Das Rheingold: Seattle Opera returns to the world of gods, giants, and monsters

The opening night of Seattle Opera’s 60^th season at McCaw Hall on August 12 was a special occasion for more reasons than one. Aside from the important anniversary for this great opera house, the opener was Wagner’s epic Das Rheingold. Breathtaking voices, innovative staging, an intriguing interpretation, and costumes to die for made this a night to remember.

Director Brian Staufenbiel wrote about the aesthetic underpinning this production. “The action takes place in a future where science and technology have caught up with nature, where the organic, the mechanical, and the digital have started to fuse.” Certainly an appropriate setting for the Emerald City, it began immediately with David Murakami’s mesmerizing projections: with the entire immense orchestra on stage behind a transparent mesh curtain that doubled as a screen, motes began whizzing by at high speed, which I at first took for microorganisms, only they resolved into a myriad of metal gears of all shapes and sizes—gears, the progenitors of modern microchips, which themselves also formed an important part of the visuals. The gears began to coalesce and to turn, as if in imitation of something that might be the beginning of time from a machine’s standpoint, and the orchestra swelled behind them.

The Rhinemaidens Woglinde (Jacqueline Piccolino),
 Flosshilde (Sarah Larsen), Wellgunde (Shelly Traverse).
© Sunny Martini

As the Rhinemaidens rose from the depths of the river ( the river being a clever practical effect formed by utilizing the orchestra pit’s space so the performers could disappear below the waves), Woglinde , sung by Jacqueline Piccolino in an incredibly full, entrancing, spinto-esque coloratura, began weaving a magical song. Alberich appeared as a larger-than-life projection onscreen, peering down onto the Rhinemaidens. Michael Mayes’ Alberich was perhaps the highlight of the entire performance, and certainly from a dramatic standpoint. Initially lusty, lecherous and funny, taunted by the nixies, sporting an ensemble with a curious blend of ancient Teutonic and vaguely steampunkish stylings,  in this iteration it is easy to forget the depths to which he will soon descend. Mayes’ diction was clear and impeccable, and his voice was that of a fine, powerful dramatic baritone.

Easy to overlook if one weren’t paying attention, the athletic performance of Alberich and the Rheintöchteren was also impressive. No mere pacing about and declaiming, they dove, ran, rolled and frolicked intensely. As the scene ended, primordial techno-magicks began to resolve themselves into the fiery tracings of circuit boards, and then Wotan and Fricka stood admiring the newly built Valhalla.

Greer Grimsley, a SO favorite as Wotan (this being his fourth time performing the role here, going back almost 20 years) cut a magnificent figure. Golden-robed and wielding the impressive spear Gungnir* carved with glowing runes that give him his power, he sang the role with an ease and insight borne of vast experience. When the giants arrive to claim their payment for Valhalla, they sang into a camera at forestage, and it was projected behind them so that they appeared to be towering over the gods (and audience) below. 

The giants Fasolt (Peixin Chen) and Fafner (Kenneth Kellogg). © Philip Newton

It would be hard to overstate Peixin Chen’s performance as Fasolt, especially from a vocal standpoint. I’m no expert at identifying fach, but Chen is perhaps the most astounding dramatische Seriöser Bass that I personally have heard: thunderous, clear and stentorian, yet also incredibly nuanced and expressive. To hear a voice in that low register cut through the orchestral texture with such clarity was a marvelous thing; I felt pinned to my seat as he and Fafner argued with Wotan over payment for the construction of Valhalla. His grim visage only furthered the intensity: it was not rage, nor hot temper, but a smoldering menace that burned there, titanic and eternal. Kenneth Kellogg’s basso profondo Fafner was a perfect match for Chen’s Fasolt: this is truly the way that giants would sing.

Frederick Ballentine as Loge. © Sunny Martini

Another delight from this performance was Frederick Ballentine’s Loge.  Mathew Lefebvre’s costumes were outstanding all around, but perhaps none more than that of Loge; a spectacular ensemble that seemed to enhance Ballentine’s sinuous, subtly androgynous interpretation. Face aglitter, crowned with a puckish woodland coronet resembling many-pronged antlers offset by a large amber gem, Loge seemed to insinuate himself from place to place rather than move—sleek, subtle, dance-like and serpentine, Ballentine’s Loge oozed intrigue and subterfuge.  He employed a magnificent, rounded heldentenor that was beautifully suited to this role, and he seemed to hypnotize whenever he was on stage; Umonst sucht’ich was a highlight of the evening.

Descending into Nibelheim, more kudos were due the projections, as they yielded a very real and visceral feeling of going down…removing the audience from the glorious heights of the mountaintop and deep into a terrifying underworld. Containing a golden horde that was Smaugian in immensity, in Nibelheim there once again arose the technological motif as gold coursed through the pathways of partially hidden electronic circuitry. Here Martin Bakari really shone, as his charismatic yet harried Mime provided a stark contrast to Alberich, now a very demon enslaver of the Nibelungen as they mined for old bits of 20^th century technology. 

Michael Mayes as Alberich. © Philip Newton

Alberich’s transformation from the liveliness and gaiety of the opening moments of Act One was now complete. Mayes made it impossible not to pity the wretch, vile though he was, because the madness and grief of one who has foresworn love for gold burned in his eyes, and in his voice. This was an astonishingly difficult task: the crux of the drama fell upon his shoulders, and only one possessed of a fantastic baritone, as well as exquisite abilities as an actor, could have pulled this off so convincingly.

Denyce Graves’ glorious contralto underscored the power of Erda, and due to the strength of her Weiche, Wotan, weiche!  there is no doubt left as to how she was able to ultimately convince the mighty Wotan to yield to her wisdom and forsake the ring: he had to recognize her as a far more ancient and powerful spirit than he. Michael Chioldi, an appropriately heroic baritone, was more than up to the task of delivering a stirring Heda! Heda! Hedo! as Donner, god of thunder. Once again Murakami’s talents enhanced the verisimilitude, as simultaneous projections on a fore-screen and hind-screen of clouds whizzing by gave the strongest impression of being inside a menacing mesocyclone.  As the orchestra led the gods away with a sweeping, moving Einzug der Götter in Walhall, I began to ponder my return to the world of mere mortals, and the leaving behind of gods, giants and monsters.

The Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla. Froh (Viktor Antipenko), Freia (Katie Van Kooten), Donner (Michael Chioldi), Wotan (Greer Grimsley), and Fricka (Melody Wilson). © Philip Newton

 

*The spear is not named, I believe, in Der Ring des Nibelungen lore, but is known from Scandinavian mythology.