A Triumph for the Russian ‘Ring'

Wagner's "Ring" got under way at the Metropolitan Opera House on Friday night. Only the Met forces were not performing. In their place was a company from St. Petersburg (and not Florida): the Kirov Opera of the Mariinsky Theater, under its longtime leader, Valery Gergiev. The Metropolitan is James Levine's house, and he is one of the great Wagner conductors in history. But Mr. Gergiev has had Wagner triumphs in this house as well: I think, in particular, of one, transcendent "Parsifal."

The first opera in the "Ring" cycle is "Das Rheingold," or "The Rhine Gold." It begins with one of the most skillful depictions of water in all music: an extended treatment of an E-flat-major chord, rolling and building. Under Mr. Gergiev, it was unusually slow, and slightly labored. The Kirov Orchestra's horns were woefully flat. And when the Rhine Maidens finally came in, they did not do so with the burst of joy or fun we may expect.

And yet Mr. Gergiev was never unmusical, knowing exactly what he was doing, and why. He can be a quite subdued, measured, andintrospectiveconductor. Commonly, he is thought of as a wizard, a mad Russian of the podium. And he can be that. But he has other modes as well. And he had a good outing on Friday night, showing his unusual concentration and alertness. He was "on it," all through. Take, for example, the pages in which the Nibelung's gold is piled in front of Freia: Mr. Gergiev provided real suspense and excitement. (Wagner helped, too.)

The orchestra had a number of deficiencies: There were those horns, which could never quite overcome the flats, and other brass instruments, which suffered from the same malady. Overall, the Kirov did not show great beauty of sound, and neither did they produce what you might call Wagnerian volume. The music announcing the approach of the giants was rather tinny. And yet there were compensations, and they were musical ones: The orchestra's general musicality — its awareness, if you will — defeated technical shortcomings.

A further word on the malady of flatness: The Rhine Maidens suffered some of this too, both at the beginning of the opera and at the end. And they were just about the most Russian-sounding Rhine Maidens you'll ever hear. (Volga Maidens?) But they got their jobs done, and they cavorted pleasingly.

In the role of Wotan was the bass Alexei Tanovitsky, who evinced great dignity and vocal control: That is the kind of Wotan we want, always. In Mr. Tanovitsky's arsenal is a strong, almost tenorial top. His Fricka was the superb mezzo Larissa Diadkova, who has stood out at the Met for over 10 years, particularly in potent Verdi roles. Unfortunately, she did not have her best night, sounding tremulous and strident. But she sang with understanding, and her stage presence is first-rate.

Portraying Alberich was the famed baritone Nikolai Putilin, who was unusual in this role: He was rather dignified and composed — not Wotan, maybe, but not a grotesque, frenetic nutcase. This worked, pretty much. Perhaps Mr. Putilin senses that Alberich is not hateful and ridiculous to himself. Making an outstanding Loge was the tenor Vasily Gorshkov. He was lively, astute, and very, very interesting. Seldom will you see so involving a characterization of Loge. Mr. Gorshkov owns a fine vocal technique, resulting in correct intonation. And he was conversational in his singing without lapsing into talking, if you know what I mean. This was an achievement.

Our Mime was interesting, too, not just a pathetic freak, but a fuller being, with whom one could sympathize. This was the work of another tenor, Andrey Popov, whose German sounded awfully Russian, but who sang (and acted) skillfully. Also effective were the two giants, Evgeny Nikitin (Fasolt) and Mikhail Petrenko (Fafner). These basses neither bellowed nor barked, and they even injected some sweetness in their singing. Sweet singing from F&F? Sure.

Evgeny Akimov supplied a ringing tenor for Froh — which we need — and the baritone Eduard Tsanga supplied some elegant thunder for Donner, which we also need. Tatiana Borodina, a soprano, made a suitable Freia. Whether she is related to the immortal mezzo Olga, I can't tell you. Erda, in her brief monologue, can steal the show: and the mezzo Zlata Bulycheva was respectable here. I prefer a bigger, warmer, rounder sound — more centerof-the-earth. But, again, Ms. Bulycheva was respectable.

The production was the responsibility of both Mr. Gergiev and George Tsypin. (It bowed in St. Petersburg four years ago.) Mr. Gergiev is called the "production supervisor"; Mr. Tsypin is the set designer. They are dually associated with the "production concept." The "Ring" they have made is based on "Ossetian folk myths and Scythian artifacts," to quote publicity materials. In all likelihood, this production has much personal meaning for the two men: Mr. Gergiev is of Ossetian roots, and Mr. Tsypin was born in Kazakhstan.

How to characterize their "Rheingold"? It is odd — very odd — but not intrusive. That is, the production is far from conventional, but it does not distract from the opera or inflict any injury on it. That may not seem like high praise, but, in our present age, I'm afraid it can be construed that way. Furthermore, the production is a mixture of the very, very beautiful and the very, very weird. Sometimes — though not always — they're the same thing.

