Jennifer Davis steps up, and a star is born
Lohengrin
Few things in theatre are more exciting than watching a star being born, and the big-bang roar that greeted Jennifer Davis’s curtain call after her debut as Lohengrin’s beloved Elsa was one such magic moment. Little known – I had registered her name, but not her talent – Davis had been promoted from understudy at short notice when Kristine Opolais withdrew, and she confounded all the sceptics.
True, there were passages when the text seem glided over, but from her first aria – a test of control over pitch and tone – she was rock steady and generous of phrase. Elsa is a taxing role, but she paced herself consummately, never over-egging the climaxes and always keeping the line fluent. Add to this a lovely stage presence and acting of ingenuous immediacy, and you have what could blossom into a world-class career. Well done, Covent Garden, for taking an inspired risk.
What made Davis’s achievement
more impressive was that she shone in distinguished company. Klaus Florian Vogt has been singing the title role for years, and although his sweetly reedy, choirboy tenor isn’t altogether to my taste, he offers a gracefully assured reading that gives a rich impression of chivalrous youth.
Christine Goerke, perhaps a tad below her scorching best in terms of lung power, remains a venomous Ortrud, with Thomas J Mayer a dashing presence as her partner-incrime, Telramund. Georg Zeppenfeld as King Heinrich and Kostas Smoriginas as the Herald both radiated the necessary gravitas. But the evening’s other star turn was William Spaulding’s chorus, raising the roof in their chants and imprecations.
Andris Nelsons conducts: Wagner’s score is a favourite of his – I recall a superb concert version in his CBSO days – and he dwells lovingly on its beauties, perhaps to excess in the second act. Gorgeous orchestral playing and a fine balance between pit and stage were indisputable virtues of his approach. The music glowed, there are no whizkid antics.
For the production, modified rapture. David Alden and his designers have fallen back on that all-too-familiar location of a 20thcentury totalitarian state, expressionistically skewed with a king wearing a paper crown and a hero wandering around barefoot in a white suit. Traditionalists will wonder where the swan went.
All this is lazy cliché, but Alden’s theatricality is slickly effective and he directs dialogues between the major characters with skill and sensitivity. It’s just a pity that what we see doesn’t rise to the level of what we hear.