Saturday night’s opening at the Lyric Opera of a new production of “The Flying Dutchman” had so much going for it that its few significant flaws seemed magnified in the context of its far more numerous strengths. A qualified triumph would be the most apt assessment of this early Wagnerian work.
The work occupies a unique niche in Wagner’s output. It was his fourth attempt at writing an opera, and the first to become a staple of the operatic canon. It also signifies a major leap forward in his musical and dramatic development, with elements of both which anticipate his mature works with even more prescience than his next two operas, “Lohengrin” and “Tannhauser.”
The expected outcome of this peek into the future is that the musical style of “The Dutchman” is a curious hybrid — a giant step toward the fully integrated music drama of the “Ring” cycle and beyond, but with vestiges of Franco/Italian opera that he was so anxious to leave behind.
What makes the work so enticing is that Wagner recognizes what could be a flaw and exploits it for dramatic effect. In essence, he creates a dual reality in the opera. The mundane, exterior world of the sea captain Doland, Senta’s nurse Mary, and the twin choruses of the maidens and the Dutchman’s crew are depicted in the conservative style, with four-square phrasing and shop-worn harmonic underpinnings. The gloomy interior world inhabited by the Dutchman, his crew and the delusional Senta is represented by his newly invented progressive idiom, with irregular periods and ambiguous harmonies.
It is this dichotomy that stage director Nikolaus Lehnhoff seems at great pains to underline. Many of his efforts are effectively realized, but in other respects the results are a bit heavy-handed. While one might expect the Dutchman and Senta to be adorned with the most otherworldly costumes and mannerisms, precisely the opposite is the case here. The Dutchman’s crew look like something out of David Lynch’s “Dune,” with jerky movements regretfully similar to the munchkins from “The Wizard of Oz.” The maidens’ outfits are best described as misshapen Slinkys over stiff black pleats. And Doland’s coiffure unfortunately recalls that of the “Bride of Frankenstein.” When combined with the robotic movements and pancake makeup, the effect is de-humanizing, and, more to the point, occasionally at odds with the score.
Raimund Bauer’s sets are uniformly beautiful and evocative. The emphasis for most of the production is on cold metallic grays and blues, with occasional splashes of color for changes in scene. The overall impression is reminiscent of the symmetry and chill of a Kubrick set. At the rear of the stage is a gigantic circular door that provides the entrance point for the Dutchman in one of the evening’s most memorable images. What seems to be a solid curtain during the overture is revealed to be a scrim on which is later projected an eerie silhouette of the Dutchman, the image that so mesmerizes Senta.
Franz Hawlata, in his Lyric debut, was superb as Doland, though his efforts to present a layered depiction of Senta’s father were undercut somewhat by the direction, which seemed to reduce his character to no more than the embodiment of greed. Susan Gordon’s Mary was touchingly protective of Senta, and tenor Kim Begley, as Erik, beautifully delivered some of the opera’s most sumptuously lyrical lines.
Catherine Malfitano, in the central role of Senta, possesses the kind of vocal instrument that always provokes varied responses among opera fans. There are elements of her technique that would be liabilities if heard on disc but which are used to great effect on stage. Her vibrato expanded to a disconcerting wobble when pushed upward in register and dynamic, and her lower notes sometimes failed to project when singing from the back of the stage. But there are few sopranos today who possess her riveting stage presence and total command of character. In the final scene, her preparation for her last high B engendered a palpable sense of tension in the audience, but when through sheer force of will she hit the mark, the effect was hair-raising.
It is impossible find fault with James Morris’ Dutchman. Though the stage directions required him to remain immobile for long stretches, he was nevertheless able to paint a multihued and profoundly sympathetic portrait of this tragic figure. Lyric audiences have savored his brilliant Wotan, and we can now appreciate the enthusiastic response his Dutchman received earlier this season at New York’s Metropolitan Opera.
Conductor Andrew Davis led a Lyric Orchestra that sounded as good as it has all season. His pacing was mostly convincing, though the famous refrain in Senta’s Ballad was slow and ponderous. The chorus sounded superb, despite the constraints of their bulky attire.
