Author : Johan Uytterschaut
I partially remembered François Girard’s 10 year old production of Parsifal. The images he used back then somehow popped up when I heard he was to produce the new Lohengrin in New York. Only by association with the name “Girard”? Or was it Pjotr Beczała in a simple white shirt that did it? For sure, coincidence wasn’t in it: Girard and scenographer Tim Yip told us explicitly in the interviews that they meant to realise a sequel (I almost said “prequel”) of that Parsifal. Including the suggestion of long bygones: many “moons” have passed since then. And we can take that literally as well: Lohengrin is son to “der reine Tor” Parsifal, and now is his turn to do his good deeds as a knight of the grail.
I must say I interpreted those moons in a different way at first: a world with multiple moons can’t be Mother Earth; this Scheldt embankment is therefore situated on a different planet. At least, that is how I feel this décor. Moreover, Lohengrin’s appearance in a simple everyday outfit has something otherworldly (and “othertimely”) as opposed to the medieval looking togs of the other characters. He also appears out of nothing, with no more than a – quite efficient – suggestion of the swan’s wing projected onto a celestial body. It is my spying eye’s liberty to see the stage this way; and when I hear Beczała declare that he felt like he had been dropped by the USS Enterprise, well…
After all, it matters little; it’s not like one eye only holds the truth. Much more important is the visually immersive quality of this production, boiling down to an abstraction around three colours: white, red and green (matching perfectly with Richard Wagner’s conceptions of the importance of lighting in his drama’s). The choir has a crucial role to play, it being clad in capes they can, in the blink of an eye, change from one colour to another as an enhanced rendering of their collective emotion. For the rest, the power of simplicity applies: a stone setting without frills, it’s strongest image being an oblique ceiling with a circular hole in it, showing the stars and the most important celestial bodies. The result is a most atmospheric and strongly appealing entourage allowing the characters to go about their business.
How was their business? The picture is mixed. There are the cracks delivering bull’s eyes, vocally as well as dramatically, Christine Goerke’s Ortrud being the apogee, and Pjotr Beczała’s Lohengrin finding the right tone and showing a perfectly fitting sobriety. Tamara Wilson’s Elsa sounds exactly how she should sound, but as an actress she’s a statue rather than a living woman. Yevgenyi Nikitin is a deserving Telramund: not perfect, but more than acceptable. I would however have liked to get more insight in his character: it is impossible to track down which feelings he is experiencing, he being staring at infinity and showing a few hefty emotions that mean something in their own, without being part of a larger context. Günther Groisböck is no Heinrich. The part is written for a “basso brillante” with an easy high register. Groisböck tackled the part with contempt of death, but he sometimes nearly perished. However beautiful and generous his low register sounds, it is less relevant in this part. Brian Mulligan delivered his herald as somewhat overemotional; he shouldn’t: his voice is interesting in itself, without the 380V.
Choir and orchestra are specially important in Lohengrin, and both do a wonderful job, safely inspired by Yannick Nézet-Séguin. They are the bearers of this drama and deserve the highest hails for it.
Conclusion: it was more than worth while to refurbish Lohengrin after almost two decades. As a whole, this production is particularly successful, thanks to its brilliant visual components. Smoothing the cast would make it historical.