihm, Das Gehege
Gabriele Schnaut (Die Frau),

Steven Barrett (Der Adler / Engel des Todes – non singing roles)

Gabriela Schnaut (Die Frau)  and Steven Barrett (Der Adler)

When Kent Nagano asked Wolfgang Rihm to compose an opera for the National State Opera in Munich – as an ‘opening act’ to Salome so to say -  Rihm immediately had a sujet in mind and was only too happy to oblige. The double bill was conceived as a statement of the renewal of tradition by way of metamorphosis – the theme under which Kent Nagano took on the general directorship of the Bayerische Staatsoper in 2006.

The subject of Das Gehege is the last scene of the third and final act of Botho Strauss’ Schlusschor: Gruppenbilder mit Dame und Adler (“Final/ConcludingChorus: Group portraits with a Lady and an Eagle”). One of the most prolific and important German writers of the last thirty years, Botho Strauss’ art of poignant imprecision takes on German Reunification in this play laden with symbolism. The title riffs off Heinrich Böll’s war/post-war novel “Gruppenbild mit Dame” and the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Coping with Germany’s past and future is roughly the thread that keeps three very different acts together : knowing the play might help understand some references in Das Gehege, but  is hardly necessary in order to appreciate Rihms’ opera. The composer might even approve of unfamiliarity  – he’s on record as suggesting that the artist explaining his art is not only unnecessary but even counterproductive for bringing about greater clarity since  art always contains its own measure of understandability.

Rihm’s monodrama, with acknowledged similarities to Schoenberg’s Erwartung, begins when ‘The woman’ (Anita von Scharstorf in the play) enters the stage on the center of which William Friedkin (yes, he of The Exorcist and The French Connection fame) places an abstract gleaming white cage which contains the winged creature that we need not be able to identify as Botho Strauss’ Golden Eagle. To the music of Rihm – abstract here, twistedly literal there – the opening lines may make little sense on their own. (“Yes, I hear your rotten screeching, Yes I can see your ashen-green eyes. Limp strings of saliva dangle from your suppurative mouth. I see the black teeth and your mold covered throat… and your cheeks, covered with ancient lichens that are themselves a growth from an earth of decayed faces…”)

But these words give rise to a very personal interpretation of what is going on in Das Gehege. It need now no longer be the story of Anita von Scharstorf - daughter of an officer who was killed in the war when he plotted against the Nazis -  who breaks into the Zoo in Berlin on the night of the fall of the Berlin Wall. The beast in the cage need no longer be a literal eagle. The analogies about  Germany and German symbols can be reinterpreted at will - given sufficient, liberating ignorance – when the strange role of the ‘griffin’ and the sexual/aggressive tension between the him/it and Anita take on a more disturbing quality.

This is just one of numerous flights of the imagination's fancy that can accompany Rihm’s music and on Friedkin’s set - which seems to support the less literal interpretation. This is so not least because of Gabriele Schnaut’s dramatic portrayal - she was a formidable Elektra in recent Dresden and Munich productions - the mutely danced and hauntingly present performance of Steven Barrett as the eagle/beast (to choreography by David Bridel), and Mark Jonathan's dramatic lighting. This monodrama actually manages to be compelling as a story (no matter the amount of background knowledge) in which you wanted to know what would happen next as it unfolded. Feathered, castrated, and killed – the bird does not fare well.

The Das Gehege Set
 

How does Das Gehege fit with Salome? Different as they are, similarities abound and are found in the music, the story, and the staging. William Friedkin is neither a stranger to opera, nor to combining two individual operas into one evening of coherent drama.

Friedkin, who came to opera through the former music director of the Bavarian State Opera, Zubin Mehta, has Wozzeck, Aida, Samson et Dalila under his belt already and in Los Angeles and at the Washington National Opera he also put the curious double bill of Bluebeard’s Castle and Gianni Schicci on stage: combining the uncombinable. Though this  challenge (See Article)  Friedkin’s approach became honed and  with the infinitely greater resources of Bavarian opera, as well with  greater similarities between the operas, he succeeded spectacularly in this Rihm/Strauss production.

Two women kill (or have killed) the objects of their desire; both of which were chained and at their mercy. The symbolism and references of winged death in Salome is matched by the Eagle, symbol of  (bygone) power and ultimate mortality in Das Gehege. The Eagle’s doom is his lack of power which could also be linked to Strauss’ opera. If Jochanaan had had the strength to look at Salome he might have lived - whether or not he had consequently loved Salome, as she herself suggests wistfully. Jochanaan's frantic rejection of Salome may be more than hint at inner uncertainty; at a religious fanaticism rooted not  in inner strength but  weakness. Knowing  Strauss’s atheism and his appreciation of Nietzsche only underscores this interpretation. Indeed, his portrayal of Jochaanan is subtly more damning than the comedic relief of the squabbling Jews who run through this opera as though imported from a Marx Brothers film.

