By Donna Perlmutter
Did anyone at the Los Angeles Philharmonic take Richard Wagner at his word? That word being Gesamtkunstwerk?
Okay, it’s German, It’s hard to pronounce, it was uttered hundreds of years ago and taken very seriously (until this time when few original ideals are taken seriously).
But Wagner thought deeply about his artistic philosophy and wanted his humongous works — among them “Das Rheingold,” first of the “Ring” cycle and the one recently performed by the La Phil at Disney Hall — to embrace Gesamtkunstwerk.
Which means: A total art work, a synthesis of music and drama into a whole, an idealized unity leading to the ultimate, desired effect — one that engulfs the beholder.
To that end there was (and is) Bayreuth with its Festspielhaus, the historic venue built to Wagner’s specifications, where legions trek to experience what he imagined. But short of that, many of us have been drawn in, transported really, our ordinary senses left behind, when the elements come together in some magical way — even at standard theaters.
And that may not be easy. Because a mythic saga featuring gods and goddesses, swords and sorcery, übermenschen and untermenschen, monsters and mortals, a super-duper morality play, a mighty allegory that’s all about greed and power isn’t necessarily compelling — no matter the music’s brilliance. And yet, the impact of Wagner’s work is there, if put together as he intended. I’ve been witness to it, swallowed by it, sucked into it.
Maybe you remember. In 1983 PBS aired Bayreuth’s Patrice Chereau/Pierre Boulez 16-hour “Ring,” taped especially for the screen by TV expert Brian Large who knew how to convey its allure. It was shown nationwide and every time I flipped around the channels and saw a repeat, I would forget myself, stop and be transfixed.
Or even Achim Freyer’s 2009 production, a wholly absorbing, surreal painting-in-motion for LA Opera, not to mention the Kirov Opera’s major 2206, down the freeway in Orange County, or the same year’s little chamber enterprise put on by Michael Milenski’s Long Beach Opera, its intimacy nearly making up for any loss of grandeur. Those for starters.
Which brings us to the latest heroic triumvirate of “Das Rheingold,” its orchestra, its conductors, its architect/designer — starring the LA Philharmonic led by that golden eminence Gustavo Dudamel, played in our world famous emporium, Walt Disney Concert Hall, celebrating its 20th anniversary by 94-year-old Frank Gehry.
Now if that sounds overwhelming, just consider this. There is no proscenium at Disney. It’s not a standard theater — after all, Gehry designed it. Instead we have a three-story open rectangle, with seats behind and looking down at the stage, the same on the sides, and the same out front. No wings to speak of. No curtain separating stage from main audience area.
So what we saw, as opposed to what we heard — the stellar orchestra and utterly rich, lustrous, ringing or booming voices — was simply not anywhere near a deep theatrical plunge into Wagner’s music drama. It couldn’t be.
Much as our local presenters wanted to match, perhaps even go beyond any celebrated production, Disney Hall — with its linear, finely-wrought open interiors that so capture the eye — cannot do it. Too much competition.
This ad-hoc attempt, with several tiers of gleaming wood platforms and runways and catwalks for the singing actors amounted to an installation, a line-up of disjunctive mechanics.
It was the full Wagner orchestra that took primacy. From my seat in the front terrace, normally a terrific place to hear a concert, those hundred-plus musicians occupied the bulk of a darkened center stage, their music-stand lights reflecting each player’s face. All the lit-up dramatic action played in the periphery, along the back edges and front apron.
Quibbles aside, the audience loved the whole shebang, exploding in applause at the end of its two-and-a-half hour single act.
As for the performance, there was a lovely beginning with the Rhinemaidens each stationed on a high platform, softly lit and frolicking in their gauzy gowns, voices intoning their light-hearted whimsy.
Thereafter things settled in. Ryan Speedo Green made an imposing Wotan whose great, resounding, cavernous basso commanded his scenes, Raehann Bryce-Davis was his velvet-voiced wife Fricka, Jochen Schmeckenbecher pulled off Alberich’s shenanigans with his sonorous baritone and Simon O’Neill’s sturdy, front-placed tenor fueled the fire god Loge.
Director Alberto Arvelo had to content himself with moving the cast around those multi-level scaffolds and runways. Neither did Cindy Figueroa’s standard warehouse costumes, except for the outlandishly flouncy number worn by Fricka, serve as more than a dated complement in contrast to today’s regietheater world.
Dudamel, though, in his best strike-up-the-band mode, enforced an apt dynamic range, glittering flourishes and a workable connection singers and orchestra. But he didn’t find the internal weight or nuance or aura of Wagner’s music drama — that all-important takeaway.