In 2016 as a PhD candidate, I received a grant to fund my research on opera and literature, and I entered the lottery for a ticket to the Bayreuther Festspiele. In the seven years that I waited to win that lottery, I had time to build anticipation and, as my research continued, collect questions—some mundane basic fandom but others more complex. Since the pandemic, I’ve become particularly interested in how opera as a bourgeoise art form is responding to new human urgencies from climate change to racial justice. Richard Wagner is to me the pinnacle of elitist opera, and I was very curious what I would find here in a performance of his 1865 opera Tristan und Isolde.
Are the acoustics as good as they say?
Yes, beyond what I imagined, yes! I’ve read dozens of reputable accounts of just how perfectly constructed the festspielhaus is for Wagner’s lush scores in particular—there is truly no bad seat in the house, all the sight lines are perfect, and the sound settles into the space as though it has always been there. A seamless, all-encompassing aural experience. Of course, the festspielorchester is also a set of incredibly masterful musicians—the shepherd’s lament in the third act was outstanding.
Are the seats as uncomfortable as they say?
In exchange for amazing acoustics, yes, the seats are thin and wooden and, after even one act, a test of resilience. However, I did notice a few audience members with contraband seat cushions. Whether or not you’re able to smuggle in a pillow, the discomfort is worth it for those acoustics.
Was the production as cutting-edge and trend-setting as the organizers like to boast?
Roland Schwab directed this Tristan, the ninth production since the festival’s post-war reopening, with a desire to embrace philosophical contradictions in an anachronistic parallel universe where Tristan and Isolde’s liebestod exist in multiple timelines, as he notes in the program. The representation of parallel universes is literal. The set largely hinges on two ovals—one opening to the sky, the other a set of digital screens set on the bottom that variously show water, vortexes, space, and static. Think of a clam shell with two black holes.
The problem with one main gimmick is that it can quickly become overdetermined. Not a lot of action actually happens in this opera, so it’s already susceptible to feeling immobile. Isolde and Tristan end up rolling around on the eddy for most the opera (a stage direction I certainly don’t believe was ever in Wagner’s mind) and by Act 3, when Kurwenal has walked in endless circles around Tristan, who continues to roll around the eye of a tornado space whirlpool, I hoped Tristan would just sink into the abyss. It’s not a good Tristan when you hope he’ll just die already.
Ok, but what about the singing?
Perhaps I felt little sympathy for Tristan, sung by heldentenor Clay Hilley, because his uncle stole the show. As King Marke, bass Georg Zeppenfeld was a welcomed color, clear yet swarthy with auburn depth to it. Contrastingly, both Hilley and soprano Catherine Foster, in the iconic role of Isolde, disappointed. I admit I came in with high expectations. At any other opera house, I likely wouldn’t have been quite so critical, but both singers failed to create that enigmatic energy that one hopes to feel when at any performance Tristan. I had Nina Stemme in my memory as the reigning queen of this opera, which I saw at Houston Grand Opera in its 2013 production and which Theodore Bale writes masterfully about (https://houston.culturemap.com/news/arts/04-21-13-itristan-and-isoldei-is-crowning-achievement-of-houston-grand-opera-season-but-its-likely-to-drive-you-mad). Neither Hilley nor Foster came close, but sign me up for more Zeppenfeld.
Tickets are notoriously expensive and the festival is famously fancy—what was the audience like?
Money was on display, but not in all the ways I expected. There were a few tuxedos and gowns, but I also saw jeans and good share of artistic flare in the form of leather, bright colors, and even feathers. It does feel elite, but there is also a strong sense of friendship and camaraderie. I don’t speak German well, but I had several lovely conversations with patient, generous, and enthusiastic festival-goers who were just glad to share the experience. The seating in the hall is tight—you get to know your neighbor well and every sound in that wood-filled hall can be heard—so that rapport becomes essential once the opera gets started. A cell phone did go off, but otherwise, we were all in it together.
What about diversity?
This is still largely a white and wealthy audience with very few exceptions. One might point out that it’s high German opera in Bavaria—sure, that’s true, but this is an international festival and one of the best in the world, so it’s time that the festival also represents the world.
Was it momentous enough to be worth a biblical seven-year wait?
There have always been controversies around Wagner’s operas—it’s why I study his work—and clearly there are still issues that opera-goers, creators, and artists need to be thinking about going forward, but the weight of history on the Green Hill is undeniable. That part of the lore is true: being in that formidable space was transcendent.
Wagner creates close ties throughout many kinds of histories. Because of his role in my own life, I was reminded throughout of a dear friend of mine with whom I have seen many operas and talked at length about many more. He has taught me an enormous amount and influenced my thinking in a rare abundance that continues to unfold. He was there with me, if not in body undeniably in spirit.