Wagner considered Der fliegende Holländer a major turning-point and the true beginning of his career as an authentic dramatic composer. He viewed it as the exact moment he broke away from the older French and Italian opera styles to find his own creative voice. He believed the story and music came straight from his soul making it his first, truly personal creation and saw the work as the origin of a new, original German style of dramatic opera.
He also compared the lonely and wandering sea captain as a reflection of his own troubled life and his search for a safe home with the core theme of rescue through true love giving the music a deep and spiritual power that pointed the way towards his later masterpieces. Therefore, I think it’s appropriate to be on the performance calendar for this year’s Bayreuth Festival celebrating its 150th anniversary.
Interestingly, the myth of the Flying Dutchman is thought to have come from an episode in Heinrich Heine’s satirical novel of 1833, Memoirs of Herr von Schnabelewopski, in which a character attends a theatrical performance of Der fliegende Holländer in Amsterdam. Nevertheless, it could have also originated from the 17th-century Golden Age of the Dutch East India Company.
However, the inspiration for Wagner in writing Holländer (which received its première in Dresden on 2nd January 1843) came about by a stormy crossing he made from East Prussia to England in 1839. Normally a week-long trip, it took over three weeks and the ship’s crew, superstitious as befitting old seadogs, oddly thought that Wagner, travelling with his first wife, Christine Wilhelmine ‘Minna’ Planer, was bad news and, therefore, responsible for the bad weather.
At one point the ship (named after the Greek sea goddess ‘Thetis’ who married Peleus and became the mother of Achilles) put in for safety at the Norwegian fishing village of Sandvika, located on the southern coast of the island of Borøya, which, in turn, became the setting for the opera.
But Russian director, Dmitri Tcherniakov, a deconstructionist in practically everything he touches, drifts miles from Wagner’s libretto focusing on the town where the Dutchman grew up, examining the psychological aspects of his unsettling and disturbing persona. As such, it offers a unique and different approach to the composer’s first mature opera.
A free thinker, too, Tcherniakov unashamedly pushes the boundaries of direction to the limit but, in doing so, comes up with some fascinating and wild ideas in which to breathe new life into opera scenarios, especially those penned by Wagner, which, hopefully, will introduce and encourage younger audiences.
For instance, in his production of Der Freischütz for Bavarian State Opera, he switched the opera’s traditional scenario from the world of hunters and peasants of Bohemia in the Middle Ages to a contemporary office space where Kuno, usually the chief forester, is gainfully employed as boss of a large corporate-listed company. And now, of course, at Bayreuth, he’s at it again. Why not?
Therefore, when the curtain goes up on the opening scene of act one there’s not a jolly tar or a big ship in sight, just ‘Jack’ and the lads having a good old knees-up in their ‘local’ swilling down beer like there’s no tomorrow with the Steersman, Kieran Carrel, who sang the sailor’s love-song at the beginning of the opera in a tender and sincere way, in the thick of it leading everyone on. The drum major of the bar!
As the beer went down the vocabulary of the ‘crew’ went up particularly when they burst forth into song with their energetic cries of ‘Ho-jo-he! Hal-lo-jo!’ thrown in for good measure whilst swapping, no doubt, legendary stories touching upon mysterious tales of the sea such as the infamous Ghost Ship.
Harbouring, as always, a curious and inquiring mind, Tcherniakov also introduces a new ‘character’ (albeit briefly) in his interpretation of Holländer, the Dutchman’s mother. He perceives her as a bit of a flirt inasmuch as she enjoyed a fling with a married man, who, in fact, turns out to be none other than Daland, the father of the opera’s heroine, Senta, but he dumps her at whim. And Mary, usually cast as Senta’s nurse, here becomes Daland’s wife/partner therefore Senta’s mother/stepmother. Curious and bizarre, it nevertheless firmly stamps Tcherniakov’s style and credentials.
But a strategic move and a step in the right direction came when Ukrainian conductor, Oksana Lyniv – the first woman to set foot in the hallowed pit of the Festspielhaus following decades of male domination – took charge of the opera’s première in 2021. Therefore, it’s good to see her back this year.
A conductor full of energy, thought and commitment, she certainly energizes her charges in the pit to reach some terrific and exciting playing particularly during the overture which paints an impressionistic picture of the wild and raging sea under the lash of a terrific roaring storm.
All throughout this furious orchestration the motive of the Dutchman is tauntingly repeated to mesmeric effect while a series of pictures, offering an insight into the Dutchman’s past, are intermittingly flashed on to a semi-transparent, grey-coloured screen, depicting scenes from his boyhood.
The loose and wayward behaviour of the Dutchman’s mother, however, didn’t fit the gossipy tight-knitted community in which she lived. Given the cold shoulder (thoughts of Britten’s Peter Grimes flashed through my mind) and totally distraught she hangs herself from her bedroom window while her distraught son agonizingly stretches out to her but to no avail.
A huge psychological blow for the youngster and in a rash and disturbing moment of restlessness, he packs his bags and he’s off mirroring the libretto’s cursed Dutchman, the ghost captain, who once invoked Satan and was punished to roam the oceans of the world forever with a remit to anchor every seven years in which to be redeemed by someone who’ll be faithful and truthful to him until death.
Time moves slowly in depressive circumstances and, therefore, after a seven-year absence, the Dutchman duly returns to his roots but aged, changed and no doubt a bit tired and weary of life, he’s seen quietly sitting in the corner of a packed bar totally unrecognizable figuring out how to avenge his mother’s untimely death. He enjoys a pint with Daland, now turned out as a smart, well-respected booted-and-suited businessman not as a rugged ‘on-the-make’ sea-captain as the libretto states, learning about his daughter, Senta.
