Last night we had the Easter production of Wagner’s Parsifal, the titan of all operatic works, at least for those with eyes to see and ears to hear. It’s a special part of the operatic calendar here, performed only twice each year – in keeping with the theme – on Good Friday and Easter Monday, a tradition dating from 1983 when the gradual communist thaw allowed Parsifal to be played again for the first time in many years, in spite of its quasi-religious themes of compassion and redemption. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was also banned here during the war years, as it was in Germany owing to its pacifistic message: the Wagnerite’s best rebuttal to the silly charge that the Master, along with his other admittedly poor character traits, was also a Nationalist Socialist – half a century or more before the Nazi party was formed – or would necessarily have been sympathetic to most of their aims. I always go to the Monday performance (except last year, when I was in Belgrade).
The cast stays relatively stable from year to year, although some have moved on to retirement (András Molnár) or more distant destinations (goodbye László Polgár). This year we had a good mix of the old and the newish, with Judit Németh as Kundry (a little shrill at times, I liked her performances in previous years better, just as I thought István Beczelly’s Klingsor might have lost a degree or so of impotence-related menace, but both were perfectly competent) and masterful Béla Perencz as the wounded Amfortas, the Wagnerian analogue to the Fisher King (At the performance two years ago Perencz himself was a wounded king, muted by a bad cold. Fortunately, the announcer announced, they happened to have an American baritone-bass, Allan Evans, at hand visiting the company who had sung Amfortas when studying at Bayreuth years ago and who had volunteered to step in and lend his voice at the last minute, but not to act the part, which Perencz evidently could still handle. So we got the marvelous juxtaposition of the wild-haired half-mad priest-king lip-synching the words that were emerging from the mouth of what appeared to be, from three tiers up, Louis Armstrong in a tuxedo, who was booming out some pretty impressive Amfortas from a chair placed on the side of the stage.)
The new included guest Austrian bass Albert Pesendorfer, who brought the right gravity to the difficult role of Gurnemanz, although he did manage to get drowned out by the orchestra for a few seconds around the climax of the Good Friday Music. And there is something thrilling about having a native speaker of German singing about 30% of the non-choral lines of the opera, which also probably helps keep the Hungarian performers on their enunciative toes. In the title role, tenor István Kovácsházi’s, except for a few key moments, subdued take on the lost knight seemed an improvement over András Molnár, who played Parsifal more or less the same way as he played Siegfried and Siegmund, and Tannhaüser for that matter: lots of shouting. Special applause reserved for János Kovács and the orchestra, for whom the 5+ hour performance is no doubt extremely grueling, and in which they show that they are one of the main strengths of the opera company.
For the audience, composed mainly of die-hard friends of the Hungarian State Operas, this is an Easter rite in itself. The tourists and students who didn’t know what they were getting into mostly depart during the first intermission, and almost all of them by the third act, when the grandest of the music ensues, which lends a sense of both intimacy and spaciousness to the rest of us. Given the minimalism of the conservative set design and the sporadic nature of dramatic action, as well as the fact that I’ve seen it plenty of times, I’m happy to pay 2 euros to sit, with plenty of legroom and nobody nearby, next to a column in the last row of the upper tier, and stand up for a better view at the key intervals. I wasn’t completely hypnotized into am advanced spiritual state, as I’ve been sometimes at past performances of Parsifal, but then, I’ve got a lot on my mind these days, so this might have been the strongest Parsifal I’ve seen, even if I wasn’t fully receptive.
I won’t review all of the other operas I’ve seen this late season. But highlights were Gyöngyi Lukács’s Tosca with Attila Fekete as Cavaradossi and Alexandru Agache as an excellent Scarpia, played with more louche-ness and manipulative sanctimoniousness than usual, as well as somewhat less physical aggression (I am pretty sure God in fact intended for a Romanian to sing this role, which is probably just about as much fun as you can have on an opera stage). In a few weeks I’ll see Szilvia Rálik take on Tosca again. Szilvia or Gyöngyi? Gyöngyi or Szilvia?
Also, Budapest had its go at Tannhaüser, where the male leads of János Bándi and Tamás Busa, as Tannhaüser and Wolfram, if not up to Vienna standards, were still moving in the right direction. Of the females, Erika Gál gave us a delightful Venus after warming up for the first few minutes. Not to insult a grande dame of the Hungarian stage, but human typhoon Mária Temesi’s volume and presence was maybe about right for Brünnhilde at the Met, but was simply much too much for Elisabeth in Budapest. Big chunks of the audience ate it up though, presumably assuming that having to stick your fingers in your ears is the hallmark of a great dramatic soprano. And once again, the orchestra proved its magnificence, particularly the strings, with only the occasional hint of dodginess from those mischievous horns.
And finally, a Traviata that blossomed into greatness after starting out a little directionless in Act I, with Klára Kolonits as Violetta and Peter Balczó as Alfredo, not to mention the chorus, seeming a bit unsure about what to do with themselves. Even the dinner party scene seemed a bit like a too-early Sunday brunch. But then comes Act II, and out steps my man Anatolj Fokanov, with his magnificent booming, slightly nasal baritone, as Georges Germont, whereupon suddenly everyone realized they were on a stage and the whole thing clicked into a much higher gear as the other singers and later the chorus took up his lead. Act II ended up being one of the best bits of opera I’ve ever witnessed, and the audience also knew they had seen something special, demanding 6 or 7 minutes of curtain calls before the second intermission. The shorter and more melancholy Act III doesn’t have the same tension and drama as Act II, but the singers were in their groove now and I teared up a bit when Violetta finally left this unhappy world, which means they were doing something right. So this Traviata, together with Don Giovanni and Mefistofele, have been the real highlights of the season in Budapest this year So far, that is. The season doesn’t end until June, but with the improving weather even I can have too much of a good thing.
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