The action begins in a purple haze (though I doubt in tribute to Jimi Hendrix). Indeed, the lighting — designed by Gleb Filshtinsky — is striking and admirable all through. An age-old problem with "Rheingold" is how to handle the water and the swimming. Singing does not really go with swimming—notevenEstherWilliams managed it. Messrs. Gergiev and Tsypin solved the problem by doing away with water and swimming altogether. One must simply imagine.

The stage is inhabited by many strange creatures, some of whom could have done duty in "Lost in Space." A large latticework orb stands for the gold. Immense objects are suspended in midair, moving around occasionally. I thought of Easter Island statues on their backs. Alternatively, I thought of giant ETs, straightened out and horizontal. In any case, I suspect they are fallen soldiers, for Valhalla. I do not have CliffsNotes.

As "Rheingold" is strikingly and admirably lighted, it is also strikingly and admirably costumed. Tatiana Noginova's costumes appeal both when they are beautiful (the Rhine Maidens, Freia) and when they are bizarro (Alberich, Mime). The giants are encased in massive stone bodies that glide. Their swinging arms, as a friend of mine commented, look like galoshes — and those galoshes, of course, can kill.

Metropolitan Opera patrons have been spoiled for a number of years by Otto Schenk's "Ring" production, which is called "traditional." I would call it exactly what the doctor ordered (and in this case, the doctor is Wagner). But man can't live by Schenk alone, whether he wants to or not.

"The Ring" continued with "Die Walküre" ("The Valkyrie") on Saturday night — and the sets proved an exercise in gigantism. You will seldom see objects of such immensity outside the dinosaur rooms of natural-history museums. The sets reflect not only gigantism but primitivism, too. For example, Hunding's hut calls to mind the Flintstones' abode — complete with big-old vittles. Toward the end of the opera, are those enormous alligators, standing upright in business suits? Again, CliffsNotes would be handy.

I should mention, too, that interaction between the characters is intelligently and interestingly arranged (as in "Rheingold"). To cite one specific: When the Valkyries turn their backs on Brünnhilde — who is seeking protection from an enraged Wotan — it is highly effective.

Mr. Gergiev had an even better outing on Saturday than on Friday. He tucked into the opening storm — those astounding pages of D-minor fury — like a demon. Unfortunately, his orchestra could not provide the oomph he seemed to want. In any case, Mr. Gergiev conducted with the same alertness — the same "on-it"-ness — as before. The panting and galloping Romanticism at the beginning of Act II was extraordinary. And the conductor is a master at bringing out nervousness, tension. We heard this, particularly, in the long, edgy conversations between Wotan and Fricka, then Wotan and Brünnhilde. And the Valkyries' ride had less bombast and more character than usual.

Much of Wagner conducting is a matter of pacing (as is true of other conducting as well). And Mr. Gergiev paced "Die Walküre" splendidly. One could quarrel here and there: For example, I found the second portion of "Wotan's Farewell" too slow, bordering on the static. But Mr. Gergiev is not to be picked at, certainly not for this "Walküre."

The orchestra, despite problems, was improved — much improved. They played more like their true, comfortable selves. I should single out the violins at the beginning of Siegmund's aria, "Winterstürme" — unbelievably tender. And the cellist, playing those lucky solos, came through.

Making a boffo appearance was the Sieglinde, soprano Mlada Khudoley. Initially, she sang with a tenderness — and an unforcedness — that really drew the listener in. This was a lovable voice, in a much-loved character. And when the music turned fortissimo, that voice did not turn harsh, but retained its essential beauty. Ms. Khudoley exhibited a vocal flaw or two, but her singing in general was so moving, it hardly mattered. She is a fine actress to boot, as she proved in Sieglinde's mini-mad scene (late in the second act).

Her Siegmund was the tenor Oleg Balashov, who began a little tight and constricted, but who opened up nicely. A certain absence of heft in the "Nothung" music (for example) was a liability, but not a disqualifying one. The Hunding, bass Gennady Bezzubenkov, conveyedgreatauthority, vocal and otherwise. And, to borrow language from the sports world, he "sang within himself" (did not overextend).

Alexei Tanovitsky, as Wotan, had another good night, possibly even better than the previous one. He sang with both godly regality and fatherly pity (to go with the aforementioned rage). And Larissa Diadkova, it's a pleasure to report, had a much better night, in control of her instrument. She was utterly imperious as Fricka. (And, indeed, her Fricka sounded not unlike her Amneris, Eboli, and Azucena — her Verdi gals.)

Brünnhilde was Olga Sergeeva, who has sung that role at the Met before (and under Mr. Gergiev). She can handle the part, which is something to be grateful for, because Brünnhildes don't grow on trees. Some of her singing on Saturday night was quite effortful — but she was never less than adequate, and, at her best, she was touching. By the way: The production team gives her Lily Munster hair — jet-black with a white streak.

"Ring"-heads from all over the world have come to New York, to see their beloved cycle unfold. It will be playing throughout the week. And the patrons are getting their money's worth.