|
Back
La vache qui rit TROP n’est pas comique ! (The cow that laughs too much is not funny) Bayreuth
Festspielhaus
07/25/2025 - & August 2*, 5, 11, 14, 19, 22, 2025
Richard Wagner : Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg
Georg Zeppenfeld (Hans Sachs), Jongmin Park (Veit Pogner), Martin Koch (Kunz Vogelgesang), Werner Van Mechelen (Konrad Nachtigall), Michael Nagy (Sixtus Beckmesser), Jordan Shanahan (Fritz Kothner), Daniel Jenz (Balthasar Zorn), Matthew Newlin (Ulrich Eisslinger), Gideon Poppe (Augustin Moser), Alexander Grassauer (Hermann Ortel), Tijl Faveyts (Hans Schwarz), Patrick Zielke (Hans Foltz), Michael Spyres (Walther von Stolzing), Matthias Stier (David), Christina Nilsson (Eva), Christa Mayer (Magdalene), Tobias Kehrer (Nachtwächter)
Chor der Bayreuther Festspiele, Thomas Eitler‑de Lint (Chorus Master), Orchester der Bayreuther Festspiele, Daniele Gatti (Conductor)
Matthias Davids (Director), Andrew D. Edwards (Sets), Susanne Hubrich (Costumes), Fabrice Kebour (Lighting), Simon Eichenberger (Choreography), Christoph Wagner-Trenkwitz (Dramaturgy)
G. Zeppenfeld, C. Nilsson (© Enrico Nawrath)
Wagner’s only comedy, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, is not a farce, but rather a poised, ironic view of art and life. It’s an even more subtle “comedy” than Verdi’s Falstaff or Mozart’s Così fan tutte, pinnacles of refined artful comedy in opera. Alas, German director Matthias Davids, a specialist in musical comedies, opted instead for a Broadway interpretation. While the result was somewhat enjoyable, it sadly missed the essence of the work.
The first act opens to St-Catherine’s church, atop a hill with a long staircase. Down in the square below the church, Walther von Stolzing, in town from Franconia, flirts with Eva, daughter of goldsmith Pogner, high on the stairs. When the service is over, several people exit, all in proper attire from various epochs, from the 15th century to the present. The idea was to depict proper conservative society from various periods of history. The effect, however, was that we concentrated on the costumes, and not Eva, who should be the centre of attention. Eva informs the flirtatious Walther that the mastersingers’ guild will be holding a contest, and the winner will earn her hand in marriage.
Thanks to a revolving stage, we are transported to the mastersingers’ meeting place inside the church. David, apprentice to Hans Sachs, attempts to explain the rules of singing to a bewildered Walther. For some reason, director Davids opted for Victorian England as the period for the meeting, perhaps due to the notorious fastidiousness of the period. Most were dressed as in the series The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, but some were attired from other periods, including our own. To show the pomposity and lack of seriousness of petty people in positions of power, even if minor, guild members leave in the middle of discussions, helping themselves to the buffet or for a few puffs in the smoking room. The mastersingers quibble about who should judge the contest. All insist on themselves as judges, while cobbler Hans Sachs thinks it ought to be the townsfolk. He also thinks Eva should have a say in who she marries. Sixtus Beckmesser, town clerk, a clever technician in the art of song making, is overly pedantic and a stickler for rules. Assessing the other participants, he’s certain he’ll win.
When Walther applies to join the guild and the contest, he sings a novel free‑form tune about love, which is continuously interrupted by Beckmesser’s disapproving markings on his chalkboard. Here, it’s on a paper roll, which is extremely long by the end of the song, channeling common stagings of Leporello’s catalogue aria in Don Giovanni. Beckmesser suggests there is no point in ending the song and dismisses Walther. All approve, save for Hans Sachs, whom Beckmesser rebukes for trying to set new rules, suggesting he finish his overdue shoes instead.
