Parsifal
Royal Opera House, 30th November 2013
Directed by Stephen Langridge
Review by Charles Furness-Smith
Well, one thing is for certain: Stephen Langridge’s Parsifalnis unlikely to be compatible with any production of Lohengrin you are likely tonsee any time soon! This, however, is absolutely not the point. The point ofnLangridge’s Parsifal is exactly the same as the point of Wagner’s Parsifal,nnamely compassion and specifically compassionate morality. That the Britishnmedia seems to have misunderstood Langridge’s production – or in many cases tonhave made no attempt to understand it – is a shame. One could argue that it isnnot especially compassionate to have made no effort to understand Mr.nLangridge, especially given that the fundamental importance of this themen(compassion) to his production was highlighted for us beautifully in thenprogramme via a quotation from George Eliot’s Middlemarch:
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“We are all of us bornnin moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves:nDorothea had early begun to emerge from that stupidity, but yet it had beenneasier to her to imagine how she would devote herself to Mr. Casaubon, andnbecome wise and strong in his strength and wisdom, than to conceive with thatndistinctness which is no longer reflection but feeling — an idea wrought backnto the directness of sense, like the solidity of objects — that he had annequivalent centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must always fall withna certain difference.”
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It is this that is highlighted so intelligently by Mr. Langridge’s production. Amfortas has an “equivalent centre of self” to which the grailnknights appear oblivious, and in many ways this is the key insight of thenproduction. However, we should go back to the beginning, for there is much tonanalyse and much to draw the ire of the purist, all of which can be explained.nTherefore, if you prefer not to read any spoilers before going to see thisnproduction yourselves, please feel free to stop reading now!
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The key elements of the production that are likely to drawncritical attention and/or pose questions are as follows. A blood soaked curtainnhangs downstage during the overture. Kundry’s mouth, a lascivious mouth thatnwill (significantly) probably draw a blush from the average Christian, appearsnin a square box that is projected onto the blood stained curtain. During act 1,nAmfortas is writhing in agony in a hospital bed within a white translucentnsquare cube that sits in the centre of the stage: the tableau has more thannjust an incidental sense of a mental asylum about it. Later in the act thenwhite cube becomes fully opaque, occasionally illustrating the history andnlegends of the world of Parsifal (Kundry’s seduction of Amfortas and Klingsor’sncastration for instance) by suddenly illuminating the inside of the cube usingnlight through gauze. The Grail Hall has cultish – almost masonic – undertones,nwith a profusion of monochrome symmetry, badges on the knights’ (matching)nlapels, spectacles on many of the knights, and a good deal of outrage from thenknights at Amfortas’ unwillingness to endure another unveiling of the Grail.
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…Ah, the unveiling of the Grail. If there is one thing thatnis going to turn the purist’s puce it is this. The white cube, now fullynopaque, sits elevated in the middle of the Grail Hall. The unveiling of thenGrail involves opening a door to the cube and the subsequent emergence of ansmall boy (aged approximately 13 years old) who is then pierced in the abdomen bynAmfortas with a scalpel…funnily enough in the exact spot that Christ is usuallynportrayed as having been pierced by those nasty Roman heathens when he was onnthe cross, and the same spot that Amfortas was wounded by Klingsor. [Evidentlynthis was nothing more than coincidence for the good people of the nationalnpress…] During the ceremony, the knights simulate wounding themselves in thenpalm (the part of the body from which Christ was nailed to the cross).nMeanwhile, four knights arm themselves with guns, draw blood from their palmsnwith scalpels, take the blood and body of Christ in a clear representation ofnCommunion and walk offstage (either to go about the world looking for wronglynaccused Elsa von Brabants, or to attempt to regain the spear from Klingsor…I’mnnot sure that it especially matters which).
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“Outrage! For shame!” I hear you say…
Well, perhaps Wagner would haventaken a moment to work out exactly what Mr. Langridge was on about. However, Inexpect that he would have adored this production after a good night’s sleep tonmull it over. If we cut to the core of what Parsifal is about, it is hardnunderestimate the importance of the theme of compassion to the opera. Thenreally difficult thing to work out is exactly what kind of compassion Wagnernwas stipulating when he wrote the piece. People talk about Parsifal usingnChristianity and (faux) Christian mythology as a mere prism through which tonstudy the philosophy of Schopenhauer or the Buddhist concept of suffering.nOthers see the opera as fundamentally Christian in nature owing to its core of promulgating a messagenof compassion (an inherently Christian concept given that Christ gave his lifenfor human sins). If you do go to see this production please pick up a programmenbecause it contains a wonderful article by Dr. Mark Berry (who was kind enoughnto allow us to post his Euryanthe review on our website last week) in which henanalyses the role of Christianity in the opera. Dr. Berry’s article is a keynclue to what Mr. Langridge is contemplating in his approach to the opera. Thisnproduction is fundamentally about Schopenhauer’s concept of compassionatenmorality as directly opposed to Christian concepts of morality. I would not saynthat the production is inherently “anti-Christian”, but it certainly highlightsnthe extremes to which Christian concepts of morality can delve (think Victoriannapproaches to sex).
