Die Frau Ohne Schatten: December 2024, Metropolitan Opera: A Glistering Frau
Die Frau ohne Schatten Metropolitan Opera 2024
Live Performance, December 19, 2024
Music, Richard Strauss
Libretto, Hugo von Hofmannsthal
Conductor, Yannick Nézet-Séguin
Production, Set, Costume, and Lighting, Herbert Wernicke†
Revival Stage Director, J. Knighten Smit
Empress, Elza van den Heever
Emperor, Russell Thomas
Dyer’s Wife, Lise Lindstrom
Barak, the Dyer, Michael Volle
Nurse, Nina Stemme
Spirit Messenger, Ryan Speedo Green
Hunchbacked Brother, Thomas Capobianco
One-Eyed Brother, Aleksey Bogdanov
One-Armed Brother, Scott Conner
Falcon, Jessica Faselt
Voice of a Young Man, Ryan Capozzo
Voice from Above, Ronnita Miller
Guardian of the Threshold, Laura Wilde
Falcon Mime, Scott Weber
Young Man Mime, Alexander Ríos
Violin Solo, David Chan
Cello Solo, Rafael Figueroa
Tonight’s performance with Yannick Nézet-Séguin that featured an ideal cast was thoroughly thrilling, begging the question of why the work is not performed more often at the Met. The production was a refreshing redux of the performance I attended in 2013 conducted by Vladimir Jurowski. Both productions are based on Herbert Wernicke’s brilliant conception which premiered in 2001. Tonight, an abridged Die Frau ohne Schatten was heard, bucking the trend of presenting the original unabridged version. With the elisions, the true character of the Nurse is left dangling, as well some excitement and color in Act III. But overall, tonight’s abridgement clearly aimed at reducing gnarls, potentially tedious climaxes, and the overall running time to serve up a more digestible Frau. Mr. Nézet-Séguin seemed to prefer a performance that did not dwell or linger. His snappier tempi never really injured the important gravitas; he executed a terrific balancing act. Thus, with the cuts, and Mr. Nézet-Séguin’s approach, I think that first-time listeners benefited. On a merely practical level, the great arias and ensembles throughout were taken at a tempo that was as suitable as possible for the singer at hand.
One must comment on the controversy of applying cuts to this opera, as well as the pace. The tendency in the past decade has been to perform the complete opera. When Karl Böhm brought the work to the Met stage in 1966 he edited out a good deal of the music. Böhm continued this practice in his San Fransico performances. When Christian Thielemann led the 2001 revival, he chose the unabridged version. Certainly, this is Strauss’s longest opera, and the trend of the times was to spare audiences its overindulgences: the ranting by the Nurse in Act III, several loud orchestral paroxysms, and a deeper, extended Emperor/Empress/Unborn Children ending. While I believe the opera is not radically compromised with cuts, informed fans are better served with the extra course.
For many, Frau is an elusive musical and textually overladen tale that seems to defy all normal sensibility and logic. That it very well may be, thanks to the overly zealous Hofmannsthal. The librettist drew extravagantly from multitudes of sources. After Hofmannsthal and Strauss consciously evoked the neo-classical tribute to Mozart in the phenomenally successful Der Rosenkavalier, both men were eager to create a mystical and fantastic updating of The Magic Flute. With a female character parented by a seemingly harsh male figure, a female “nurturer” that is really evil, and a series of obscure tests for lovers, Frau has The Magic Flute’s basic underpinning. However, Hofmannsthal wouldn’t stop with such a simple parallel. Next, he employs the tropes of transparency, shadow casting, therianthropy, and water crossing symbolizing a bridge of the phenomenal dimension of humanity to the noumenal will of humankind. These metaphors were drawn from Goethe’s “The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily” (Das Märchen) and the esoteric symbolism of this fairy tale. It is the sort of fable that teeters on the edges of both childlike charm and discomfiting, puzzling alienation. Hofmannsthal did not stop there. He drew from the “orientalist” frisson of Carlo Gozzi’s play Turandot as well. Biblical symbolism, namely the idea that “shadow-casting” is associated with protecting and nurturing, therefore representing motherhood. Finally, Strauss’s shrewish wife Paulina was covertly chosen as a model for the Dyer’s Wife, a willful, narcissistic character with an acerbic tongue, but ultimately possessing a good heart. Thus, Hofmannsthal intended to create a chimerical tale that would draw from a synoptic hodgepodge of a Mozart opera, Goethean symbolism, Biblical and Asian sources, and other folk arcana.
The stage setting is dazzling, and the predominance of mirrors, lights, and projections of crystalline reflections was wonderful to see live but might make a streaming broadcast all but impossible. The world of Barak’s humble and messy dwelling shares the stage through a hoisted set showing the Emperor’s domain as well as the reflective and glittering world of the spirits. It was extraordinarily attractive and left the indelible impression of the varied levels of human prevalence and replication: the shadows, lights, mirror images, never coalescing until the final bars of the opera. Then, both couples come to grips with what nature apparently intended, albeit a rather dated and controversial point-of-view.