Act II was Davids’ best endeavour, as it’s the one most prone to standard situational comedy. When Eva learns Walther has failed to join the mastersingers, she plans to elope with him. As Beckmesser starts to serenade Eva that night, she has Magdalena replace her at the balcony. Hans Sachs decides to thwart Beckmesser’s amorous attempts by singing loudly a cobbling song while hammering the shoes Beckmesser had ordered. In response to the latter’s protestations, Sachs agrees to let Beckmesser sing if he may be his “marker”. Sachs marks the stressed out Beckmesser’s many musical and poetic mistakes by striking the sole of the shoe with his hammer. This awakens the whole town. Seeing Magdalena in the balcony, David mistakenly thinks Beckmesser is serenading her and strikes him. The act ends in a huge melee throughout the town. Here Davids used his musical comedy “artistry,” creating an orchestrated Broadway‑style fight evocative of high school plays.
In Act III, Sachs gives Walther a crash course in the art of singing, helping him to improve his song by moderating his ardour to somewhat agree with the masters’ rule. After the two leave the cobbler’s shop, Beckmesser enters to find Sachs’s marking for Walther’s song. He mistakenly assumes Sachs plans to join the contest. Sachs assures him of the contrary and gives him the text of the song, thus tricking him into eventually using it.
The opera’s final scene resembled a truly ugly production of L’elisir d’amore, as it showed a village fair, supposedly set on the grounds in front of Bayreuth’s Festspielhaus. To amuse the public with cheesy humour, there are two Angela Merkel lookalikes (she’s a frequent spectator at Bayreuth), one of whom is a cross dressing man, as well as twin lookalikes of German television personalities unknown to international audiences. Further rank humour is provided in the form of hideous sets: an inflatable cow is high above the stage, as part of the logo of the famous French cheese, La vache qui rit (The laughing cow). The mildly funny reference is that the cheese’s trademark, a laughing cow with an earring, was created by Benjamin Rabier (1864‑1939), French illustrator and comic book artist as a jeu de mots on the word La Walkyrie (The Valkyrie). Following the 1870 Franco‑Prussian War, France lost territory and prestige. WWI caused a huge demographic loss: six million casualties, including 1.5 million dead men. So, there was no love lost between France and Germany, hence the French parody that’s survived to this day, thanks to fermented milk.
The festival music, Verwandlungsmusik, a celebration of Saint John’s eve by Nuremberg’s various guilds, is Wagner’s least inspired music. A dignified celebration usually diverts one’s attention from the music. However, Andrew D. Edwards’ hideous sets and Susanne Hubrich’s folkloric costumes, as well as Angela Merkel doppelgängers, an out‑of‑place Spanish duena, a congregation of elves and other oddities only made one contemplate the weakness of the music and wonder if it was borrowed from Otto Nicolai (1810‑1849) or Albert Lortzing (1803‑1851).
To emphasise the cow theme, Eva was trapped into a huge floral arrangement as “the prize,” or the trophy cow. Yes, it’s terribly unfair to offer one’s daughter as the prize in a song contest, but this was, after all, the 15th century.
Poor Beckmesser attempts to sing Walther’s song and gets it wrong, “Morgen ich leuchte”. As the song is jeered, Beckmesser attributes it to Hans Sachs. The latter explains it is not his and asks to have its author sing it. Walther sings the proper text “Morgenlich leuchtend im rosigen Schein,” to the crowd’s delight. Walther is declared the winner, initially refusing the prize, but is convinced by the wise Hans Sachs that even innovators, no matter how groundbreaking, can only exist within a cultural tradition. In the present production, Davids has Eva return the award to Sachs, and the two young lovers leave town.
At the risk of being a Beckmesser myself, this alternate finale is contrary to the true essence of the opera and to the intentions of the most prominent iconoclast in opera, Richard Wagner. Who knows? Perhaps Matthias Davids knows better.
With the exception of the botched finale, Davids’ ideas and Edwards’ sets were innocuous enough to gravely damage the opera. As is often the case, the work itself and the singers saved the day.
German bass Georg Zeppenfeld is a truly impressive singer. Heard as Gurnemanz in Parsifal a few days earlier and last season as Daland in Der fliegende Holländer in Dresden, Zeppenfeld is as brilliant an actor as he is a singer. He beautifully conveyed Hans Sachs’s wisdom and humanity. His Act II soliloquy or Flieder’s monologue, “Was duftet doch der Flieder,” was the performance’s greatest moment, together with Act III’s opening monologue “Wahn! Wahn! Uberall Wahn!” Zeppenfeld’s diction is one his trademark qualities, and it was a true pleasure to enjoy the emotion he imbued to the text. Nonetheless, one would have liked a warmer, “fatter” voice to better convey the character’s avuncular kindness. Zeppenfeld’s voice was perhaps too thin for the role.