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The first thing that will probably touch you as odd aboutnthe production is that there is something palpably oppressive and perhapsnunpleasant about the Grail knights: certainly not something that Wagner wasnspecifically aiming for and not something that we are used to from a Grail Hallnscene. This sense is obviously heightened when they undertake the cultistnritual of cutting a boy’s abdomen, and it is highly significant that the boynlooks thoroughly uncomfortable throughout the ritual (great acting there,nincidentally). What ought to become apparent at this point is that Mr.nLangridge is establishing the knights not as paragons of goodness (such asnLohengrin), but as adherents to a quasi-Christian morality in which they arenobsessively bound to their daily ritual of Communion: literally drawing bloodnfrom a Christ-figure and touching his skin (note that Titurel takes greatneffort to get out of his wheelchair in order to touch the boy’s blood and skinn- thereby prolonging his unusually long life – as do the four knights who armnthemselves before going off on their mission). These knights are notncompassionate men. They subject this innocent (pure) boy to their strange ritenat the expense of his comfort and health (once cut, the boy is left alone innthe middle of the Grail Hall, abandoned by all of the knights). They alsoninsist that Amfortas should carry out the ritual despite his (unbelievablyntouching – kudos to Gerald Finley) protestations, ultimately for incrediblynselfish reasons: the grail sustains each of them personally.
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The knights’ morality is highly anti-sexual as well. Thenwhole point of the boy’s pre-pubescence is that he is “pure”, a word thatnreappears throughout Wagner’s libretto (“Parsi” itself meaning pure): annexemplar for the knights to worship, as one who is as yet incapable of beingnseduced by Klingsor’s flower-maidens and the lascivious mouth of that unknownnsiren who entrapped Amfortas. Indeed, in this case Amfortas’ wound is perhapsnperpetuated not because of the Buddhist-Schopenhauerian concept of perpetualnsorrow but because of Amfortas’ guilt derived from a duality in his own uniquenpersonality, his “equivalent centre of self, whence the lights and shadows mustnalways fall with a certain difference”. The production suggests that Amfortas succumbed to Kundry’s wilesnbecause of genuine, mutual attraction (watch Kundry’s responses to Amfortas andnany mention of his name throughout the production) which explains why thencouple finish the opera hand in hand. However, Amfortas’ attraction to Kundrynis accompanied by a perpetual (quasi-“Catholic”) guilt: the responsibility of hisnrole as the knight presiding over the Communion ritual – the only knight withnthe preordained power to legitimately open the white cube – weighs him downngiven that the ritual is intricately associated to sexual naivety and purity,nsomething his relationship with Kundry has rendered him fundamentallyninappropriate for. The impurity of Amfortas is illustrated by his hospital bed,nwhich the knights approach with face masks as though his condition isncontagious (despite them knowing that it is merely a spear wound). Amfortas’nunwillingness to open the Grail has rendered him highly unpopular with Titurelnand the knights, explaining why his hospital bed has undertones of belonging inna mental asylum. Again, these knights are not compassionate men: they refuse tonempathise with Amfortas’ condition.
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The secret to getting to the bottom of Mr. Langridge’snproduction is the white cube – the Francis Bacon-esque cube that adorned the marketing material fornthe production – and the effect that light and darkness (Eliot’s “light andnshadows”) has on its transparency. We must assume that when Amfortas opens thencube he is accessing the divine realm; in Christian terminology he isncommunicating with God, in Schopenhauerian terms he is making contact with thennoumenal realm. In light of this, it makes sense that Amfortas’ should writhenin pain inside the translucent cube, perpetually trapped in a sphere between his impurityn(Kundry’s mouth was in a similarly shaped box, and the seduction of Amfortasntook place within the cube) and the knight’s perception of enlightenment (thencube when opaque). All acts of myth, legend or history take place in the cube.nThe very fabric of the universe of Parsifal is confided to us via the cube. Thenevents that led to the Grail knight’s current predicament, to Amfortas’ pain, tonKlingsor’s castration, all take place within the cube. Rather as Christians arenbeholden to the Bible for their rules and regulations in life, the inhabitantsnof the universe of Parsifal are beholden to the cube, an opaque sphere to whichnonly the special few, or the ordained, can gain access. Of course, the key tonall this is that once Parsifal becomes enlightened, heals Amfortas with thenspear and assumes his role as leader of the Grail knights, he opens the cube tonreveal nothing, absolutely nothing but transparency. The point here is that Parsifal hasndiscovered the course of compassionate morality. He releases Amfortas, not fromnhis wound, but from his obligation to adhere to the sex-abrogatingnquasi-Christian morality of the Grail knights. He understands Amfortas’ uniquenneeds, completely unlike the Grail knights whose moral righteousness was in nonway compassionate to the needs of their leader. Hence Parsifal brings Kundry to Amfortas,nenabling them to leave Monsalvat together hand in hand. Meanwhile, Parsifal opensnthe noumenal realm to all, and in so doing breaks the myth of the Grail (the dependency of thenGrail knights on their unpleasant communion) and leaves them to discover thatnthe morality of compassion does not need an opaque sanctuary in a temple to benpractised. While Christian compassion may need adherence to the teachings of anBible, or attendance in church, or to carry out Communion, or devotion to thosenwho are ordained to lecture others on the teachings of God, the philosophicalnconcept of compassionate morality simply requires the intuitive recognitionnthat we all have a will to live and that we can renounce this will. DoesnParsifal leave Monsalvat forever? Will his son, Lohengrin, go out into thenworld to save Elsa? Does it matter? No.
