Alban Berg, Lulu (1937/1979)

Well...here's this. It's an opera, called be Some--by which I mean the people in the backstage interviews--as the Greatest Twentieth Century Opera. Berg left it unfinished at his death, but it was subsequently completed based on his notes by Friederich Cerha (boy, there's a name that means nothing to either you or me) in 1979, and that version is now considered standard.

This is the story of Lulu, obsessed about by numerous different men (and one woman), at first at the top of the world but then less so, until she ends up prostituting herself and subsequently dead in a dirty apartment in London. That's the short version. The long version is too hellaciously complicated for me to even begin to cover. This is definitely a more complicated libretto than most.

I wanted to see this because...well, because it's considered such a major opera, obviously, but also because the production of the Met HD version is by William Kentridge, who had previously done The Nose. And the production is indeed impressive, clearly from the same mind as the previous one, but more focused on sketches in the background, and less pastiche. Though some pastiche. But it's totally appropriate for the opera's spiky German expressionism. Or so I believe.

Berg wrote atonal music, and my knowledge of music theory is really not adequate for me to say what that really means. I mean, it's obviously not Mozart or Puccini, but can I describe, in technical terms, whyit's not like them? Nope. And here's the thing: it irks me to say this, given the reputation and given how glowingly all the people in the backstage interviews talk about it, and I do not doubt that they are perfectly intelligent and sincere in their tastes, but I did not like it. To me, "cacophony" would be the best word, and while the singing no doubt was what it had to be, and done well in that context, I do not feel that it provided opportunitiesfor the sort of singing I would like. And we should pause here to note that given how long it took me to warm to opera at all, it's entirely reasonable to suggest that this is really just a matter of acquiring a taste. But man, I sure haven't acquired it yet.

That doesn't mean I absolutely hated it as a whole. As I said, the production is very good, and I do have to admit there were a few moments where the nature of the music sort of gelled for me and got into it a bit. Also, on a pure acting level, there's no denying that Marlis Petersen in the title role puts on one of the greatest performances I've ever seen, totally expressive and moving smoothly from insouciance to desperation as the opera progresses. But damn, man, I just couldn't get into it. It probably also doesn't help that it almost certainly takes the title for Grimmest Opera I've Seen. At the end, Lulu is abruptly murdered offstage and then seen no more, and it's just...geez. I realize that this isn't necessarily a criticism, and yet...oof. Maybe it just hit me at the wrong time. I must admit, though, I still want to see Berg's other opera, Wozzek,if only because I'm a huge fan of the Werner Herzog film based on the same play. And hey, maybe I'll start to appreciate this atonal stuff more.

Dmitri Shostakovich, The Nose (1928)

HOLY CRUD, PEOPLE. Let me tell you about this production. I'm sure it's not the most expensive one I've ever seen--certainly not with those Ring operas--but damned if it isn't the most elaborate and impressive. It was designed by the South African artist William Kentridge, and It involves collages of Soviet newspapers and who knows what all along with a combination of film and stop-motion shadow puppetry to create something the likes of which I've never seen before. I can't imagine what it would be like to see this live; there are parts where I am genuinely unable to conceptualize how this would look in person. One is drowning in words and images in a way of which I hope Shostakovich would have approved.

To me, it certainly seems the perfect marriage of scene and text. As you know, this is loosely based on Gogol's short story (with bits culled from a number of other seminal Russian works); I must admit that I've never read it, but you know what they say: the opera is always better than the short story. And here, it seems to me that the chaotic production is a great complement to the bureaucratic satire of the text.

I will admit it: there's not exactly a lot of what you would call "heart" here, but that seems unimportant, because what is here is just amazing in its own right. Shostakovich's score is, as in Lady Macbeth,spectacular. The fact that he wrote this when he was in his early twenties only doesn't seem mind-blowing because Mozart wrecked the curve. Under the circumstances, the singers themselves seem almost irrelevant. There isn't much in the way of show-stopping arias here; again, that is not the goal. Still, Paulo Szot gives an appropriate air of haplessness to the petty bureaucrat Kovalyov whose nose takes on a life of its own (though one has to note that he very definitely has a nose throughout the entire opera. Is that how it's always done? Not that it bothered me, but you'd think there would be some signifier of his noselessness). The rest of the cast--a lot of Russian nationals--is also great. What did you expect?