The renowned Finnish bass, Mika Kares, harbouring a dark resonant voice, proved ideal for the role of Daland while American bass-baritone, Nicholas Brownlee, fitted so well the handsome role of the Dutchman, who dramatically relates the story of his fate in The Monologue ‘Die Frist ist um, abermals verstrichen sind sieben Jahr’ (‘The time has come, seven years have again elapsed’) while cursing his damned bruising existence.
The cast was further strengthened by Norwegian soprano, Elisabeth Teige, who absolutely shone in the pivotal role of Senta beefed up a bit by Tcherniakov who portrays her as a bit of a firebrand and not one to mess about with. Her strong, crystal-clear voice offers a glowing and moving account of The Ballad, a masterpiece of composition, vocally and instrumentally, recounting the legend and the curse of the Dutchman.
And, indeed, Nadine Weissmann (who sang so well the role of Erda in Frank Castorf’s bicentennial Ring at Bayreuth) proved excellent casting, too, in the role of Mary, firmly in control of the Spinning Chorus, a piece truly reflecting Wagner’s gift of melody and a piece widely known through Liszt’s ravishing piano arrangement.
Once again, Tcherniakov reimagines the spinning scene which paid off handsomely. Seated classroom style, all the spinners, score in hand, are seen in rehearsal under the direction of Mary while a portrait of the Flying Dutchman is being bandied about much to the annoyance and frustration of Senta.
And the scene in which the Dutchman and Senta first meet proved a dramatic piece of theatre. Being entertained and fussed about in Daland’s house, the mysterious guest casually drifts into the conservatory, a brand-new extension to Daland’s rather plain-looking residence, immediately clocking on to Senta who’s impatiently waiting on the outside looking restless and agitated but expecting something to happen. The duet between her and the Dutchman, brilliantly executed, was sung with a deep meaning and with total understanding of the score by a couple of trusted and dedicated Wagnerians on top form.
In another strongly delivered duet, Erik (vigorously sung and acted by German tenor, Benjamin Bruns) and Senta argue the toss over their shaky relationship, the stage scenario well reflects their angst and anger while a rather ugly brawl between the locals and their uninvited guests turns into disaster with the Dutchman’s ‘crew’ now his henchmen – a bunch of seemingly uninteresting ‘lifeless’ characters attired in dark-blue customary industrial wear – in the thick of it.
Here Tcherniakov offers a big surprise from his director’s notebook by arming the Dutchman with a revolver who wildly fires three shots at random thus emptying the crowded square while at the same time, angrily and without too much fuss, dumps Senta for her betrayal.
Always ahead of the game, Tcherniakov then conjures up yet another trick from his magic opera box offering, perhaps, the biggest surprise of all when Mary, armed with a loaded shotgun, delivers a deadly bullet to the Dutchman’s chest.
Amazingly, Tcherniakov’s still not finished. Ideas simply flood from his mind to the stage. Therefore, a further twist to the plot unveils itself with Senta not rushing to the Dutchman’s aid in an act of redemption as one would expect but turns to Mary, uncontrollably shaking and full of remorse, embracing her in a sincere and comforting way. She seems to find no comfort, though, from the actions of her phantom lover revengefully razing her town to ashes mirroring, of course, the ending of Götterdämmerung!
Although the Dutchman achieved his desire, revenging his mother’s death, it came at a great price mirroring Edmond Dantes’ revengeful trait in Alexandre Dumas’ well-loved novel, Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. Food for thought, eh!
This marvellous and inspiring production of Holländer is one to chalk up and one that received and ignited a thunderous curtain call from a packed and enthusiastic house that went on and on reaching to an exciting climax when chorus-master, Thomas Eitler-de Lint, took his bow with members of his extended chorus, the audience exploded into a chorus of approval that rocked the rafters. The same adulation was bestowed upon Oksana Lyniv when she jumped with her bunch of players from the pit to the stage underscoring that the work done below is just as important as the work done above. Bravo!
Bravo, too, to every member of the creative team. Elena Zaytseva produced a good functional and distinctive wardrobe of a robust and trendy outdoor style of clothing while the lighting scenario conjured up by Gleb Filshtinsky added so much to the overall stage picture especially the burning of the Dutchman’s homestead grabbing the audience’s attention down to the very last bar.
Let’s not forget either the ‘man of the moment’, ‘master of the stage’, ‘master of disguise’, Dmitri Tcherniakov, the toast of the Green Hill and the main topic of conversation at breakfast table at my hotel. The production stood out for its series of free-standing mobile sets, designed by Tcherniakov, that fitted and depicted each scene so terribly well. I wonder: what else can he do?
Conductor: Oksana Lyniv
Director: Dmitri Tcherniakov
Costume designer: Elena Zaytseva
Lighting designer: Gleb Filshtinsky
Dramaturgy: Tatiana Werestchagina
Chorus master: Thomas Eitler-de Lint
Daland: Mika Kares
Senta : Elisabeth Teige
Erik: Benjamin Bruns
Mary: Nadine Weissmann
Der Steuermann: Kieran Carrel
Der Holländer: Nicholas Brownlee
All photos in this blog post are copyrighted by the Bayreuther Festspiele / Enrico Nawrath, and are used with their kind permission.