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There are numerous other elements in the production thatnwill raise questions and most of them, I believe, fall neatly into this readingnof Mr. Langridge’s production. One specific aspect of the production that is worthncommenting on, however, is Parsifal’s blindness. This fits neatly with thenlibretto since Parsifal acknowledges his own figurative blindness:
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“Und ich – ich bin’s, der all dies Elend schuf! Ha! WelchernSünden, welches Frevels Schuld muss dieses Torenhaupt seit Ewigkeit belasten,nda keine Busse, keine Sühne der Blindheit mich entwindet.”
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Why does Mr. Langridge have Parsifal blinded? Well, I noticenthat one reviewer in a major British newspaper noted with derision that many ofnthe Grail knights were apparently short-sighted, wearing spectacles. It doesnnot need a huge amount of imagination to see that this short-sightedness couldnpossibly be inextricably associated to Parsifal’s blindness. Parsifal’s sightnis restored to him by Good Friday, when the world is renewed, with Gurnemanznnoticing that Parsifal is the pure fool who has been enlightened by compassion.nIn their dependence on an obscene ritual and moral stricture (keeping Klingsornfrom joining the order etc.), the knights show themselves to be short-sightednin their interpretation of morality. Like Parsifal, their blindness will benlifted by understanding of compassionate morality.
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There is also a little-disguised reference to Oedipus innParsifal’s blindness. Just like Parsifal, Oedipus’ appearance as an old, dyingnman in Colonus represents salvation for Athens, for the location of Oedipus’ grave (whichnhe chooses to situate in Athens) will ensure victory for Theseus’ Athenians in anlater war with Thebes. Parsifal’s arrival signifies salvation for the Grailnknights and the disappearance of Klingsor and his bewitching garden. Morensignificantly, however, a key theme in Sophocles’ play Oedipus at Colonus isnmorality: Oedipus is convinced of his own moral righteousness owing to the factnthat his act of patricide (killing Laius prior to the events of Oedipus Rex)nwas an act of self-defence. In Stephen Langridge’s Parsifal, it is not hard tonsee that the director is rubbishing Amfortas’ guilt and moral responsibilitynfor his own fate. Amfortas fell into an inescapable trap that was set for himnby Klingsor, succumbing to an attraction that was so inherent within his uniquenpersonality that it lingered throughout the following years while he wasnenduring his wound and finally culminates in his reconnection with the verynperson who ostensibly caused that dreadful wound: Kundry. In Stephen Langridge’s Parsifal, is Amfortas actually morally corrupted, or, like Oedipus, is he simply “unfortunate”: Jocasta’s word, not mine! The reference to Oedipus is furthered by giving consideration to Jocasta. Like her son-and-husband, Jocasta is essentially morally uncorrupted because she was unknowing in her actions. In this production of Parsifal, Kundry is arguably the same. Because of her blindness and lack of compassion at the crucifixion Kundry is cursed and unfortunate, but it is this curse that forces her to acts of sexual promiscuity for which she would be abhorred by the Grail knights. It is perhaps no surprise that Kundry’s first (and therefore considered most likely to succeed) method of seducing Parsifal is by referencing his mother.