And, you know, I say it lacks heart, but that depends on how you define the term, doesn't it? The characters may not be much, but the artistry is still inspiring, and that's a kind of heart too. I've gotta tell you: in these grim times, taking refuge in high art is one of the things--possibly the main thing?--that helps me stay sane. We must remind ourselves: as unbelievably awful as we humans frequently are, we're also capable of transcendent greatness. I hope that's enough to absolve us as a species in the final judgment. The fact that Shostakovich was prevented from writing more operas by an insanely irrational Soviet government is a crime. One of many, of course, but still. I don't want to cause any controversy here, but I'll go ahead and say it: Stalin sucked. He was not a good leader! Crucify me for speaking the truth and give me a high-paying sinecure if you will!

A Verdi Triptych

It's all very well to watch lesser-known operas; sometimes you find real gems, and even if you don't, it remains an interesting exercise. But sometimes...well, the ultra-popular ones are ultra-popular for a reason. And nobody's more popular than ol' Giuseppe. NUMBERS DON'T LIE.

(I really like that list because it confirms my impression that most operas performed these days are either by Verdi, Mozart, or Puccini. It actually doesn't quite--to figure that out, you'd need to know how many are performed by composers who make the top ten--but it's certainly true that those three dominate.)

So anyway, I'd already seen the Verdi operas that would be most likely to appear in the Family Feud category "name a famous Verdi opera" (and what a world it would be if THAT were a thing), but he wrote a bunch, so I watched three others. These are they.

Un ballo in maschera (1859)

This ruled so hard. It's the fictionalized story of the assassination of Gustav III of Sweden in 1792. See, there's a conspiracy against the king because various nobles consider some of his actions to have been unjust (the opera itself is basically uninterested in how fair these grievances may have been), which conspiracy receives an unexpected boost when the king's best friend discovers that his wife and the king are in love and joins in. Things end unhappily for all. But really, it's about the execution. The music is some of Verdi's best, in my subjective opinion, though that may be just because it works so well in the context. There's something sort of off-kilter (in a good way) about the opera, and I think the production matches that perfectly. It takes place in an odd, slightly surreal early-twentieth-century milieu, and I doggone love it. Everyone's great, and special shout-out to the late great Dmitri Hvorostovsky as the aggrieved friend (the opera world suffered quite a loss with his premature death), but my favorites have to be STEPHANIE FUCKING BLYTHE (that's her legal name, all-caps and all) as Ulrica the fortune-teller (yes, there's a fortune-teller--as I said, it's a little weird) and Kathleen Kim (who seriously may be the tiniest-ever adult human being without a genetic disorder) as the king's page, Oscar, who plays the role in an uncanny, flirtatiously androgynous way that matches the production perfectly. Point being: terrific. I want more.

Simon Boccanegra (1857)

I thought this one was a bit of a disappointment. This production is much more traditional than Un Ballo, which is fine, but other aspects left something to be desired. The excessively convoluted plotting got in the way of what should have been the story's emotional core. Or so I thought. So ol' Simon's a former pirate who becomes doge of Genoa (and whose former-pirate-ness plays no role in the story) but he has enemies and a daughter, Amelia, whom he thought was dead but wasn't and that daughter's grandfather, Fiesco, who wants revenge for the seduction of his daughter. And, of course, Amelia has a lover, Adorno. Things kind of got better in the last half, but it's just such a jumble, and I didn't find most of the characters particularly vivid. Boccanegra is played by Plácido Domingo, who, if you weren't aware, has been taking on baritone roles this past decade. One's voice can certainly lower as you age (just listen to Songs of Leonard Cohenand You Want It Darker back-to-back for an object lesson), and he does a reasonable job, but it's still kind of obvious that he's not really a baritone. I actually preferred James Morris (who played Wotan in the 89-90 Ring) as Fiesco. He brought an appropriate gravitas to the role, which I think is the best in the opera. Two interesting things to note. First, this has by far the most protracted death I've ever seen in an opera: Boccanegra is poisoned in the middle of Act II but doesn't die 'til the end of Act III (okay, I suppose you could argue that certain tuberculosis deaths are similarly drawn-out). Second, this is really only semi-tragic; for the tragic effect it leans pretty darned heavily on us being sad about Boccanegra himself, but for me that didn't work as well as one might hope, and Fiesco, Adorno, and Amelia are all fine. I mean, sure, they spend a lot of time wailing about the bitterness of life, but I think they'll get over it. Adorno even gets to be the new doge (though according to wikipedia,"he was deposed by the people of Genoa because he had introduced too high taxes," which seems a bit of an anticlimax)! Other than Falstaff, of course, I'd never seen a Verdi opera where he doesn't kill off at least one of the lovers.