The revelation of this performance was the astonishing Michael Spyres, heard a few days earlier as a marvellous Siegmund in Die Walküre. This bel canto tenor, together with John Osborn, are the princes of French grand opéra and bel canto. As far as I know, never before has a tenor who delights as Tonio in La Fille du regiment (onstage, not in studio) sung Siegmund or/and Walther and this, in the holy shrine of Wagnerian singing, Bayreuth. Spyres enjoys a wide register and a masterful technique to match in this new role. He impressed with his clear phrasing, bright high notes and expressiveness. The italianità of his voice brought a freshness and virile youth, too often missing from this role.
German baritone Michael Nagy was a magnificent Sixtus Beckmesser. Vocally, it’s not an overly demanding role. It’s often performed as a caricature, which is a huge mistake. By rendering Beckmesser merely an odd rather than detestable character, he’s more credible. Nagy managed to render him as a rigid person, inflexible and opposed to change. That opposition is not from being evil, it’s merely uncomfortable. Of course, he’s also self‑sufficient, with a high opinion of himself, but then he didn’t become town clerk for nothing.
Christina Nilsson was effective as Freia in Das Rheingold a week ago at Bayreuth. The Swedish lyric soprano’s timbre had the right Fach for Eva but it didn’t fit the role. A more ethereal, virginal timbre, the voice of an angel, which is not Nilsson’s voice, would have been more suitable. Hers is lovely, but meatier. She compensated with excellent acting. However, her unfortunate dress in Act I was disastrous, more “babushka” than innocent young woman, in the Fifteenth, or any century.
German mezzo Christa Mayer, a matronly Fricka in Das Rheingold and Die Walküre , was the wrong choice for Magdalena. Her voice is too mature and she has too pronounced a vibrato, an appropriate Dame Marthe in Gounod’s Faust but not young Magdalena, sweetheart of the boyish apprentice David. Unfortunately, her contribution to Act III’s “Selig, wie die Sonne meines Glückes lacht” altered the sublime quintet’s overall balance.
Heard last season as Fasolt in La Scala’s Das Rheingold, South Korean bass Jongmin Park was easily able to delineate a different character from Fafner. He effectively portrayed the imposing yet caring goldsmith, Veit Pogner, Eva’s father. Matthias Stier was a vivacious David, thanks to his sweet lyric tenor and excellent characterization. The Swiss singer’s Mozartian voice contrasted with Spyres’s more robust instrument.
Tobias Kehrer managed to make the small but symbolically pivotal role of the Nachtwächter (night guard) memorable by his distinctive night cry and deportment. The German bass‑baritone is a charismatic and versatile interpreter, equally impressive as Orest in Elektra in Berlin earlier this season or as a gangster Fafner a week earlier in Das Rheingold in Bayreuth.
Italy’s Daniele Gatti is an unpredictable conductor who can be fully inspired, as he was in Falstaff at La Scala earlier in the year, or decidedly dull, as he was in a symphonic concert in Dresden last year. Here, he was the former, except for the excessively slow tempo adopted in the Prize Song. He managed to make Sachs’s monologues solemn and reflective, but he was not able to impart the necessary nobility to the Verwandlungsmusik, the celebration of Saint John’s eve. Yet, it must be said he expertly supported his singers (and at least two were truly in need of it).
Despite being the longest frequently-performed opera (six and a half hours, two intermissions), I didn’t feel time dragging, so riveted was I by the glorious players and singers. Some friends left after the second intermission and were thus spared the laughing cow and other marvels. However, they missed Hans Sachs’s monologue, the quintet and the final, perfected version of the “Prize Song.” It’s doubtful Matthias Davids’ inane staging will attract consumers of musical comedies to Wagner. However, by missing the essence of Wagner’s “comedy”, such an obtuse staging is likely to lower the acuity of opera lovers.
Ossama el Naggar
|
