11 November 2001 Staatsoper Unter den Linden. Wagner, "Parsifal" Daniel Barenboim (conductor), Harry Kupfer (director), Hans Schavernoch (design) Amfortas - Andreas Schmidt Titurel - Kwangchul Youn Gurnemanz - John Tomlinson Parsifal - Christian Franz Klingsor - David Pittman-Jennings Kundry - Violeta Urmana BERLIN - On paper, it looked very promising. The reality, at the Deutsche Staatsoper tonight, was a rather imperfect "Parsifal." You expect something great from the Staatskapelle, one of the oldest and best orchestras, and you usually get it. And yet, this time, under the baton of a tired (and possibly ill) Barenboim, Wagner's music (often sent to the moon by this partnership) just plodded along, slowly, carefully, for most of the evening. Vocally, the only member of this promising cast who delivered was Urmana - vocally, that is. In singing, she fit the role of Kundry perfectly, but not dramatically. Neither convincingly beaten down nor a credible temptress (and certainly not the startling, bizarre creature one has in mind for Kundry), Urmana's stable, kindly hausfrau look didn't click at all. It warms the heart to hear her sing like an angel (as she did), but the appearance needs to be closer to the other extremity. Great fan of the new heldentenor sensation that I am, I found no thrill tonight in Franz's performance in the title role. That rare, effortless edge was still there in the voice, but the awkwardness the role calls for at the beginning lasted through the work - dramatically and, alas, vocally. It sounded like a throwaway performance, and the great triumphant moments at the end of the Act 2 scene with Kundry came and went, hard to notice, much less to be carried away by them. In a couple of days, I'll hear Franz in the title role of "Otello" and I certainly hope the "Exultate!" there will come across as the Wagnerian equivalent tonight did not. Schmidt, normally an elegant singer with impeccable diction, gave us an inaudible Amfortas. Pittman-Jennings' Klingsor was dry and with more than a hint of barking. Tomlinson, on a good evening, can be a definitive Gurnemanz; this time, he still brought a measure of excitement to the role, and handled the middle range superbly, but the top and bottom were weak. The legendary Kupfer-Schavernoch team has become a one-man effort. Schavernoch still dazzles, but Kupfer is not the same director he was for so many years at the Komische Oper, in Bayreuth and elsewhere. It was exactly a year ago I saw his "Tristan" here and I am still angry with his abuse and misuse of the singers (mountain climbing during the love duet!), and while was is not quite as outrageous here, he is not the Kupfer you may fondly remember. Inexplicably, he consistently goes against the text: his knights are skeptics and troublemakers from the beginning; Parsifal doesn't take/conquer the Spear - Klingsor throws it away (not even AT Parsifal) without any action by what should be the conquering hero. Never mind the explicit stage direction about making the sign of the Cross to destroy Klingsor's castle; Kupfer's Parsifal watches impassively, and then exits, dragging the Spear on the ground: there is no message or deep structure here, just sloppiness and disrespect. The sets are truly eye-popping, taking attention away, yes, but memorably impressive as well. Schavernoch 's engineering genius is difficult to understand - you watch those enormous metal walls moving around, being lit up from inside in various, mind-bending patterns, and can't figure out the physics behind them. Amfortas and the Grail move around on a structure similar to a boat, except that this one moves in every direction, even levitates a bit. The entrance to Klingsor's castle is a huge bank vault-like door connected to what looks like a jet engine - which takes off when the castle disappears. Pop, pop, pop the eyes. The designer crosses the line to excess in the amazing set for the Flower Maidens' garden, but it WORKS very well. On an undulating surface, a dozen large monitors show the transformation of flowers into women (and back again) while the unseen chorus sings offstage. Leave it to Kupfer to give an already risky concept the shove that kills it. He directed Parsifal to hit a monitor when it goes blank, much as one would slap a recalcitrant TV set. Up to that point, the bizarre set engages audience attention along with the text. When Kupfer interferes, there is laughter, and attention is no longer on the work - it's on the clever director. . . which might have been the reason for that shtick in the first place. The "old Kupfer" rarely did that, but apparently, he has grown lazy and vain. Janos Gereben/SF www.sfcv.org [log in to unmask]