Wagner’s final opera is a bit of a mystery, based on an episode in the Grail legends; Titurel, custodian of the Grail, has abdicated in favour of his son Amfortas, who loses the Holy Spear to the banished knight Klingsor, who wounds Amfortas with it. The wound won’t heal. Opera North’s production of Parsifal exists outwith time and space by dint of playing on a stepped stage in front of the orchestra. It is a pretty grey place, anyway, with the only first act colour being the blue of Kundry’s dress and the red of Amfortas’ blood.

Much of Gurnemanz’ role is to tell the story underlying the action to whoever needs to know. In this, Brindley Sherratt is outstanding. He is old, he has seen, if not all, then most of it and understands it in the main. His voice commands our attention, he is dramatic without ever being histrionic. But he is not infallible. He fails to see the relevance of the stranger who arrives, a young man who knows nothing and understands very little.

Toby Spence turns in a great performance as the blank sheet of Parsifal – a perfectly dumb blond. Yet he feels compassion, without knowing what it is, for the pain Amfortas is in. Robert Hayward’s Amfortas is barely holding it together, worn down with pain and guilt at losing the Holy Spear. It is there, behind the eyes and in the voice.

Then there is Kundry, a wild woman who randomly appears. Katarina Karnéus’ demeanour of weariness is belied by the power of her voice

If Wagner’s operas are Gesamtkunstwerken, then the ceremony of the Grail is Gesamttheaterwerk. The male chorus process down the side aisles, and the women’s chorus is in the boxes and the sides of the upper circle, producing a spine-tingling, quadraphonic effect. As Amfortas lies on his side, the knights take blood from his wound and smear it across their mouths, some doing so with sadistic lasciviousness. 

In Klingsor’s valley, at least, the grey is enlivened with red, and it may be significant that Derek Welton is far sexier in his well-fitting uniform than any of the Grail knights in umpteen shades of grey. His Flowermaidens, in their rosy dresses and matching hairdos, are keen on having their way with the blond stranger, but Klingsor sets Kundry on him instead. It is her turn to be storyteller, filling in and explaining the details of Parsifal’s upbringing. Her kiss makes him feel Amfortas’ pain and she and Klingsor know they have lost him, although he now has the Spear.

So, time moves on, and Gurnemanz finds Kundry again, and they both find Parsifal and bring him up to date. In the programme notes, director Sam Brown regards Kundry’s Act 3 silence as ‘misogynistic’. The woman is worn out, she is beyond words and, frankly, just because she doesn’t go on (and ON) like Gurnemanz, doesn’t mean she lacks agency. It is there, in a tremendous performance, with volumes conveyed in a glance, a tensing of the hands, a shrug.

For Titurel has died and Parsifal has arrived in time for the funeral. Gurnemanz washes his feet and, in turn, he washes Kundry’s. The ceremonial begins with more pain from Amfortas and flagellating knights, before they notice the Spear and all is made good. Finally, the Grail can be revealed and, this time, instead of the golden chalice we saw in Act 1, Kundry, in Madonna blue, holds aloft a naked baby.  As an ending, it is spectacular, but as theology, this jury is still out.

Audiences for performances on tour will see an unstaged version, so will miss Bengt Gomér’s set and lighting, especially the bank of blinking lights at the back of the stage providing a light-show / comment on proceedings. They will also miss Stephen Rodwell’s costumes and the slinky Flowermaidens wrapping Parsifal up in their sashes.

They will however get the outstanding singing and the limpid playing from the orchestra, conducted by Richard Farnes, and that is still pretty special.