BERLIN -- The quest for the perfect `Tristan und Isolde' goes on, but
there is no need to wait longer for an exciting new Tristan -- indeed,
a heldentenor for all Wagner. And he is one who does spectacular singing
while climbing on a treacherous slope, a challenge added by an idiotic
director to the impossible demands of the role.
Christian Franz -- a stocky Bavarian in his mid-30s, square of face and
figure -- is that rarest of creatures, a tenor whose voice cuts through
the orchestra, who doesn't seem to tire or miss a note, who has perfect
diction, who is a good actor... the complete package, nothing missing.
Hearing Franz for the first time came against the background of a
tremendous first act at the Staatsoper here tonight (Nov. 12), everything
clicking on all cylinders. The orchestra, under Daniel Barenboim, was on
fire; Harry Kupfer, the director, left things well enough alone (alas, not
for long); Hans Schavernoch's stunning set of a reclining statue of an
angel, with a 36-foot wingspan, provided a fascinating platform.
Waltraud Meier, as Isolde, sang as well as I ever heard her, and she looked
sexy enough to explain Tristan's interest. Rosemary Lang's Brangaene and
Andreas Schmidt's Kurvenal were both excellent. (The exceptional cast later
also featured Reiner Goldberg -- once and future leading heldentenor now in
small roles, but recovering from illness to claim bigger roles soon -- and
the fabulous Korean bass Kwangchul Youn as King Mark.)
At the end of the first act, the packed house roared its approval for
an intense, passionate, musically-vocally superb performance. Almost by
definition, `Tristan' is never presented as well as it plays in the mind's
(and ear), but it's impossible to say what was missing or what could have
been done better in the first act. And, most importantly, this was a
performance all of one piece, not good bits fitted well together.
I blame Kupfer for the decline of the performance after that first act
(plus the fact that it might have been impossible to sustain all that
intensity and excellent for the entire evening). The man who makes his
unfortunate singers perform at full gallop (as in a recent Bayreuth `Ring')
decided here to make the cast -- but especially the Tristan -- climb up and
down the angel and the rocky hill surrounding her. And so we had the great
love duet in the second act, poor Franz on his hands and knees (bottom,
actually) crawling all over the place. Other than hating singers and
wanting to distract the audience from the work, what could Kupfer's
possible reason be?
And yet, amazingly, Franz sang through gloriously, even while in obvious
distress over keeping his balance, climbing up and descending cautiously,
nervously, unable even to look where he was going. I'd have Kupfer shot at
down, without a blindfold.
Franz is difficult to place among Wagnerian heldentenors: there isn't a
single one he can be compared with readily. The voice is fine, although
not particularly beautiful (on the order of Winbergh or Moser), but he
sings beautifully -- think of the difference between Frank Sinatra's voice
and his singing. Obviously we are in a different league here as far as
the voice is concerned, but when you hear Franz's diction and phrasing,
the idea is not too far-fetched. Franz has nowhere near the power of Jon
Vickers' voice, but there is some similarity in the quality of the sound,
in the seemingly effortless way it cuts through the huge orchestra
producing an orgy of sound. Clearly, Franz is already ahead of the veteran
class of Johns, Kollo, Schmidt, Jerusalem (with whom he shares the role),
and younger tenors such as West, and it may be a matter of time before he
will be sharing the Tristan crown with Heppner.
Meier didn't quite sustain her performance after the first act. This very
mezzo-ish voice can produce thrilling high notes, but some squeezing is
audible, near-scooping, not a problem while she is fresh, but it interferes
with the performance later in the evening. Without the help of supertitles,
Meier's text wasn't easy to make out, especially in contrast with Franz and
all the men. Still, were it not for the excitement of hearing Franz for the
first time, Meier would have been a sensation, especially so soon after the
Schnaut Isolde last week in London.
Barenboim, conducting without a score, did a fabulous job, even if the
quality of the first act could not be recaptured. Woodwinds and the brass
had a near-perfect evening. Curtain calls at at the Staatsoper are special
and follow a rather strange pattern: first, the entire orchestra appears
on stage (a great idea!), then the singers take their bows, then the
houselights go up, and Barenboim takes a solo bow. Why the lights, I asked
a local friend. Wait and see, she said. There was great (and well-deserved)
applause, and then a small, but distinct chorus of boos, which, in turn,
intensified the applause. But why the lights? Because Barenboim wants
to see who is booing, the experienced friend explained, indicating that
this is now an unvariable procedure -- independent of the performance,
apparently. So who are these sworn enemies of the Staatsoper music
director? An assertion was made -- too unsubstantiated to repeat here --
that the people who pay their way in night after night just to make their
point are the friends (or agents) of a rival director in the city. We're
definitely not in Kansas anymore. In fact, this must be Berlin!
Janos Gereben
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