Das Rheingold (Art Haus DVD -- 2008 Weimar production)

Wagner's Das Rheingold is not merely great, but, also, surprisingly entertaining.  This DVD record of a live performance at the Weimar Opera in 2008 confirms this impression.  The subject matter doesn't seem too promising -- a nasty breach of contract squabble and a wretched miser who happens to be a subterranean dwarf.  But the action is all over the place -- the show starts in the depths of the ever-surging Rhine, climbs up to heaven where the gods are bickering over their indebtedness to a couple of hapless doofuss giants, and, then, plunges into the depths of the earth where Alberich, like Golum, is cherishing his precious ring and terrorizing an army of miserable dwarves.  The opera shoots back up to heaven for the denouement, a murder, a spectacular thunderstorm, and, then, the grand procession of the gods into Valhalla over the rainbow bridge.  There's a lot happening and Wagner insists that this all occur as one seamless web of music, without intermission, or pause -- accordingly, the opera is exceptionally difficult to stage and requires immense ingenuity in devising its mise-en-scene.  It's a rule that about a third of the decisions that directors make to enliven classical opera are ghastly mistakes and unintentionally funny -- this is true at even the greatest opera companies and the Weimar operation, although estimable enough, is certainly not world-class:  in fact, some of the singers on the DVD, particularly the guy playing Wotan, seem out of their depth.  It's not a bad production and, in fact, seems to me to be a great guide to the show, but there are enough goofy directorial decisions to debate that you can not only enjoy the show for the beautiful music, unprecedented in its form in the 19th century, but also for the humor, both intentional and unintentional.

In this version, the gods are a conspicuously shabby lot -- Wotan is like Donald Trump with his trophy wife, Fricka, and his scheming to beat his contractors out of their duly earned fees.  Donner has a greasy-looking moustache and seems to be an idiot.  Loge is obviously bright, but stands in the corner of the showing paring his fingernails except when called-upon to torment Alberich, the dwarf who has stolen the mysterious Rheingold (it's some kind of living creature as well as a golden mineral opening "like an eye" in the deeps of the river) from the Rhine Maidens.  Freia prances around in a peasant outfit that makes her look like a beer maid at a Munich tavern -- half the time,  (she seems to enjoy the attentions lavished upon her by the brutish giants and, like the sluttish Rhine Maidens with Alberich, even teasingly leads them on.  When we first see the gods, there are sitting in a long narrow (forced perspective) bunker sleeping off their hangovers.  And throughout the opera, they are portrayed as weak and endearingly petty -- a typical bourgeois Biedermeier family squabbling with one another about their mortgage.  Indeed, in the final scene in the show, the gods have ascended into Valhalla and stand next to a harpist framed by scaffolding as if for a family daguerreotype.  Alberich has a demanding role -- he has to wear boots that are, in fact, knee-pads and, then, stalk around vigorously on his knees: it's a very comical effect and worthy of thought since the director establishes that these roles are all contingent -- there is a Brechtian sense that the roles pre-exist the actors and that people are more or less assigned to them.  If you have to wear the boot-shaped knee-pads, then, you must be Alberich.  Erda doesn't appear out of the earth -- a defect that makes some of her lines unclear; she's just a zaftig chanteuse stuffed into a tight evening gown.  (She gets to sing the most portentous and titanci music in the opera -- announcing the "twilight of the gods" theme.) At times, the show opts for cheap and uncommunicative special effects; the low budget is on display -- we don't get to see Alberich turn himself into a fire-breathing dragon (instead we are shown a puff of burning propane from a freight-car shaped enclosure); by contrast, we do get to see him as a large toad in a tight spandex jump-suit.  The rainbow bridge is just a plank of wood without color and when Donner calls for lightning to split apart the sultry air, one of the gods wearing a louche smoking jacket and shades prances around with a dry-ice machine.  The cut-rate nature of these effects is part of the charm -- this group of gods really doesn't inspire much in the way of awe.  The giants wearing big pink mittens and perched awkwardly on stilts (they are literally fat-headed -- they have flesh-colored pillowsstrapped to their skulls that surround their cherubic features and enlarge their heads) are cute, like overgrown puppies, not so much menacing as funny-looking and one of them even does a little soft-shoe number on his stilts.   The scene in which the dwarves feverishly heap up money to conceal Freia from the giants who have abducted her is performed with a big iron scales -- the gold has to equal Freia's weight:  this makes no sense with respect to the libretto which, in fact, imagines the dwarves filling a kind of room with gold (a reference I have always thought to Pizarro's ransom of Atahualpa), but it works effectively as a piece of stage business.  There is a wholly unnecessary prelude to the opera, itself a prelude, that displays little girls as norns playing with hand puppets -- this is not just unnecessary, this is a bad idea.  The opera should begin with Wagner's famous protracted E-flat, the tone from which he builds an entire world.  The story is rich with Hegelian dialectic:  love against gold, labor against management, creditors versus debtors, law against disorder, contract versus breach of contract -- Wotan is in an impossible situation, compromised as he is throughout the Ring Cycle:  the shaft of his spear bears runes endorsing the sanctity of contract and, yet, he schemes to breach his agreement with the giants who have built Valhalla.  (Wotan blames his wife Fricka's nagging for the problem -- she wanted a bigger house but isn't quite willing to pay the mortgage on the improvements).  Alberich can be read as a Jew, the inevitable financier for the Aryan gods' luxuries -- accordingly, it's jarring that the dramaturge makes Alberich's grottos look like a concentration camp, long barrack-like structures tilted against the darkness and, even, puts Mime, Alberich's hapless side-kick, into what looks like a camp uniform.  Having acquired the ring, Alberich seems happy to immediately oppress his fellow dwarves.   (There's some business about discovering an infant in one of the barracks that I wasn't able to decipher).  At 2 and 1/2 hours, this opera is a fine introduction to the splendors and horrors of Wagner and, if you haven't acquired a taste for his music, I would recommend this show as a primer.