In Francesca Zambello’s new Houston Grand Opera production of Richard Wagner’s Tannhäuser (1845), in collaboration with Washington National Opera, Seattle Opera, and Canadian Opera Company, the medieval knight/poet/musician enjoys an Amish “rumspringa” moment. For a year, he may live outside the community and decide whether he wants to come home or stay in the secular world for the rest of his life.
Director Zambello, in some of her finest work, sets the ancient Germanic tale in the early 20th century in the cloistered sect of a religious commune. The outside world is represented by a hedonistic salon in New York City, ruled by Venus, the goddess of love. Tannhäuser has been seduced for over a year in the arms of this siren, but his guilt in abandoning his former virginal love Elizabeth is too much to bear. He rejects the pleasures of Venus and is instantly transported home. Dire problems with this choice arise with the thud of a medieval mace.
There is a song contest planned for his return. Elizabeth is giddy upon the news of his reappearance. Where has he been, everyone asks. The theme of the competition is The Nature of Love. Wolfram, also in love with Elizabeth, hails purity and chastity; another member praises woman’s virtue and honor. Tannhäuser mocks their sterile paeans. This is what love is all about: he passionately extols the earthy delights of sex, the only true heavenly passion we can ever know.
Appalled by such blasphemy, the congregation banishes this apostate, but saintly Elizabeth intercedes. He’s a sinner who needs redemption. The Landgraf Hermann commands Tannhäuser to seek salvation in Rome. Receive the pope’s blessing for your sin and then you can return to us, cleansed and pure. Chastened, Tannhauser joins the pilgrims on their journey to the holy city.
Waiting patiently for Tannhäuser to return, Elizabeth eventually succumbs. She dies for his sins, Wagner implies, or perhaps dies for love, a typical Wagnerian motif. Tannhäuser has not been granted reprieve by the pope until the pontiff’s withered staff sprouts leaves. Desperate, he is lured again by the charms of Venus, but is brought back to reality when Wolfram calls out Elizabeth’s name. Her bier is carried by, and Tannhäuser, full of grief and remorse at her sacrifice to save him, dies by her side as the Pope’s staff miraculously sprouts fresh growth. He has been saved by Elizabeth’s sacrifice.
Zambello does no great harm to Wagner with her novel approach. Tannhäuser does not die in this version, but is encased in celestial light at curtain fall. OK, that’s fine, so he lives to sing another day. Maybe he’ll go to the dark side and join Venus once more. Who wouldn’t? If there’s a choice, who wouldn’t jump the goddess of love over a saintly vanilla heroine?
That’s the problem with Tannhäuser. Wagner wants you to believe that selfless purity and virginal sacrifice is better for your soul than any type of pleasure. Wagner certainly didn’t believe that. He was the original prototype of why the #MeToo movement started, having numerous extra-marital affairs throughout his life. The hedonist of Bayreuth in his Parisian silk underwear, attar of roses perfume, and a constant stipend from Ludwig II, King of Bavaria, lived for his own pleasure whatever the cost, but wrote his opera librettos in hypocritical opposition.
But that’s not to say his works aren’t startling, new, and fresh. He changed opera forever. He changed music forever. His surprising orchestration, his shifting chromatics, his rhythmic surge, his melding of every aspect of theatrical presentation to serve his music dramas was revolutionary. It still is to this day. He is surprisingly modern.
An early work, Tannhäuser models itself on romantic operas at the time with their massive choruses, medieval settings, and the nascent probing of character development and how well the music fits it. Wagner added his own distinct Teutonic touch with a heavy but lush orchestration, powerful vocal lines, and a sense that it all comes together as a whole. Which it does. Some claim this opera to be the perfect intro to Wagner’s world, but I think Flying Dutchman (1843, Wagner’s first great hit) is more appropriate for a novice to learn the great beauties to be mined.
Like repentant Tannhäuser, I must make amends. I have not been a fan of soprano Tamara Wilson in the past, but she has found a perfect match in Elizabeth. Her sound was both velvet and cream with power to spare. She has grown as an artist since last I heard her, her acting exceptional, and she overlays this simple girl with giddiness, shyness, then strength and conviction as she advocates for Tannhäuser’s redemption. She creates a full character. Her Act II entrance aria as she greets the contest hall and awaits her love, “Dich, teure Halle” (Hail, dear hall) was a master class in pacing and phrasing, as was her final aria, “Allmächt’ge Jungfrau!” (Almighty Virgin), her final prayer to Mary before she walks off into the distance to her death. Hers was a defining portrait, and I hope I am forgiven for misjudging her.
Tenor Russell Thomas, an international star, was singing the title role for the first time in his career, and you’d think he had been singing this for years. I do not misjudge him. What a clear and forceful performance of this difficult role and difficult character. His clarion voice carried over and above Wagner’s immense orchestra with a finesse bordering on plush. There are multiple shades of steel here along with luminous expression and precise diction. He gave conflicted Tannhäuser a heart. Witness his emotional rendition of his final number, the ‘‘Rome Narrative,” as he relives the struggles and heartache of his ill-fated journey. A magnificent performance, well rewarded by a roaring burst of applause at curtain call.
Mezzo Sasha Cooke as devilish Venus, in her slinky Grecian gown and possessed of a voice of unprecedented smoothness, radiated sex and seduction. She could have pinned a Geiger counter. A goddess incarnate. Baritone Luke Sutliff, as Tannhäuser’s rival friend Wolfram sounded gruff and a bit muted. His famous aria, “O du mein holder Abendster” (Ode to the evening star), a staple of international opera contests, as he prays for Elizabeth and hints at his love for her, didn’t really happen nor sound as lush and Italianate as it should have. Maybe he was having an off night. It happens. Bass Alexandros Stavrakakis, as Langraf Hermann, boomed his condemnation of wayward Tannhauser with mighty conviction and true stage presence. He’s one to watch.
The production looked impressively handsome with S. Katy Tucker’s projections of forests or Georgia O’Keefe-ish flower closeups swirling in the background or on the scrims, Peter Davison’s Deco-inspired Venusberg and plain-wood hall of song, Constance Hoffmann’s lavish period costumes, and Amith Chandrashaker’s autumnal lighting. Act III’s snow scene with ruined church hall was stunning, if not dramatically coherent. What happened to the church? State of someone’s mind, perhaps?
Recently, Houston’s been on an impressive roll with Opera in the Heights’ sparkling L’Italiana in Algeri, Moores School of Music’s triumphant Turandot, HGO’s juicy and sex-filled Breaking the Waves, and now this remodeled, refined Tannhäuser. As of now, opera in Houston is in very fine hands.
Tannhäuser continues at 7 p.m. April 25, April 29, May 3, and May 8. Also 2 p.m. May 11. At Houston Grand Opera at Wortham Theater Center, 501 Texas. Sung in German with projected English translations. For more information, call 713-228-6737 or visit houstongrandopera.org. $25-$210.