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Parsifal’s blindness also allows for one truly spellbindingnmoment in the opera. Opera-only fans often dismiss ballet as an inferior art form,nbut whilst opera is my first love I have to admit that almost no moment on thenstage touches me as much as when Kolia presses the hem of Natalia Petrovna’sndress to his cheek in the final moments of Frederick Ashton and FrédéricnChopin’s ballet of Turgenev’s A Month in the Country. It is a purely stylisednmoment. The tutor has been banished from the Petrovna’s country house for hisnalmost-affair with an unappreciated wife, Natalia. However, having been dismissed and left thenhouse, Kolia sneaks back unnoticed, sprints up to Natalia – who is facing the audience – and presses the hem of her dress to his cheek with such a longing embrace thatnyour heart strings could explode. Then he runs away forever, and Natalia turnsnas though stirred by a wisp of wind to see nothing. In the real world Kolia could never havenrun up to the woman he loves without her hearing…but this is the stylised worldnof ballet. A purely representative sphere, just as stylised as opera, which can often make us cry with more ease than a literal representation of a true story onnscreen, stage or page.
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Stephen Langridge is evidently a man of the theatre.nParsifal’s blindness is cured ostensibly not by Gurnemanz’s explanation of GoodnFriday, or the religious power of Good Friday itself, but by Wagner’s music.nThe sublime sound wafts out of the orchestra pit and as we – the audience –nmelt. Parsifal, embraced by this visceral idyll of wonder on Good Friday,nbegins to cry until his eyes are clear and pure, and his sight is restored. Onenof the articles in the Royal’s programme is about the music of Parsifal beingnas transcendent as anything that Wagner or any other composer ever wrote. IfnMr. Langridge wanted to visualise this, what better way to show it than to curenParsifal’s blindness through the power of music? Anyone who saw the late, greatnPatrice Chéreau’s Tristan und Isolde at La Scala will know a little about this:nwhat better way to show Isolde merging with the infinite (“in des Weltatems,nwehendem All, – ertrinken, versinken, – unbewusst, – höchste Lust!”) than tonshow her literally splitting apart on stage? Blood from an apparent head woundngushes from her forehead throughout “Mild und Leise”. This truly is the power ofngreat theatre, and the curing of Parsifal’s blindness, as set against the GoodnFriday music, will surely live in the memory of those who see this productionnfor years to come.
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Thanks to the performances, the Royal’s Parsifal is worthnattending even if the production sounds dreadful to you. The singing isnexceptional without exception! I was sitting in the third row of the stallsnwhich always helps. However this enabled me to analyse the acting as well, andnthis was uniformly first class. Without wishing to pay a back-handed compliment(!),nSimon O’Neill is really coming of age. His performance here is wonderful, withnhis “Nur eine Waffe taugt” soaring out over the orchestra with clarity,nstrength and freshness – despite coming at the end of a long evening – that wasnperhaps slightly absent in the first act finale in Meistersinger two years ago.nHis acting is excellent as well, with his interaction with the flower-maidensnproving truly hilarious and the aforementioned Good Friday-blindness momentnproving transcendental. Gerald Finley’s Amfortas is a stunning creation. HisnAct 1 monologue was as moving as any I’ve seen. On the acting front, Angela Denokendeserves a special mention for a brilliant Kundry. It is well worth watching hernthroughout the long periods of the first act when Kundry has little to say andnskulks around the stage, occasionally responding to news of Amfortas (thenimportance of which has been mentioned above), mimicking Edvard Munch’s ThenScream (or is it Bertolt Brecht’s silent scream from Mother Courage?) or justnbrooding. Her 2nd Act (attempted-) seduction of Parsifal was sublime and subtle with thenduality of her personality (the same duality established in Amfortas’ characternby this production?) apparent for all to see. The rest of the cast (includingnan engrossing performance from Willard White as Klingsor) were all excellent,nwith René Pape giving a master class in Wagner singing. For those who saw himnbattle through Die Walküre at La Scala this summer with a debilitating cold,nthis performance will act as a moment of catharsis akin to Parsifal regainingnhis sight. He was superb. An unsung hero at the Royal has evidently had a word withnthe singers regarding their diction, too, because it was spot on throughout.
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There was one false cue from a wayward trumpet in thenorchestra pit during Act 1 (quickly subdued by an ever-alert Antonio Pappano), and perhaps Kundry’sn“Irre! Irre!” lacked a little of the forceful magic that can be achieved atnthat point, but by and large Pappano and the orchestra of the Royalnwere absolutely superb. Pappano has elected to maintain a continuous level ofnsonorous mysticism in his approach to Parsifal, with smoothness and subtletynbeing the order of the day, creating a gorgeous soundscape from the orchestranpit. I don’t think of Pappano as a conductor of Wagner. I often think he isnincredible at Puccini, excellent at Verdi – whose operas he has brought morenand more often to the Royal in recent years with huge success – and (just!)nvery good at Wagner. However, surely his Tristan, Meistersinger, and morenrecently his Ring Cycle and now Parsifal show that this man loves our favouritenbi-centurion just as much as that other one…the Italian chap.
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All in all, utterly superb.
Charles Furness-Smith