Nabucco (1842)

This was Verdi's third opera but his first to be a big critical and commercial success; it cemented his position as a composer nonpareil. Still, given how early it was in his career, I fully expected this one to be a bit bumpy. My expectation was defied, however; I thought it was awfully damned good, easily better than Boccanegra, certainly dramatically and arguably musically as well. The opera is on Biblical themes (you may know the title character better as Nebuchadnezzar), and if your sensibilities are anything like mine, you might sorta roll your eyes a bit at the whole Jews-versus-Pagans thing, but to me, that didn't matter. I got swept up regardless. That's not to say it's not without its flaws, notably the romantic couple (Nabucco's daughter and a Judaic man), which is the most hilariously desultory, half-assed pairing I've ever seen. Seriously, I feel like at a certain point the guy in particular just sort of disappears, or if he was still there he didn't make enough impression for me to even notice him. But NEVER MIND THAT. As with Simon, the Met did a production with Domingo in it, but...no offense, Plácido, I'm sure you were fine, but I kind of wanted to see an actual baritone in the title role, so I went with the above-linked 2001 version with Juan Pons. He's excellent, even if--let's be honest--it's not the most complex or interesting character. But the show is handily stolen by Maria Guleghina as Abigaille, his rebellious supposed-daughter (she's actually the daughter of slaves, which is of marginal relevance to the plot, and it's never explained why she was raised as Nabucco's daughter). To be fair, the fact that it's clearly the best role in the opera can't have hurt, but she is absolutely electric in her rage, and in a rare moment of calm she has a beautiful aria about her past peace and happiness ("Anch'io dischiuso un giorno"). I am distressed by the fact that I've never seen Guleghina in anything else. Anyway, a lot of great and powerful music here, and in particular a lot of great choral stuff; as the Met has the best chorus in the biz, it's a perfect fit. This again is a traditional sort of production, but I do have to highlight one particular bit of stagecraft: I was impressed and alarmed that they actually set a large piece of the set on fire during the burning of the Temple. It's cool yet incredibly dangerous-looking, but the Met didn't burn down, so I guess it worked out, by design or luck. Tragedy-watch: this really isn't one by any metric. Nabucco converts but still gets to be king and everyone's happy. Well, except Abigaille, who is dead (we are told that God "clouded her mind" which caused her to take poison, which seems kind of a dick move on his part--surely he could've saved her as well?), but she converts prior to dying, so it's all good. I guess.

Anyway, tune in later for more sets of three Verdi operas, maybe.

Carl Nielsen, Saul og David (1902)

Hey look, it's none other than my first Danish opera! There actually do seem to be a fair number of them from Scandinavia, but as ever with countries that we don't associate with the form, they're not widely shown overseas. Or so it seems to me. Anyway, there's a 1986 production on youtube right here.

