Rufus Wainwright
News & Press
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Read Rufus' article in Die Zeit Magazine! (Part 3)
No uptight Bavarian dare boo after that ending of Act Two, and in terms
of looking for some kind of purification ritual to face facts, it
really hit the spot. All the nasty thorns in such a beautiful artistic
bed of roses that is Bayreuth were not quite being removed but were
definitely being pointed out. Of course it was no answer to my queries,
but definitely a large blaring question mark and as everyone knows, you
can't have the former without the later. And here's the kicker: by the
end, not only was I sitting with my mom and boyfriend due to the
miraculous appearance of an empty seat right in front of them, but the
three of us witnessed in my opinion one of the great theatrical
experiences of all time. The stage, which was no longer Wahnfried but a
replica of the German Parliament dramatically became a huge rotating
mirror in the shape of the earth (and practically the size of it!), and
to the exquisite last strains of the opera movingly revealed to us, yes
US! The audience basked in light from a single white dove at the top of
the theater. I know it sounds really corny, but hell, it really worked.
OK, at this point in the Ring Cycle I'm somewhere near the end of Siegfried and I don't know what the hell is going on. I'm going to start Gotterdammerung and hopefully I won't have lost my eyesight by writing this article. You guys, The Ring is like (insert electric shock here) 16 hours long. And wait a second.... oh my God! Here come the fucking Norns!
Around the first time I first mentioned the fucking Norns I also mentioned a delicate little 18th century theater we saw that day before the opera. The Markgrafliches Theater, located in the center of town, is the last remaining painted baroque wooden theater left in Germany. It is hauntingly beautiful. That day our guide had given an adequate and enthusiastic tour of Wagner’s home, but once inside this little gem you could immediately tell where her passions and expertise lay. Her eyes immediately lit up as she began to explain its meaning: It was built by the aristocracy to give the court a type of Arcadia, a paradise on earth far from the everyday world were no windows or clocks existed bothering one with a sense of time and the privileged could just lounge about not thinking a bit of the outside world and its harsh realities. Though the inside is wooden the outside is stone, as if to represent a shell like protection of one's fantasies and both the stage and the audience face the King and Queen, thus making THEM the focal point and thanking them for creating such a glorious and elite form of escapism. This concept of what a theater once represented really struck me after seeing Herheim’s production of Parsifal. My mother, Jorn and I were staying in the fantastic Pflaums Posthotel Pegnitz Hotel where every room was a freaky testament to west Germany's finest hour, the '80s. Be it weird angular sculptures clashing with airbrushed posters of naked women with bad hair, or day glow shag carpet mixed with absurd countryside wooden rocking chairs, this place makes the New York Chelsea Hotel look minimalist. The night before the opera we had the most delicious 4 course meal there (ironically called the Gotterdammerung dinner, not gonna finish the Ring Cycle folks, thank God!) For the whopping cost of about 500 Euros, yikes!!! I get paid in American dollars. And the next day was spent in a villa, then at the opera and finally driving home in a rented black Mercedes Benz. How things have changed. Before the theater was a place to escape from the real world and bury your worries in make believe and luxury, now we try to bury ourselves in make believe and luxury and go to the theater to understand the real world. I don't know if this is a good or bad thing, but at least in our time, unlike that of Winifred Wagner’s, one of those elements is trying to tell the truth.
All right, here's what my mother wrote:
Meanwhile, over on the other side of town, built in brick, that building material which through man's cleverness lies somewhere between stone and wood, i.e., between the schloss and the chaumiere, between the prince and the peasant...Wagnerian opera was in full swing and, judging by the production I saw of Parsifal that night and the burgers who were present, the aristocracy is indeed over and the "common man" is very much with us, to be interpreted and reinterpreted however one sees fit: long live Wagner's Bayreuth.
RUFI'S ORIGINAL CHOCOLATE COVERED PARSIFAL...
I think the last phrase is a reference to Easter.
OK, at this point in the Ring Cycle I'm somewhere near the end of Siegfried and I don't know what the hell is going on. I'm going to start Gotterdammerung and hopefully I won't have lost my eyesight by writing this article. You guys, The Ring is like (insert electric shock here) 16 hours long. And wait a second.... oh my God! Here come the fucking Norns!
Around the first time I first mentioned the fucking Norns I also mentioned a delicate little 18th century theater we saw that day before the opera. The Markgrafliches Theater, located in the center of town, is the last remaining painted baroque wooden theater left in Germany. It is hauntingly beautiful. That day our guide had given an adequate and enthusiastic tour of Wagner’s home, but once inside this little gem you could immediately tell where her passions and expertise lay. Her eyes immediately lit up as she began to explain its meaning: It was built by the aristocracy to give the court a type of Arcadia, a paradise on earth far from the everyday world were no windows or clocks existed bothering one with a sense of time and the privileged could just lounge about not thinking a bit of the outside world and its harsh realities. Though the inside is wooden the outside is stone, as if to represent a shell like protection of one's fantasies and both the stage and the audience face the King and Queen, thus making THEM the focal point and thanking them for creating such a glorious and elite form of escapism. This concept of what a theater once represented really struck me after seeing Herheim’s production of Parsifal. My mother, Jorn and I were staying in the fantastic Pflaums Posthotel Pegnitz Hotel where every room was a freaky testament to west Germany's finest hour, the '80s. Be it weird angular sculptures clashing with airbrushed posters of naked women with bad hair, or day glow shag carpet mixed with absurd countryside wooden rocking chairs, this place makes the New York Chelsea Hotel look minimalist. The night before the opera we had the most delicious 4 course meal there (ironically called the Gotterdammerung dinner, not gonna finish the Ring Cycle folks, thank God!) For the whopping cost of about 500 Euros, yikes!!! I get paid in American dollars. And the next day was spent in a villa, then at the opera and finally driving home in a rented black Mercedes Benz. How things have changed. Before the theater was a place to escape from the real world and bury your worries in make believe and luxury, now we try to bury ourselves in make believe and luxury and go to the theater to understand the real world. I don't know if this is a good or bad thing, but at least in our time, unlike that of Winifred Wagner’s, one of those elements is trying to tell the truth.
All right, here's what my mother wrote:
Meanwhile, over on the other side of town, built in brick, that building material which through man's cleverness lies somewhere between stone and wood, i.e., between the schloss and the chaumiere, between the prince and the peasant...Wagnerian opera was in full swing and, judging by the production I saw of Parsifal that night and the burgers who were present, the aristocracy is indeed over and the "common man" is very much with us, to be interpreted and reinterpreted however one sees fit: long live Wagner's Bayreuth.
RUFI'S ORIGINAL CHOCOLATE COVERED PARSIFAL...
I think the last phrase is a reference to Easter.
| Posted on 8/21/2008 |
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