New York Classical Review

In his 2024 book, A New Philosophy of Opera, director Yuval Sharon writes “…stagecraft is in service of the immaterial, the content that will hopefully be revealed through the artificial elements.” He goes on to argue that “opera is imprisoned in the material world” of the stage, asking, “Doesn’t opera ultimately rob music of its power, by reducing it to the servitude of some other master?” He highlights Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde as “the ultimate work about the unresolvable tension between what is visible and what remains invisible…I don’t think Tristan should even be called an opera, since so much transpires that can never be expressed by the singers or the production. This is what makes it the single hardest work in the traditional repertoire to stage …”

There’s plenty to think about and argue with in Sharon’s claims, and he put them to the test Monday night at the Metropolitan Opera where he made his house debut with a new production of, yes, Tristan und Isolde. 

Taking what Tristan is—one of the most important operas in the repertoire and in still relevant ways a modernist and avant-garde work—with Sharon’s ambivalence about both Tristan and the materiality of stagecraft was a rare and intriguing opportunity to witness an irresistible force meet an immovable object, live on stage.

Very little happens on stage in Tristan. Only Robert Ashley’s operas and perhaps Debussy’s Pélleas et Melisande are as minimal in terms of events, but extraordinary things happen in the music, and contra Sharon’s statement, that includes the singers. The opera is about characters transforming from one way of being to another (the fundamental drama in every opera), in this case, the princess Isolde (soprano Lise Davidsen) and the hero Tristan (tenor Michael Spyres), who through magic go from enmity to love, and through the music explore Wagner’s philosophical union of love and death as holy transformative experiences. The action, such as it is, comes from Tristan’s betrayal of King Marke (bass-baritone Ryan Speedo Green), meant to marry Isolde.

On paper, this is a drama so deeply rooted in ancient sensibilities that it could interest only anthropologists and literary scholars. But Wagner’s music, and how over the course of over four hours it is always processing through its own state to get to the final moment, is why this opera remains vital. And it was the performances of Wagner’s music in this production—specifically the singing—that delivered the drama Monday night. Less successful and consistent was conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin, leading this work for the first time, and lastly Sharon’s staging, which was hit or miss (mostly the latter) all night. 

The star of the night was Davidsen as Isolde. She delivered a stellar, often stunning performance. The easy power of her voice continues to astonish, and as Isolde she had a lustrous sound, full but not so much as to sacrifice clarity. That was essential to her characterization, which was based on superb diction and articulation, the mercurial emotions of the character coming through her voice. This was masterful operatic expression, sonically beautiful, the rise and fall of phrases and dynamics musically sumptuous, the quality of her vocal characterization changing along with the Isolde’s thoughts and feelings.

Davidsen also had rare vocal energy and charisma—which proved essential Monday night, as Nézet-Séguin got off to an underwhelming start. The opening Prelude, some of the most famous and revolutionary music in the history of opera, was far too slow to create the harmonic and dramatic tension that simply has to happen. The music was lovely, and the orchestra’s playing fine, as it grew more continuous, but Wagner’s ideas were missing. Davidsen’s vocal and dramatic power seemed to haul conductor and crew up to her level, and an hour of so into the work, at the next essential moment, her singing “Tristan” and Spyres responding “Isolde,” along with the orchestra, expressed everything in the opera.

In Act II, there was more warmth to start in Nézet-Séguin’s leadership, but far too little heat. Act III was fully satisfying from the start, though, the conductor seeming to finally hear what Wagner was doing.

Spyres was excellent. He has a richer sound than the typical Wagnerian tenor, free of strain. His phrasing was lovely, fluid, more natural sounding than one often hears in Wagner singing. Vocally, he had dignified diffidence at the beginning, then a deep passion from when the magic takes hold. He shared this with Davidsen, the sense of deep-rooted feelings driving their singing from the gut, an emotional strength that translated to a feeling of pure singing.

His stamina in Act III was impressive. Tristan dominates the act, singing almost continuously, and though there were moments that hinted at some fatigue, he found an even greater ease that seemed to open up more energy.

Mezzo-soprano Ekaterina Gubanova is Brangäne and bass-baritone Tomasz Konieczny is Kurwenal in this production. Both are experienced Wagner singers, and Gubanova’s showed immediately—this was an in-character opera performance through and through. Konieczny’s voice sounded a little tight in Act I, his phrasing abrupt, but in Act III’s intense moments with Tristan, he was smooth and warm.

Green is always a welcome sight on stage and was an exceptional King Marke, his performance as fine as Davidsen’s. He had the same easy way with his singing, a big sound with a small and pleasant touch of a rough edge. His delivery was commanding and deeply expressive, with real pain and anguish, great singing acting. His central Act II scene was also where Sharon’s staging had its finest moment, Marke circling the table as he sang about how Tristan betrayed him, fumbling with the pieces of a broken dinner plate, trying to fit them back together.

This could be seen viewed from an overhead camera and projected above the stage action. This is one of the features of the staging, projection and video design by Jason H. Thompson and Ruth Hogben that blows up what is happening on stage in real time, often freezing that into prerecorded still images. This can be striking, like in Act I, where Isolde holding a knife to Tristan’s throat morphs into a frame of the blade—fabulous lighting design by John Torres in his debut—that contains Davidsen and Spyre as they drink the magic potion.

That moment connects the two other features, which is that Sharon has a pair of doubles acting out certain moments in parallel and place of the real characters. The stage is defined by a giant iris that opens up into different shapes that frame the singers, including a tunnel that has some unpredictable megaphone effects. What these devices do is underline the drama without creating any additional context, as if Sharon has no personal opinions on Wagner and Tristan. And the stage doubles create new problems he can’t solve.

One is that even before the Prelude begins, a Tristan and an Isolde are already seated on stage, facing each other across a table. Music that emerges is undercut by a take-it-or-leave-it stage situation. In Act III, a Tristan double lays etherized on a table, dying, while Spyres sings his internal experiences from the tunnel. This is a brilliant device for getting at the core of opera’s purpose, and in another creative choice he’s joined by English horn soloist Pedro R. Diaz, in costume, playing the exquisite music of longing that runs through the act.

But this is also a trap that Sharon can’t get out of: while Spyres is in the tunnel, his interaction with Konieczny is awkward (as is Annie-B Parson’s choreography around him). Spyres also switches places with the double, back and forth, several times, and there’s no stagecraft to it at all—it is amateurish in context. 

In a final, willful miscalculation, when Isolde returns, she’s pregnant, and when she dies it’s during childbirth. The registered effects are both gratuitous and superfluous, a director showing he has ideas but still doesn’t quite understand what opera is all about.

Tristan und Isolde runs through April 4. metopera.org