It is, obviously, an opera on Biblical themes. So apparently, God's mad at Saul because, um, he did the sacrifice wrong, not waiting for the prophet Samuel to get there first. That God is a temperamental one, no doubt about it. But then he meets his son Jonathan's friend David, whose singing comforts him. David and Saul's daughter Michal fall in love. La. But then! Oh no philistines, led my some dude named Goliath. So, well, we all know what happens, but only off-stage. There is no on-stage philistine-slaying. Everyone loves David for this: they repeatedly note that "Saul has slain thousands, but David has slain tens of thousands," and Saul gets jealous and David is exiled. David comes upon Saul's camp at night, but does not kill anyone, to show how he wants peace. They are reconciled, but this reconciliation lasts approximately zero seconds, because then ol' Samuel shows up, and declares that David is or should be the new king and then dies, and Saul is all pissed again. Anyway, thing with the Witch of Endor, in whose body Samuel informs him that God hates him now and he's going to die and all his kids too and then...that happens, and David's the new boss. Though he's sad about all the dead people. The end.

Most odd. Most odd indeed. It's a little hard to know how to read this opera. If you see it as a straight, unironic Biblical account...it really doesn't work. I mean, Old Testament stories in particular are often weird and repellent and difficult to put into what we would consider narratively and morally comprehensible frameworks. That's just a fact. And this...is very much included. This idea that Saul is now hated of God because he did some nonsense legalistic bullshit about sacrifices wrong, and therefore this random-ass kid is going to take his place, and everyone excited about how many philistines they've murdered the hell out of, it's all kind of...well, it's not exactly a very satisfying or morally edifying story (and even if you DO think all that stuff is fine, the fact is, the relationship between Saul and David, which you'd think would be the whole point, is never really developed to any meaningful extent). But, I must say, it does work somewhat better if you think of it as the story of Saul getting screwed over, whether by his own neuroses or God or some combination or whatever. Not exactly cheerful, but since when was that a problem for operas? And it's pretty clear that the text itself has at least a certain amount of sympathy with this view; witness his final aria before offing himself. So it's kind of ambiguous and strange, for sure.

Musically, again, it's a bit scattered, I feel. There are bits that are less exciting, but there are also bits that are more so, like David and Michal's passionate first-act love duet (notwithstanding the fact that their relationship is never developed or goes anywhere or anything), or the reconciliation chorus between Saul and David (notwithstanding the fact that this is rendered meaningless almost instantaneously), or Saul's aforementioned final aria, which is definitely the best thing in the opera, and seems to be a much better emotional climax than YAY DAVID'S KING NOW HE'S GOING TO MAKE ISRAEL GREAT AGAIN.

I should note that the video and sound quality here are really not the best; this production seems to have been ripped from an old videocassette, and you know what those are like. I think it's enough to give you an idea, but be warned. Out of the cast, I think Leif Roar as Saul is definitely the highlight; I had no idea who this was while I was watching it, but it turns out that Roar also played the villainous Telramund in the LohengrinI saw, which was a highlight of that production. I don't think any of the other singers have any international acclaim, but they're all, you know, good enough. The production itself relied a bit more than I would've liked on the singers where mostly single-color costumes, giving it a sort of faerie-tale look that didn't seem entirely appropriate to me, but again, BASICALLY FINE. Glad I saw it. End of review.

Carl Maria von Weber, Der Freischütz (1821)

Here is a pivotal opera in the develop of German romanticism! Please enjoy it! I suppose if I'm talking about works that feel definitively of one country, this is about as German as it gets.

This, of course, is based on the Freischütz legend: six bullets for you, one for the devil. Solid legend. A++++ would read again. The plot of the opera is easily summed up: Max is usually a good marksman, but lately he's on a missing streak, which is especially bad because he's supposed to get married the next day but there's a rule that you can only do that if you pass a shooting test, so he's feeling a little desperate, which is why when Kaspar--who needs to find a sacrifice pronto or his deal with the devil, Samiel, expires and he gets dragged to hell--tempts him to come with him to the forest at midnight to make some of these "free bullets," he goes along. But the next day, at the wedding, he's on the last bullet and instead of hitting the target it flies straight at his fiancée, Agathe. So that's that, except here's the part you might not expect: don't worry, guys! Agathe's fine! She just fell down from the shock! The bullet actually somehow ricocheted off and hit Kaspar! Max confesses what he's done, and the...mayor? MC?...is pissed and wants him exiled, even though all the people beg for his forgiveness. But then a holy hermit appears and tells him that, come on, we all screw up, let he who is without sin &c; let's just give Max a year's probation and if he can manage to go that length without making any more Satanic pacts, he can marry Agathe. Also, let's abolish this shooting test; it's dumb. So all that stuff happens! Turns out the Devil doesn't have much power if deals with him are so easily countermanded, but, I mean, fair enough: it does seem a bit unfair that you can irrevocably damn yourself to hell on a brief impulse. We can of course also see this redemption business in Der Fliegende Holländer and Tannhaüser, as well as Goethe's Faust,but this seems to differ from those in that the hero doesn't even have to die.

