Wagner’s Parsifal, Grand Théâtre de Genève, 29.01.2023

In his interview about his new production of Parsifal for the Grand Théâtre de Genève, director Michael Thalheimer says that he is happy to stage Parsifal at this moment in which nobody can make sense of the world, although it is clear that something new must happen. During this afternoon I couldn’t help noticing some younger members of the audience looking either puzzled or fully uninterested in the proceedings – and I cannot blame them. This staging – under the aegis of minimalism – offered something almost entirely hermetic and aloof. Then I started to wonder if one can blame the director in charge of the very difficult task of staging this sacred scenic festival in a world where nothing is sacred.

One can say that the easiest way to communicate is just telling the story. And that did not really happen this afternoon – and this is not because it was staged in the moon or in a nightclub or in an entirely nonsensical way. It was well directed – almost every member of the cast offered excellent acting – the sets were efficient and visually striking , and there seemed to be a concept, although it is impossible to describe it (even after you’ve read the interview in the program). Ages ago in a class of Film Studies, the professor said “Titanic is at once a bad movie and a structurally original script, in the sense that it doesn’t really have a story or characters, it is about the ship, how it works, how it separates (and unites) people and how it sank”. I guess Wagner’s libretto for Parsifal is something along these lines in a philosophically far more complex way, although Monsalvat is miraculously rescued from hitting the iceberg 5 minutes before the crash.

The key word here is “miraculously” – there is a miracle going on in the end, “the redemption of the redeemer”. Although it sounds profound as a concept, it is a miracle and is supposed to elude explanation. It is a matter of belief, and it cannot be experienced in a purely rational way. Yes, I know, trying to sell all that debate about purity and sin taken on face value for a contemporary audiences is tough – but it has been done. Taking refuge in abstraction just makes it sound old and distant even if you show Kundry in a suit and high heels. And carrying a gun! Here she shots Klingsor in the end of act 2. Her service in act 3 is writing bits of the text on the wall and then erasing it, while Parsifal comes with a clown make up. When he unveils the grail, there is a big white light on him and it feels as if he were going to sing Vesti la giubba. Maybe this was a dramatic point – only a fool would accept to chair a failed institution?

In a sense, Jonathan Nott’s conducting shares the staging’s abstraction. Structurally transparent as it was, it seemed to be taking place in its own non-dramatic world in which you admired the way singers’ voices were paired with woodwind just like in a performance of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. The house orchestra is not famous for the density of its strings, it is true, but there was a matter of accent too. You could feel the energy sag between phrases and all seemed to be the beta version of a real performance, in its inexpressiveness and recession of orchestral sound. At some point, one started wondering if the performance was long or if it just felt long. With 4 hours of music, this was actually an average Parsifal in terms of tempo, actually quite forward-moving in the second part of act 2.

There was a glamorous cast on duty, and well served by the unchallenging volume of the orchestra. Many singers are debuting in their roles in this run of performances, and I wonder if some of them will keep them in their repertoires or try them in bigger houses (or with more formidable orchestras). Tanja Ariane Baumgartner’s Kundry, for instance, has to be sampled in two levels. She is usually a terrific actress. Yet this evening she did not seem immerse in the director’s concept, moved in a very artificial way and lacked conviction in her interpretation as a whole. The part is a tad heavy for her velvety mezzo, but she sang it with admirable security and technical finish, if rather bureaucratically. That said, I can’t remember the last time I heard the end of act 2 sang so richly, big round high notes, reliable intonation, musicianly phrasing.

This is the first time I see Swedish tenor Daniel Johansson, and the first thing one notices about him is that he is a tenor, not a pushed up baritone or any other kind of adaptation. His voice is in the right size and color for the part of Parsifal – there is a hint of youth in its bright sound, and his high register is focused and juicy as this repertoire requires. He also proved to be committed to the Personenregie, which involved some silent acting during the prelude. I was used to hear Christopher Maltman in Mozart. When a friend told me that he had a “huge voice” after seeing him in Rigoletto, I thought he mistook him for another person. Yet he is not wrong – as Amfortas, he did sing with Wagnerian volume and a cutting edge, even in low notes, that could pierce through a loud orchestra. There is an issue of tremulousness, though, which is something I don’t remember from his Mozart days. Tareq Nazmi was a noble-, velvety-toned Gurnemanz, with excellent diction, a bit overcautious with his high notes. Martin Gantner’s baritone is a bit high and light for Klingsor, but he projects well and is a hell of an actor.

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