Die Walküre ▪ Royal Ballet and Opera ▪ 4 May 2025
RBO Die Walküre May 2025 @Monika Rittershaus
Wagner's Die Walküre is renowned for its epic scale, emotional intensity, and, let's face it, the sheer audacity of its plot. On Sunday, 4 May 2025, the Royal Ballet and Opera’s performance delivered all of this and more, with a production that was as bold as it was breathtaking.
Director Barrie Kosky's interpretation of Wagner's second Ring opera took a daring approach, infusing the narrative with contemporary themes of environmental degradation. The stage was dominated by a charred, skeletal World Ash Tree, a haunting symbol of nature's ruin. This stark imagery set the tone for a production that was both visually arresting and thematically resonant.
Kosky's minimalist set design, by Rufus Didwiszus, featured a barren, post-apocalyptic landscape, with ash heaps and scorched earth replacing traditional grandeur. The Valkyries' "Ride" was reimagined with a surreal twist, as they appeared not as mythical warriors, but as figures reminiscent of zombie-like revenants, adding a layer of eerie menace to the proceedings. Even Fricka's entrance was unconventional, arriving in a vintage limousine, a nod to the production's avant-garde sensibilities.
Musically, the performance was nothing short of exceptional. Antonio Pappano's conducting brought out the full depth and complexity of Wagner's score, with the Royal Ballet and Opera’s Orchestra delivering a powerful and nuanced performance.
The cast was equally impressive. Christopher Maltman portrayed Wotan with a commanding presence, his voice rich and resonant, capturing the character's internal conflict and authority. Elisabet Strid's Brünnhilde was both vocally radiant and emotionally compelling, embodying the Valkyrie's transformation from warrior to tragic figure. Natalya Romaniw's Sieglinde was a revelation, her voice soaring with passion and vulnerability, while Stanislas de Barbeyrac's Siegmund brought a heroic intensity to the role.
Kosky's Die Walküre is a production that challenges traditional interpretations of Wagner's work, infusing it with contemporary relevance and visual innovation. While some purists may find the modern elements jarring, the overall effect is a compelling and thought-provoking experience that reimagines the epic saga for a new generation.
This performance is a testament to the Royal Ballet and Opera's commitment to pushing the boundaries of opera, blending tradition with innovation in a way that is both daring and deeply moving.
Parsifal ▪ Glyndebourne ▪ 17 May 2025
Glyndebourne Parsifal May 2025 @Richard Hubert Smith
In a decision that feels both boldly late and curiously timely, Glyndebourne has finally tackled Wagner’s Parsifal - a sacred rite of operatic passage, if ever there was one. This being Glyndebourne, however, the Holy Grail came not with swords and sorcery, but with doilies, dinner jackets, and deeply repressed Victorian emotional baggage.
Directed by Jetske Mijnssen, this Parsifal emerges as less a tale of mystical redemption than an excruciatingly intimate Chekhovian chamber drama - Act I feels less like we’re waiting for the Grail and more like we’re waiting for someone to finally pour the tea. The Grail knights’ monastery has been traded in for a gloomy drawing room, the spear becomes a family relic, and Parsifal’s journey is rendered as a kind of spiritual homecoming or, more poignantly, a return from emotional exile.
But oh, the voices - these voices could heal far more than a king’s wound.
Daniel Johansson’s Parsifal was nothing short of revelatory. With a tenor that gleamed like a sword polished for the first time, Johansson charted Parsifal’s arc from clueless bystander to Grail King with supple phrasing and a touching sincerity. His Act II transformation was vocally radiant, and by Act III, his voice carried a matured, burnished glow that made redemption feel less like doctrine and more like destiny.
Kristina Stanek gave us a Kundry that was as psychologically intricate as the direction demanded. Her mezzo-soprano was haunting - dusky and charged with wild beauty in her Act I murmurs, then thrillingly expressive and raw in the seduction scene. She attacked Wagner’s fragmented vocal lines with a fearless, almost Medean edge, making this tortured soul utterly human. One moment, she was a penitent nun; the next, a femme fatale wielding guilt like a dagger. A masterclass in vocal chiaroscuro.
Audun Iversen, as Amfortas, delivered the evening’s most shattering performance. His baritone, rich and raw, bore the full weight of Amfortas’ suffering - sung less as a wound and more as a moral scream. His Act I lament nearly stopped the show; it was a cry from the abyss, aching and immaculately phrased. You could almost see the red velvet of the Glyndebourne auditorium recoil.
John Relyea’s Gurnemanz was an anchor amid the metaphysical chaos. A seasoned Wagnerian, Relyea brought gravitas without pomposity, his bass like aged mahogany - warm, resonant, authoritative. He made those monumental monologues sing (almost literally), never once letting the audience drift, even during Wagner’s more generous helpings of exposition.
Ryan Speedo Green made a stylishly dangerous Klingsor. His bass-baritone boomed with malevolence yet never slipped into pantomime. There was something disturbingly reasonable about his villainy - a bureaucrat of black magic, if you will. His scenes crackled with energy, a welcome shot of espresso in this mostly slow-brewing drama.
And then there was Sir John Tomlinson, still a presence to reckon with, even in the small role of Titurel. His voice, though mellowed with time, rang out like a ghost from the Bayreuth past - an Old Testament patriarch booming from behind a velvet curtain. A delightful cameo of operatic lineage.
Musically, conductor Robin Ticciati and the London Philharmonic Orchestra were the beating, bleeding heart of the evening. Ticciati’s Parsifal was one of luminous restraint, full of celestial shimmers and earthy sighs. The prelude glowed with transcendence, and the Transformation Scenes felt genuinely mystical, even as the staging remained staunchly domestic. He understands that Wagner is not to be manhandled but caressed into blooming - and bloom it did.
Visually, the production was both evocative and elusive. Ben Baur’s set evokes a cloistered world where religion and repression meet, think sacred relics in a grandmother’s curio cabinet. There’s something sterile and suffocating about the knights' home - a place where healing is only possible through breaking generational curses. Fabrice Kebour’s lighting worked in perfect counterpoint, slowly peeling back shadows to reveal not miracles, but truths. When Parsifal returns in Act III, bathed in soft gold, it’s less a resurrection and more a reckoning.
So, is it Parsifal as Wagner intended? Not remotely. Is it a profound reimagining for a modern audience? Unquestionably. Glyndebourne’s debut Parsifal won’t please all traditionalists, but in this age of spiritual flux and family therapy, it might just be the version we didn’t know we needed.
David Buchler