I watched this film version, from 1968 (for whatever reason there are three separate copies on youtube, but only one with subtitles) which I thought was quite reasonable. The scene in the woods at night is appropriately atmospheric, which is probably going to be your biggest concern. I think you're going to want a Kaspar who plays up the sinisterness to the hilt, and Gottlob Frick certainly does the job: you don't have to see him do or say anything to know that he's up to no good. I suppose some would quibble with the unsubtlety, but I dug him. Arlene Saunders is good as Agathe, but even better, I think, is Edith Mathis as her friend Ännchen, who brings an Audrey-Hepburn-like charm to the role. I would perhaps suggest that Ernst Kozub as Max is a bit too consistently glum/petulant throughout, but it's a small complaint. I didn't find this one life-changing, but it's certainly worth seeing.

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, Sadko (1898)

You know, I've only seen a handful of Russian operas, but of those that I've seen, they all feel really intensely Russian to me in a way that operas from other countries don't feel quite so Italian, French, German, or whatever.  Does that make sense?  It might be a nutty thing to say.  But regardless, here's another datapoint!  I keep hearing about Rimsky-Korsakov editing and completing operas that remained unfinished at the composer's death, but what about his own work? Hmm? This is basically a folk tale in opera form; I remember when I was small I really, really liked all these "folk tales from X" books I would check out of the library, so it definitely brings me back.

Sadko himself is a folk hero; an adventurer and gusli player. The opera centers around the town of Novgorod, where all the rich merchants think he's kind of a fuck-up. But he goes to Lake Ilmen where he encounters Volkhova, the daughter of the Sea King (as you do) and they fall in love. She has to go, but tells him that he can get rich by catching three golden fish, and leaves, swearing they'll meet again. Long story short: he DOES get rich, goes on a long voyage, ends up at the bottom of the sea, propitiates the Sea King who accepts him as his daughter's husband, but then--this part is somewhat less than clear--paganism is apparently replaced by Christianity and the Sea King loses his power and Volkhova has to become a river. I realize it sounds insane when I say it like that. And even when I don't! But be that as it may. So Sadko is cast back up at Novgorod? WAS IT ALL A DREAM?!? Presumably not, given that he's still rich.

I mean, the music here is utterly sumptuous. Rimsky-Korsakov was Some Kinda Tunesmith. I watched this 1994 production, from the Mariinsky Theatre in Saint Petersburg. And you can watch it too! I think it's probably the ideal way to experience this opera; the traditionally-styled production is incredibly impressive. There are a half-dozen-odd elaborate (in a good way) sets, and all the costuming, my lord, there's a hugecast of chorus members and background characters here and they all look great. All in all, the perfect match for the opera itself. Those Russians do know how to put on a show. The singing is also great. Sadko himself--naturally--has by far the biggest part; I imagine it must be quite demanding, and Vladimir Galouzine does a fine job, bringing an appropriate youthful vigor and inquisitiveness to the role. But it's all good.