Musical connections are also made between the works. Rihm not only references Beethoven’s Ninth but includes at least two audibly Straussian moments in his score; moments that sound as if a modern painter has added an abstract interpretation to a representational piece of art. The sharp edged and contorted marches that make up the  orchestral interludes tip the listener in the know, back towards the thematic undertones of ‘Germanness’.

The Salome Set

Stronger though, are the visual connections that Friedkin presents in the two operas. The staging is essentially the same – with movable U-shaped elements for the shiny white floor and walls. Two such units and the similarly constructed cage set the stage for Das Gehege and seven or eight are rearranged in Salome to give the opening, the appearance of a gigantic palace’s rotunda, receding nearly into infinity and showing off the immense stage-depth of the Staatsoper. Jochanaan, first heard through cracks in the floor, appears from below as the floor yields to left and right, sitting under a gigantic petrified tree-trunk. Further visual cues are given: the birdcage in Das Gehege becomes Herod's throne from which he orders Salome murdered in the last scene. Salome is killed by a group of black-clad religious men who, in a near cathartic move and timed to the last chord, present her severed head to Herod. (Since Wilde himself had reflected that Jochanaan’s revenge might be that Salome beheaded herself in desperation, this is not such a  far fetched idea.)  Finally, the “Angel of Death” appears physically – in the form of Steven Barrett’s grim griffin/eagle once more. He throws Salome her veils, dances ominously along with her, and  takes Herod’s ring from Herodias as payment: before beheading  Jochanaan sight unseen.

All of this sufficed to make an impressive production but Kent Nagano’s propulsive, angular, never sweet orchestral contribution assured that it was musically rewarding too. Better still was the singing and acting. Wolfgang Schmidt, whose oddly compelling Siegfried can be enjoyed in the recently released Levine/Kirchner Götterdämmerung from Bayreuth’s “Designer” Ring, gave a compellingly lecherous Herod and offered more vocal prowess than expected until near the end. Iris Vermillion as Salome’s whore of a mother (no, this really isn’t a kids’ opera) growled to harrowing effect. Morten Frank Larsen's Jochanaan boomed magnificently through the house but may have given out a bit too much  too early, as his later decline was most noticeable. Kevin Conners, the trusty man for everything at the Staatsoper, sang as well as he usually does, but might have been a little miscast as the young and beautiful captain of the guard, Narraboth.

The Dance of the Seven Veils
 

Angela Denoke’s Salome was generally outstanding. If anything could be criticized in her portrayal it was a hint of too much confidence and being a touch too calculating in her seduction. Salome’s fascination with her own sexual powers  - and her disgust at their effects on men -  was not played as vividly as it might have been. Her singing, though remarkable overall, was marked by effort in the louder passages and the occasional vocal sleigh-ride up to the high notes could benevolently be called “old fashioned”. But who cares after this most racy, cruelly seductive, virulently sexual Salome?  Danoke does with sheer technique what others do with charisma. How she gets Narraboth to do her bidding was ruthless in its sexual allure and  had just the air of desperation, joy and disgust you find in the school-scene where Nabokov has Humbert pay Lolita off for a sexual favour.

Denoke, who appears half her age on stage,went on to deliver  a superbly executed dance of the seven veils that would have been considered steamy even in the seediest of adult clubs. It had the audience participating in the unhealthy staring that is the theme of the opera itself (Narraboth and Herod to Salome, Salome to Jochanaan). If any kids were present, they probably had their eyes covered by concerned mothers. And this was before Salome/Danoke strips to stand bare breasted before her stepfather.

The resulting “Wundervoll, wundervoll!” on Herod’s part thereby attained a quality and color that immediately drove home the point that this was not gratuitous baring of flesh (Danoke remained half naked until Salome was killed) but nudity with a dramatic point to make.  In international comparisons, the Munich opera crowd could certainly not be called conservative. It willingly exposes itself to modern works and modern productions, and so long as you don’t mess with a few holy classics the audience accepts much without demurring. The unanimous and thunderous applause - and the many “Ticket sought” signs in front of the opera house - were not only a deserved tribute to Danoke’s performance but also proof that the Munich audience knew that what they had seen was not a willful or gratuitously warped modern interpretation of Wilde and Strauss. Instead it came very close to the shocking, decadent and  saucy  intents of its creators.

Jens F. Laurson

Pictures © Wilfried Hösl. Published with permission of Staatsoper Muenchen
 

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