The Flying Dutchman at the Liceu

It pains me to say it, but Tuesday night's performance of Richard Wagner's opera The Flying Dutchman has now displaced the atrocious current Met production of La traviata as the worst performance in my memory. I came home feeling both irritated and depressed.

I had so been looking forward to it, remembering with nostalgia Àlex Rigola’s elegant version that was rationally and gently updated in 2007. It had a memorable cast, with the remarkable Eric Halfvarson as the greed-crazed fleet owner Daland, and a credible Senta.

This new version on the other hand, is a travesty. The Liceu cannot be wholly blamed. The production stems from Basel and the Berlin Staatsoper (State Opera), both of which are known for crossing the boundaries of rational modification. But the Liceu must be adjudged complicit to the extent that they chose to import this horrendously misguided production—a failed attempt to be cleverer than the composer.

The main problem lies with the concept created by the stage director, German film director Philipp Stölzl. Possibly, the fact that he is accustomed to manipulating stories by means of visual effects resulted in the mess I saw, which was illogical, hard to follow and ultimately very boring. His vision simply couldn’t be made to work in live theatre.

If at least the singing had been exceptional I could have closed my eyes and basked in the music but, alas, that was not the case.

The non-singing Senta (yes, there were two of them!) spent her time crawling around the scenery adding nothing to the show, while the singing Senta, Russian Elena Popovskaya, added little more and looked generally uncomfortable in her role. Her singing was only adequate.

Such was the jumble of the staging that it was very hard for the Dutchman, Albert Dohmen, to shine. He managed better than the other soloists, but the clutter and confusion of his placement worked strongly against his success.

Attila Jung was a buffoon rather than a tragically greedy father prepared to sell his daughter to the unknown highest bidder he encountered in a storm at sea. His bass was strong but not particularly pleasing.

Senta's poor bewildered fiancé, Erik, tenor Timothy Richards, was so buried under the distractions around him that he was hard to notice and did not hold up well.

In fact, the consistently excellent Liceu chorus, so carefully nurtured by their talented director Conxita Garcia, was far and away the best element of the evening. They sang as strongly and pleasingly as ever, and did their loyal best to make sense of the stage direction.

The orchestra, under the baton of Oksana Lyniv, tore into the overture with force and energy that was agreeable though a bit worrying because it looked as if it might be competing with rather than complementing the singers. But when the first act opened it took its appropriate place.

Anyone who reads these reviews regularly will appreciate my regret at this harsh description. I have enormous respect for the Liceu, both for its many fine performances and its courage in presenting sometimes difficult, even risky operas (unlike some houses that lack the courage to gamble and trot out the same old same old, season after season).

But, alas, this was a sad miscalculation.

The next production opens on May 16th and is much more likely to be a roaring success. It’s a repeat of the charming version of Gaetano Donizetti's La fille du régiment, which played at the Liceu in 2010. Don't pass it up!