So this is really fantastic in many ways, but there's just one thing that doesn't sit right with me, that I couldn't quite make myself ignore. So the thing about Sadko is, he's pursuing Volkhova, but...he's also married. And I gather that he's supposed to seem more young and impulsive and thoughtless than actually jerkish, but...I felt like Rimsky-Korsakov didn't quite pull that off. His wife is a character, bemoaning her husband's long absence, and she's definitely supposed to be sympathetic, but Sadko...man. I mean, he leaves on this lengthy ocean voyage in pursuit of this phantom woman, and I feel like the very least he could do in that situation is to tell her what's happening, but nope, she's left with just no idea. In the end, they're back together again, happily it seems, but in spite of his "forgive me," the whole thing just does not seem to work emotionally or psychologically. I know a folk tale is not generally going to be "realistic," but...I don't know. I feel that this is a serious fly in the ointment. Otherwise, I'd rave unreservedly, but as it is, it's reserved raving for me.

Richard Wagner, Götterdämmerung (1876)

Götterdämmerung? More like Götterdumberung! Amirite? Or should it be "Götterdämmerdung?" Let's workshop this.

Sheesh. Well. Anyway. We open on the Norns singing about what's going on while ominously spinning a rope of fate, which breaks, ominously. Then, on the mountain, Siegfried and Brünnhilde declare their love for each other, of which he gives her the ring as a pledge. And he's off to...seek adventure, I guess. You'd think he'd want to spend more time with his blushing bride, but WHATEVER. Heroes will be heroes, I guess. And that's the prologue. Act I: the action switches to a hall where we see a king of...some kingdom, presumably, Gunther; and his sister Gutrune and half-brother Hagen. Hagen suggests that half-bro should marry Brünnhilde, the only problem being that Siegfried's already found her. He suggests that Gutrune should also marry Siegfried, and produces a potion to make him fall in love with her and forget his former love; then Gunther can marry her. A perfect scheme! Conveniently enough, Siegfried then shows up. Gunther extends hospitality, and Gutrune gives him the potion, which does what it says on the label; he offers to win a wife for Gunther, who tells him the whole Brünnhilde situation, and that only a fearless man can get through the fire (sidenote: what does this mean? Surely "fearless" is not a synonym for "flame-resistant?" Is it that the flames aren't real, but only a fearless type would be willing to take the risk by charging through them? Difficult to say.) Anyway the plan is that Siegfried uses the Tarnhelm to look like Gunther and in that state gets Brünnhilde so she'll have to marry him. The two swear blood-brotherhood. When they leave, Hagen gloats about how his Cunning Plan to get Siegfried to bring him the ring is working. Back on the mountain, another valkyrie, Waltraute, visits Brünnhilde to tell her what's the haps: Wotan is sad because his spear that gave him power was broken (although he seemed pretty equanimous about it in Siegfried), and he ordered the World Tree hacked down and piled the branches around Valhalla awaiting the giant conflagration that will mean the end. This is apparently due to the ring's curse, and he keeps muttering that if only it were returned to the Rheinmaidens, all would be well. But Brünnhilde refuses to return it, being an emblem of Siegfried's love, so Waltraute has a sad and leaves. Siegfried shows up, claims Brünnhilde for Gunther, and takes the ring, and would you believe we've only just finished the first act? As the second opens, Hagen is visited in a waking dream by his father, who turns out to be ALBERICH! Alberich urges him to get the ring and kill Siegfried, which I feel like he was already pretty much onboard with, but WHATEVER. Gunther and Brünnhilde return; she is shocked to see Siegfried, and when she sees the ring on his finger, she realizes that it wasn't Gunther but Siegfried who captured her, which pisses her off, though I kind of think she should really already be at maxed-out pissed-offedness. She accuses him of being a dick (more or less), which he swears is untrue. Anyway, Brünnhilde, Gunther, and Hagen all agree that Siegfried should be murdified (though I feel like Brünnhilde ought to be comparably pissed off at Gunther); it seems that Siegfried is invincible thanks to vaguely-defined enchantments put on him by Brünnhilde (as compared to the original stories, in which he was invulnerable due to having bathed in Fafner's blood), but she knew he'd never run from combat, so she neglected to protect his back, so let's stab him in the back (wouldn't it have been easier to just enchant the whole guy, as opposed to excluding specific bits?). And let's do it on a hunting trip, so we can claim a boar killed him and Gutrune won't hate us. Now, on to act III. The Rheinmaidens are still unhappy about the lost gold; Siegfried, having gotten separated from the hunting party, drops by. They beg him to give them the ring to escape the curse, but he foolishly laughs at them and does no such thing. The rest of the hunters show up. Hagen gives him a potion which restores his memory, and then when he talks about his romance with Brünnhilde, stabs him in the back and murders him (this being the penalty for having sworn never to have been involved with her). Anyway, back at the hall, Gutrune is sad, but whatever (it's funny how instantaneously they give up the façade of a boar having been responsible). Hagen claims the ring, Gunther sez no, Hagen murders him. Brünnhilde orders a funeral pyre built for Siegfried and lights it on fire. Then (I'm cribbing from summaries now, because it is far from obvious what's happening here, at least in the Lepage production), she rides into the flames, the hall collapses in the fire, the Rhine rises up to quench it, the Rheinmaidens recover the ring (Hagen tries to get it back but is pulled under), Valhalla is in flames, I guess Gutrune must be queen now, good for her, THE END.

