There’s something wonderfully authentic about seeing Der fliegende Holländer in Bergen. Wandering along the historic wharf, lights glinting from the houses clinging to the steep, tree-covered hills, it is very easy to imagine Daland sailing into the port, the Dutchman’s ghostly ship close behind. Wagner’s first major opera relies on atmosphere as much as strong musical performance and John Ramster’s new production for Bergen National Opera avoids over-complication, allowing the work to speak for itself.
Designer Bridget Kimak has created a set where the compressed metal prow of a ship takes centre stage atop a revolving platform. Costumes are period and an impression is immediately made in comparing Senta to the other women: where they were traditional skirts and dresses, Senta’s garb is masculine, emphasising her disconnect with her community. Ramster’s big conceit is the re-imaging of Senta as an artist; while the overture plays, we see her engrossed in a hefty tome. Disturbed, she grabs sheets, another book, frantically comparing them. A paintbrush is brandished and as the second act opens, we see her, isolated from her female companions, atop a ladder making adjustments with her brush to a huge painting of the Dutchman. It’s a neat way of explaining and working in the presence of a portrait of the Dutchman in the Daland house, and allows for a splendid moment of theatre when the portrait is raised – her work put away, one imagines – to reveal the subject himself standing behind. Jean Kalman’s lighting is at its best with the portrait as well, the black and white canvas suddenly suffused with colour, a sickly yellow light later providing sinister signposting.
There were numerous moments of Ramster’s direction to enjoy, and the way in which the girls created a little show with lighting and a red cloak for Senta’s ballad was a particular favourite. My only major reservation was with the Act 3 opening scene: Ramster divides the chorus, a number in (very convincing) ghostly outfits, but he intersperses them amongst Daland’s crew early on and the choreography seems jarringly at odds with the plot.
The standard of music-making was generally high. Iain Paterson, a looming figure in full length trench coat, seemed a little subdued vocally as the Dutchman, often lacking the heft to give his performance real muscle, but gave a convincing portrayal nonetheless. His acting, down to his gait and bearing, conveyed a man worn down by despair, yet still carrying a spark of hope. A strong stage presence kept attention firmly on him. Elisabeth Teige gave an impassioned performance as Senta, her projection strong and her ventures into the higher register fearless. Phrasing was reasonably good; one or two moments suggested a touch of breath control, but Teige is a generous singer and one felt the full emotional spectrum in the sensitivity of her performance. Diction, though, was not entirely solid. The chemistry with Paterson was credible and their Act 2 duet was satisfyingly moving.