There are few productions I’ve found so immediately compelling as I did Kirill Serebrennikov’s prison Parsifal when I watched its Covid-era debut streamed from the Wiener Staatsoper. Now in its third outing, though customary signs of revival wear-and-tear are obvious, it remains an arresting, inventive and deeply moving interpretation.
Serebrennikov takes a deeply critical approach to the work’s religious themes. His is a deconstructionist take, a rightfully dark view of organised religion and fraternities, exposing the oppressive nature of their hierarchical structures. Setting Act 1 in a Russian prison, Monsalvat itself becomes a festering wound; a place of decay, bereft of grace. Its “knights” are bound together by exercises of ever-present, cyclical violence and their piety manifests in cult-like worship, most emblematic in their tattoos, a literal rending of the flesh. Amfortas, reopening his own wounds, is an unwilling, accidental leader of this cult. This unholy brotherhood works as a clever twist, showcasing religious fanaticism as well as the male chauvinism of such a fraternity, deeply felt in the Grail knights’ treatment of Kundry.
A key figure in Serebrennikov’s concept is the young (or “former”) Parsifal, played by Nikolay Sidorenko: the story emerges as the older Parsifal revisits his captivity and consequently takes a journey through his traumatic memories, acted out by his younger self. Doubling any role is a risky decision, but Sidorenko’s vivid stage presence and Serebrennikov’s well-drawn direction make for a well-integrated concept, the interactions of younger and older selves especially poignant in the impending doom felt throughout Act 2.
But it is in Act 2 that the production falters. While the journey of Parsifal, first traumatised, then having his trauma exploited and commodified by Klingsor and Kundry (here owner and reporter of a fashion magazine) is captivatingly rendered, the production’s secularised nature leaves considerable plot holes regarding Klingsor’s motivations for Parsifal’s corruption, Kundry’s curse and her emotional struggle. Yet even with (and through) this “problem act”, the production remains gripping, committed to exploring its ideas in full. There’s no true redemption: even the final, movingly depicted salvation, with the two Parsifals reuniting to open the prison and free its lingering inhabitants, leaves a sour aftertaste – the prison colony may have found deliverance, but only with one cult leader having been exchanged for another. Serebrennikov offers no transcendent meaning, only bleakness beyond measure, but in this bleakness is a powerful meditation on human existence.
Serebrennikov is supported by an excellent team: the dark, suffocating atmosphere of the prison, as well as the brief moments of reprieve (such as the two Parsifals’ first meeting during the Act 1 Transformation Scene), is evocatively created through Olga Pavliuk’s stage design and Frank Evin’s lighting. The storytelling is mostly well-supplied by the brutal imagery of prison life in Aleksei Fokin and Yurii Karih’s videos.
There was much to admire on the musical side, too, above all, Elīna Garanča’s gripping Kundry, with an ideal combination of a magnetic stage presence and sumptuous, highly dramatic vocalism. Refreshingly, in Serebrennikov’s staging and Garanča’s magnificent depiction, Kundry is no semi-feral temptress, but a complicated, captivating, thoroughly human figure. Commanding Act 2, Garanča offered sensuous warmth in the seduction scene with a breathtakingly phrased “Parsifal, weile!”, tipping over into steely, blood-curling intensity on “Grausamer”, spellbinding until the very last moments.
Closely matching her was the highly moving performance of Michael Nagy’s noble-voiced, highly-strung Amfortas, his velvety baritone occasionally gaining an appropriately acerbic edge in depicting the suffering leader. In the title role, Daniel Frank was a solid, sympathetic Parsifal, his burnished tone proving a good fit for the role. His performance was largely a capable one, especially in the softer, touchingly wounded passages of his Act 2 monologue, though he was at times somewhat underpowered. As a sleazy bully, Werner Van Mechelen’s Klingsor offered suitable menace and bite. The sole but rather grave letdown was Günther Groissböck’s Gurnemanz. Groissböck cuts an appropriately hypermasculine figure, but his dry, gravelly bass was missing a great deal of weight, and his delivery was static, lacking the necessary gravitas to command Acts 1 and 3 – unfortunate in any Parsifal. Elsewhere, the house forces of the State Opera performed marvellously, with strong contributions from the ensemble and especially from the chorus.
High praise is due for Alexander Soddy and the orchestra's searing performance; driving the drama forward with unerring tension, four hours seemed to flow by. The orchestra played with a solemn sense of grandiosity, well-suited to the production’s sombreness, while the glorious interplay of blazing brass and lustrous strings delivering soul-shaking renditions of the Transformation Scene and the Good Friday Spell lent the evening an unquestionably uplifting dimension after all.
