A Two-Hour Apology; Review of "Wagner's Dream" from the Met

"I'm sorry."

They could have just left it at that.

"Wagner's Dream," which was Susan Froemke's documentary about the Lepage Ring, was less about Wagner's dream itself than a two-hour apology for a machine that was never quite right. It drew too much attention to the least successful part of the enterprise and left unspoken many of the elements that did work. 

Here was the Met's opportunity to show us what we missed the first time around. I expected to hear insights about how the positions, shapes and colors interacted with Wagner's musical systems, and to hear from many of the excellent singers who populated 16 hours of opera.

Instead, the positioning favored Gelb as a leader in bringing out innovative new productions and in creating a new and vibrant audience for opera, even though this production fell short of its potential. After all, Gelb was tested by a production that was 40,000 pounds overweight and never fully ready for the task at hand. I am a Gelb-ist. I did not need convincing.

The Met crew had fans among those who attended this screening because of their visibility during Live-in-HD interludes. The stress on this crew went far beyond what I had imagined. They remained involved in every detail and stretched this bulky and barely usable system in unbelievable ways to make it work as well as it did.

But even within the realm of the singing itself, this documentary focused too much what did not work. Deborah Voigt was miscast. It did give an appreciation for her professionalism; the sheer ability to continue in spite of all obstacles. But where was Bryn Terfel, Stephanie Blythe, Richard Croft, and Eric Owens? And too much of the footage they had of Jay Hunter Morris was cut...we saw a much more thorough documentation of his arrival during the intermission of the Live-in-HD transmission of Siegfried on November 5, 2011.

Thankfully there were short commentaries from Margaret Juntwait and William Berger, but these should have been extended and further developed. The documentary was intellectually light as a result. It could have been a teachable moment.

I also think more time could have been spent revealing the things that did work in this production--especially the singing. They did focus on the Rhinemaidens in the magnificent opening scene of Rhinegold, which was one of the most impressive moments in the entire cycle, both visually and musically. I was eager to find out more about the interactive projections. Nope. Nothing. Instead we were steeped in the learning curve as the singers discovered how to interact with the machine. Even success felt heavy. 

Far from realizing "Wagner's Dream," the machine created its own particular nightmares and this film asked us to sit as insiders and watch them unfold. It did not make me want to see the Lepage productions again.

However, if you have not seen this cycle I would recommend attending. Do not see "Wagner's Dream." See Wagner's dream. Don't think about the machine anymore. It was the non-mechanized magic that was best. 

Other reviews about this production on Sonic Labyrinth:

Das Rheingold. Richard Croft is the Elvis of Loge

Die Walküre; Waiting on the Machine

An unexpected meeting of the Jay Hunter Morris Fan Club.

Siegfried Live in HD; Long Live the Machine?

Six Hours in the Mall; Götterdämmerung Live in HD

Almost suffering for the beauty of this music; Gustavo Dudamel Returns to the Digital Concert Hall

"It is such a perfection, such a simplicity, such a beautiful atmosphere," said conductor Gustavo Dudamel about Ma Mère l'Oye by Ravel, the work that opened his concert with the Berliner Philharmoniker transmitted live over the Digital Concert Hall. "Wow! How can I deal with this beauty! Almost...you suffer for the beauty of this music!”

The five movements that comprise Ravel's suite need to come across as a memory of childhood. They need to sound filled with longing for what was once ordinary and domestic. They are always a tall order to open a program because the "excitement of beginning" is the exact opposite of the emotional quality that is required.

Dudamel came to the podium in a very subdued mood and let the music spill naturally, keeping tempos quietly dancing. He connected the second movement to the first with only a breath pause, and though the pauses between other movements were increasinly longer, he maintained a continual sense of energy to unfold without the feel of starting and stopping.

The digital concert hall transmitted the Ravel with too much focus on individual soloists. The highlighting of each solo line with visual solo shot pulled these lines too far from their colorful contexts. In the fourth movement, which portrays the interaction of "beauty and the beast" with a waltz for beauty and the contrabassoon representing the beast, the constant solo shots focused only on "beauty" after the first two entrances of the contrabassoon, and so the interaction between the two was diminished.

Violinist Leonidas Kavakos joined the orchestra as soloist in the Korngold Violin Concerto. Kavakos has a commanding musical presence with razor sharp articulation. He has a wonderful, crazy, Paganini energy--he stands in very relaxed posture, in the complete absence of any showmanship, and lyrical warmness and cerebral technical precision just emanate from him.