Man, that summary was NOT worth the time it took to write it. I dunno. I have to say, I feel a bit...underwhelmed by this last chapter. Why? Oh, I don't know. Can I start by saying how much I hated the climax to Act I? So first, let's note that Wagner wrote this in such a way as to make it very hard to perform effectively. Siegfried is supposed to look like Gunther, but the singer playing Siegfried is the one involved. So how to do it? Well, by wearing the tarnhelm, which here (and also in the Schenk; I think it's the usual way to do it) is depicted as a kind of metal cloth that you just drape over your head. Did helmets ever really work like this? Regardless, it's pretty goofy-looking. But the action itself is what I reallydidn't like. Brünnhilde is completely passive in this scene, just letting the ring be taken, letting herself be dragged away. What happened to being Wotan's bravest, most glorious daughter? For reasons that surpass understanding, she doesn't even try "sorry, I'm already taken." And then Siegfried just looks like a huge dickhead, specifically talking about how he'll take her by force if she doesn't want to go. Just because you're not in love with a woman doesn't mean you should be a giant creep to her. So that was kinda bad. Granted, things did get better, and really, there are a lot of great scenes here, there's no denying it. But man, the storytelling just seemed a bit creaky. So for instance, when asked where the ring came from, Siegfried explains that he got it from a dragon he'd killed, which okay. So...why, in his opinion, did Brünnhilde have it on the mountain? It truly makes no sense. Also, in the ending, why is Valhalla supposed to be burning, when, per Waltraute, Wotan specifically said that giving the ring back to the Rheinmaidens would fix everything for the gods? Argh it again makes no sense, and the whole apocalypse is less dramatic and cool and ominous than I'd like. Bah, I say. My whelmedness is limited. Yes, great music, that goes without saying, but dramatically...eh.

The production, once again, fine. Some good touches. You know, I think they realized after Rheingold how silly the wires looked; I don't think any of the characters have been wired since. I wonder if they've even gotten rid of them for Rheingold;if you saw it nowadays, would it be different than the recorded version? Here at one point the Rheinmaidens dohave to clamber up a slope, which is a littledubious, but not too bad. And I wanted to call attention to one cool bit where, after Hagen has murdered Siegfried, Gunther gets his blood on his hands, which he washes off in the Rhine, which then becomes progressively more red and bloody. That was a cool, apocalyptic touch. You can't complain about the singers; I think my favorite was actually Eric Owens, better than ever as Alberich; I'm bummed that he only has one scene. But Hans-Peter König is also very forceful as Hagen--much better than he was as Hunding in Walküre,although, as ever when I say things like that, this was probably a better role. Iain Paterson is appropriately slimy as the weak-willed Gunther, and Jay Hunter Morris and Deborah Voigt remain strong as Siegfried and Brünnhilde. Really, I think it's the opera itself more than the production that I have problems with. I really hope that Wagner's remaining major operas--Tristan und Isolte, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Parsifal--are able to conclude things on a high note. Dramatically, I think that the only ring opera that was up to much was Die Walküre,though I'll concede that I'm just Some Guy and that I might feel differently if I gave them more viewings.