Third night of the run, not a press night, and the applause is loud. The people like it; my companion (a Wagner buff), specially down from Yorkshire, likes it very much; I have a few reservations. Not about the superlative singing (lovely cast) or the elemental music or the orchestra under Martyn Brabbins.
Director Richard Jones has done his usual updating shtick. There are so many ideas swirling around in this cross between soap opera (Eastenders?), Hollywood (Cocoon movie in which the aged are rejuvenated—like the gods with Freia’s apples), Bond villains, tatty Vegas cabaret, pantomime, Disney and the Muppets. I might have missed something out. Squabbling families…
And the new singing translation by John Deathridge fits right in: “no way”, “gutted”. I love it when Erda (Christine Rice in sparkly pink PJs) slaps power-hungry Wotan and the auditorium lights go on. An awakening slap… Where is she now when we need her?
The Rhine maidens—here daughters—are in Lycra gym strips, an undesirable Alberich in baggy shorts, T-shirt, plimsolls. The silly girls are prick teasers and not too bright—fancy telling him about the gold at the bottom of the Rhine. He turns their gold baby into a lump, then into bars.
Unlovable, creepy, power and wealth replace love. His transformation from a long-haired incel to a shaven-headed ‘Jeff Bezos’ is terrific. Forehead tattooed with Nibelung, baritone Leigh Melrose is great in the role, singing and performing exceedingly well. Stunning.
The gods are no better—Wotan especially happy to break his contract with giants Fasolt and Fafner. We don't have to look far for inspiration for this type of character these days, but then we never did. Fafner kills Fasolt for the gold and the ring. Here is where it's a bit panto—the dead body of Fasolt is a dummy slung on the stage from the wings.
And the spotlight on the curtain that follows characters across the stage is stand-up comedy. Alberich turns into a dragon, then a ‘Kermit’ toad. Methinks Jones is having fun and why not. It’s a witty if static production.
The pièce de resistance is Valhalla. The giants have built the gods a nuclear steel bunker, window shutters that slam shut on the Rhine maidens looking in, and there’s a fire extinguisher on the wall—ha ha. Locked away the gods may be, but we know where this is heading. Was Jones thinking of anyone in particular or referring to that safety fiasco with The Valkyrie last year?
Stewart Laing’s set is all fancy raining glitter (Rainbow Bridge) and waterfall nightclub curtains. The mobile white globes on black stilts are obviously clouds—a bit sixties installation art, and aptly remind me of Wayne McGregor’s +/- Human at the Roundhouse. Naïve art, and aren’t we all children, spoilt gods, especially effete Froh in gold headband and butch Donner in tracksuit. Costumes seem to suggest the gods are in the nouveau riche bad taste territory.
But enough of that. The singing is outstanding. Melrose gives a fierce performance once he gets the power, beating his brother Mime (John Findon) almost to death, driving his gold factory worker slaves with unrelenting cruelty in his mix of bread factory and Metropolis. Videos (designer Akhila Krishnan) of gold bullion bars float across the back—Goldfinger?
American Frederick Ballentine, so good in It's A Wonderful Life, makes a very crafty, impish Loge and his tenor voice is a delight, as is his English accent. John Relyea’s (Wotan) rumbling in the depths bass-baritone is a marvellous contrast.
Bass James Cresswell (Fafner) and bass-baritone Simon Bailey (Fasolt), almost look-a-likes in boiler suits, are a believable double act. The joke in this production is that Freia (Katie Lowe in a girlie frock) really loves Fasolt and he her. Once again, ENO has a vehicle on the stage—a lorry to take away the trays of gold.
Blake Denson’s (Donner) baritone is gorgeous and must reach the top of the theatre with ease. Lovely timbre—a beautiful match with Julian Hubbard’s (Froh) lyrical tenor. Fricka is sung by mezzo Madeleine Shaw (in a ghastly yellow dress).
To quote from the programme, Wagner said his Ring music was “a morass of horrors and sublimities”. Plus ça change. Look where greed and power has brought the world today. Even gods make the same errors as humans. We haven’t evolved much.
The prequel dumb show is a naked man carrying the World Ash Tree. He crosses back in pants with a smaller section, then in trousers with a log, then Wotan with the spear he fashioned from it, killing it in the process and paying with an eye. So it goes. Are we heading for the twilight today?
With ENO having funding for one year only at the moment, it seems that its planned Ring cycle could be doomed. Would someone explain to the myopic Arts Council that it is impossible to plan ahead in these circumstances? Jones’s droll production is obviously reaching out to the young and first timers; don’t let them down.