I loved the way he voiced the second theme group of the opening movement, the so-called "Juarez complex" of material from Korngold's 1939 film. The line is filled with melodic gaps, and Kavakos edged these gaps to make us clearly aware of what they were missing. The ending gestures of the first movement were fiery from both orchestra and soloist.

The second movement felt like chamber music on an epic scale. It is music of contradiction and too often its surfaces are what attract. This performance dug much deeper into possibilities. The third movement was taken at lightening fast speed and became a jittery jig with a big Hollywood ending. It sounded cool. The work was well received, and Kavakos returned to play the opening movement of the Sonata No. 5 in G major, called "L'Aurore" by Eugène Ysaÿe.

After intermission we heard "Also sprach Zarathustra" by Strauss. The first half of this performance was tightly constructed and the interrelationship of motives was clear and powerfully developed. The extension and development of the Tanzlied lost focus but found its bearings again when the music settled in B major for the Nachtwandlerlied. Dudamel extended the silence after the final unresolved C-naturals that close the work, and he allowed us to contemplate the life out of balance that sounds at the end of this work. There was still music even in this silence.

Scarlatti's Fun-House Sonata; K.119

Step right up! L-a-d-i-e-s and G-e-n-t-l-e-m-e-n: we give you the fun-house sonata:

The unexpected can be delightful. Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757), master of invention, had a particular knack for the unexpected.

In the famous keyboard sonata K. 119 in D major the unexpected takes the form of strangely encased passages in the minor mode. Music in minor haunts this sonata like a ride through the fun-house. No one would suspect a haunting based on the celebratory opening gestures, played here by Irena Koblar in a live performance:


We begin with confident music built on logical contrasts; widely spaced intervals against stationary chords on each downbeat. The chords disappear just as rising scalar figures are introduced [0:06]. The phrase seeks a cadence but requires a series of musical updrafts before it can settle.

A closing gesture [0:14] with repeated notes attracts our attention. It becomes narrative music; an amusement park barker calling though a megaphone. The section dissolves into a cadenza [0:23] that quickly modulates.

A-minor hits like Sleepy Hollow [0:31]. Syncopated melodic writing and the surprising twists of harmonic minor poke through as the ostinato rhythm moves us on rails through the fun house.

Gradually the texture takes on characteristics of the narrative music until we recognize our barker [0:58] and realize that we are safely back in major, celebrated with delightful hand-crossings that reference the very first measures of the piece, now in the dominant.

Koblar repeats the entire first half of the sonata [1:14-2:25]. The ghosts at [2:26] seem real. It is distilled, melancholy music that begins to obsess on trills like an incantation.

Gradual refocusing happens as ghosts fade and the sound takes on recognizable shapes related to the cadenza. The music stops on the dominant [3:00]. The final segment of the fun-house works as a mirror deflecting the earlier ride onto a different track that allows us to arrive back home.

Koblar repeats the entire second half of the sonata [3:47-5:08]. Like any good fun-house attraction the second time through we can figure out all the humbugs!

Dessay struggles but draws us close. Review of Traviata from Met Live in HD

(AP Photo/Metropolitan Opera, Marty Sohl)

"I missed a high note today," said soprano Natalie Dessay, "I'm sorry!"

Dessay confessed to the live in HD audience during intermission about a pitch that seemed placed but for which no sound came out at first. The note finally did speak and she closed the vocal cadenza at the end of Sempre libera.

Dessay struggled against her voice throughout the performance. It lacked her characteristic power, agility, and crystalline color. Often the sound seemed torn and raspy, and the cords did not always vibrate at her command. One hoped she would warm and rally. One hoped that it would not become a distraction; after all this is a heroine who is ill. But there was no rally. It was distracting.

But it was also filled with an unusual kind of emotional charge. Her determination was inspiring. Her extraordinary musicianship was also inspiring; and it allowed her to continue in spite of all challenges.

But in spite of huge sound from Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Giorgio Germont and an effective performance from Matthew Polenzani as Alfredo, the connection among characters that needed to take place in order to fully mine this plot never materialized.

The Willy Decker production remains "timely." The connection from the end of the second act into the opening of the third proved that the death scene need not take place on a Victorian sickbed, but that it was connected to the very location of abandonment. Alienation was expressed during the final moments by staging the heroine's drops into death alone and unattended by those around her.

During the first curtain call everyone else had vanished and Dessay alone was onstage for the first bow. She had somehow managed to draw us close.