Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman is a tale not only about redemption through love, but also about the helpless plight of human beings in the face of wilful and vindictive supernatural forces. In the hands of Wagner, the mythical Dutchman, instead of being a collector of itinerant souls at sea, has become an intrepid adventurer condemned to eternal maritime wandering. His only reprieve is a septennial holiday on land to find true love in a woman to break the satanic curse.
The three protagonists – the Dutchman, Senta and her erstwhile lover Erik – are linked by a fate of displacement and alienation, and embody the idea of “Sehnsucht” (yearning or longing). The lonely Dutchman clearly seeks terrestrial peace; Senta’s infatuation with a legendary seafarer she has never met sets her apart from her companions; and the jilted Erik, a hunter among a community of sailors, probably finds it hard to blend in.
Much has been written about the work’s significance in operatic development in general, and its place in Wagner’s style of music drama in particular. Yet for audiences, its real importance is as a succinct preview of Wagner’s vast and progressively more demanding output. Lasting under two-and-a-half hours, it does not require superhuman endurance to enjoy, and if you suspend disbelief about the plausibility of the plot, The Flying Dutchman is powerful drama with some compelling music.
Opera Hong Kong’s production, in collaboration with Deutsche Oper am Rhein Düsseldorf-Duisburg, was packed with punch and oomph. For starters, director Volker Böhm’s overall presentation was impressive. Wolf Münzner designed an elaborate set, with two decent-sized boats wobbling against a sloping platform front of stage and ten-foot tall spinning wheels in Act II to boot. The lighting was thoughtful – radiant lustre for Daland’s sails and crew, and an eerie red for the Dutchman’s. Confined mostly to black, white and shades of grey, the costume put the finishing touches to an authentic period drama.
Kurt Rydl put on a forceful portrayal of the money-hungry Daland, ready to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness for a smattering of gold and jewellery at the drop of a hat. Helped by a powerful bass voice with carefully nurtured rhythmic vigour, his strategic moments of silence injected subtle comic relief the audience quite willingly lapped up in this dark tale of misadventure.