I greatly enjoyed the clangorous trip to menschenwelt in Act I: Mr. Nézet-Séguin pulled out all the stops yet one could even enjoy the clarity of the Chinese gong ostinato, usually muffled by the other percussion. However, some peak moments were, perhaps, intentionally understated. For example, in the final ensemble the two pairs of couples triumphantly affirm their newly avowed devotion as well as their participation in the interwoven fabric of humanity. This is the great climax of the opera, and a moment in which Strauss felt had some of his best writing. Yet, I felt that tonight the orchestra held back, perhaps deferring to the soloists. Curiously, the staging of the quartet didn’t match the magnificence of the music. The singers, certainly in top vocal form, were lined up in a deliver-and-sing way that was almost too much like a concert performance.
In the last measures, four bass notes intone the stone curse theme, but are now anchored to a new spiritual transformative harmonic progression. This is an absolutely brilliant touch. It is Strauss’s greatest anti-climax, and provides the heartrending “they lived happily after” moment of the work.
Strauss was not fond of the tenor voice. Nonetheless, his writing for the Emperor drives home some of the major leitmotifs of the work. Russel Thomas gave this part not only compelling vocal beauty, in its heldentenor character, but underscored sympathy for the part’s insouciant psyche. Mr. Thomas brought the house down in the second scene of Act II. The Emperor has been led to a hut in the woods where his wife, the Empress, and the Nurse are supposedly staying while he is on a hunting trip. He finds the hut vacant, and then catches the two women sneaking stealthily back in the dark. He immediately assumes that his wife has been less than transparent with him; he smells the scent of Mankind, so he imagines she has lied and has been unfaithful. This scene opens with a ravishing cello solo, incorporates the falcon’s two-tone motif, the Emperor’s opening theme, and is underscored with the four-tone stone curse growled in the lower brass. Mr. Thomas was thrilling throughout and it was his finest moment on stage.
Elza van den Heever is the finest Empress of our time. Lydia Steier’s fascinating and controversial production last year featured Ms. Van den Heever, who later performed it in a concert setting with the Berlin Philharmonic. The part has a long history with great sopranos, including Leonie Rysanek, Elizabeth Schwarzkopf, and Camilla Nylund. Ms. Van den Heever navigated the uncommon combination of flighty bird coloratura and her trenchant dilemmas with perfect effect. She possesses a wonderfully rich, peerless vocal intelligence. and has mastered the Empress role like few before her. The tortuously difficult bird-imitations, in fluttering ascending and descending scales in her opening aria, “Ist mein Liebster dahin?” were effortlessly executed. The Empress – transparent, guileless, freshly awoken as if from a dream – immediately impresses as otherworldly. Throughout most of the second act she has little to do other than witness the Nurse’s evildoings. However, her transformation through compassion in Act III has some remarkable writing as she tears herself away from the cold spirit world and, like in the Magic Flute, makes the right choices in the trials her father designed.
Nina Stemme, a veteran Straussian, is still one of the most powerful voices in opera: her Elektra, recently performed in Berlin, was galvanizing. As well, in recent years she has appeared as the Dyer’s Wife in other productions of Frau. Her vocal part, as well as that of the Empress, is decorated with difficult appoggiaturas, perhaps suggesting “Asian” pitched vocalizations, or an inflection common to those of the spirit world. Ms. Stemme seemed to sail through these phrases and became an ideal villainess of the tale. The part doesn’t require the dramatic projection of the Dyer’s Wife, but it was a pleasure to see her on stage.
Lise Lindstrom, the Dyer’s Wife, may have the most vivid musical and dramatic part in the opera. Fits of anger, harping, carping, mocking, and narcissistic defiance make her the least sympathetic character in the work. Ms. Lindstrom’s portrayal was not as hyperbolic and shrieky as one comes to expect. She was an attractive stage presence, intelligently distributing her outbursts and tantrums for the duration. Her voice has a sweeter, gentler tone than is typically present in the role, and, indeed, that made her a far more sympathetic figure.
Michael Volle was perfect as the affable, somewhat clueless but hardworking and unselfish Barak. His acting skills are almost unmatched among other international stars, and it is easy to see why he is so busy worldwide in both the German and Italian repertories. Having grown up on the likes of Walter Berry, I’m pleased to say that Mr. Volle captured the essence of the role: seemingly impervious to the conflicts around him, blindly forgiving and generous. This reserve yields to an eruption of near murderous vengeance in Act II.
Mr. Volle and Ms. Lindstrom were especially tender and ardent in the duet, “Barak, mein Mann... Mir anvertraut, dass ich sie hege” ingeniously dovetailing an aria-duet-aria structure. Barak heroically leads the final ensemble with his “Nun will ich jubeln.” From a rather sleepy substandard lover and husband to one supercharged with conjugal zeal, Barak’s metamorphosis is perhaps the most relatable touch in the work.
Ryan Speedo Green, the Spirit Messenger, who notifies the Nurse of the baleful curse from spirit god Kikobad (the Empress’ father), and repeatedly appears as a foreboding presence, was notable. Of course, Kikobad’s “curse” was a mere ruse to test his daughter’s acquisition of self-sacrificing compassion.
Die Frau ohne Schatten was Strauss’ problem child, and he begged Hofmannsthal to abandon the grandiose symbolic romantic style in future collaborations. Today, the opera seems like a guilty pleasure with its abstraction, melodrama, and hocus-pocus; the 120-member orchestra with every exotic gong and noisemaker available at the time, including a real glass harmonica is as prismatic as Mr. Wernicke’s sets. “Over the top” might be a legitimate complaint. Yet, the music grows on the listener, and repeated hearings only improve its standing in the literature. The fervent message for humanity to navigate and persevere through alienation and exclusion has never seemed more relevant.