Review: Bryn Terfel as The Flying Dutchman
David Truslove on why Bryn Terfel compels as The Flying Dutchman at The Royal Opera House
David Truslove was at the Royal Opera House to watch Sir Bryn Terfel in a new English National Opera production of Der fliegende Holländer/The Flying Dutchman.
Born to sing the big operatic roles, Sir Bryn Terfel is tailor-made for Der fliegende Holländer. He’s already got form with Tim Albery’s staging, having first taken the title role when the production was new in 2009, and again in 2015. Terfel has now touched terra firma at the Royal Opera House more often than the legendary sailor condemned to sail the seas who only makes landfall once in every seven years. Only through the redeeming love of a faithful woman will the curse of the Dutchman be lifted.
Terfel commands the space around him with total ease, and just as well considering Albery creates a concave and largely bare stage that conjures the hull of a schooner or the curve of a sail. Not a crow’s nest or wheelhouse in sight, just a mooring rope and a ladder that disappears skywards. The only sign of an actual ship is a toy model intermittently carried by Senta, presumably there to represent her childhood fantasies. An open cage is lowered to accommodate the girls in the sewing factory, while a couple of comfortless chairs and a single light bulb indicate Senta’s plain home on the Norwegian coast. These cheerless scenes are atmospherically lit by David Finn who superbly enhances the prevailing gloom with his oppressive shadows. There’s little colour either when the cutaway hull makes way for Act Three’s sailor’s party and phantom crew. In sharp contrast to the browns and battleship greys of the men, the women are vividly attired.
If the singers appear at times to be left to their own devices – there’s minimal stage direction – there’s plenty to enjoy in the singing with Terfel’s wandering seafarer topping the cast. The role could almost have been written for him so convincingly does he inhabit it. It’s fair to say that his voice doesn’t quite have the lustre it once had, but there’s still warmth, bite when necessary and a lovely, if somewhat uneven, mezza voce that can still an audience with its beauty. Let’s not ignore the clarity of words and, above all, Terfel’s communicative gifts including a body language that outlines every nuance of characterisation. Nor can one miss the world-weariness of his portrayal, his resignation and resentment for his lot in life. His sense of betrayal in the final scene is just as credible as his agonised emotions on his first appearance. The half life he lives is wonderfully caught in the lighting when only part of his face is lit, the rest shadows enhancing the otherworldly mystique for this tragic character.
No less tragic or perhaps doomed is his devoted Senta, the young woman determined to save the Dutchman’s soul. In her Royal Opera debut, Swedish soprano Elisabet Strid provides the perfect foil in an expressive portrayal and allied to a voice of pure spring water. Not a dramatic, full-blooded Wagnerian soprano, but a lightish, well projected voice (especially at the top of the stave) that holds the ear for its clarity and focus. Her Ballad brings dreaming and resolution, and, in the last scene, she holds onto the rising gangway to reach her Dutchman with a remarkable will as if possessed by a hitherto unknown power. It’s a hugely powerful and moving climax that is utterly gripping.
Toby Spence, as her on-off boyfriend Erik, is vocally well matched, leaner than others in the role, and creates a favourable impression as Senta’s frustrated suitor. Elsewhere, Stephen Milland is the self-interested father, Dalland, a stolid sea captain with a grainy, not unappealing voice. American-Finnish tenor Miles Mykkanen makes a likable Steersman, producing plenty of heft as well as longing in his opening song. Kseniia Nikolaieva, as Senta’s nurse and factory worker, busied herself into the role but her woolly tone compromised her diction. It was the expanded chorus that brought the evening’s biggest surprise with singing rarely produced with such thrilling gusto, the Act Three knees up particularly striking.
In the pit, Hungarian conductor Henrik Nánási steers the Royal Opera House Orchestra through an unbroken traversal of the score (as Wagner intended), drawing out all the emotional and physical turbulence of the overture and providing plenty of impetus and rich colouring from his players. This production is well worth seeing while you can (it’s on until March 16) and Sir Bryn is on magnificent form.
The Flying Dutchman plays until March 16th at the Royal Opera House, further information is available here.