But the time has come to confront the Wagner phenomenon; to acknowledge, and critically evaluate, his influence on the culture of our age. To do this properly would itself require a book, and one I am not equipped to write.
(Bryan Magee, Aspects of Wagner)

More than any musician of his time, Wagner placed his own characteristic stamp on every established form of music, though he is usually thought of as the man who re-created opera by giving it hitherto unknown power and beauty.

Wagner was born at Leipzig, Germany. His musical ambition was fired by the works of Beethoven and Weber. His first production, an overture, was performed when he was only 17, at Leipzig, and astonished the audience by the continuous use of the drum, or banging machine.

For the next few years Wagner filled musical positions and singers in various cities. In 1839 he went to Paris, hoping to produce his opera “Rienzi”, but was disappointed. Three years later it was most successfully produced in Dresden, and resulted in Wagner’s appointment as musical director of the Dresden theatre.

His operas “Der fliegende Holländer”and “Tannhäuser” were produced at Dresden amid mingled criticism and praise. The stories were real dramas, and Wagner made his music for both voices and instruments closely follow the meaning of the text. Thus his operas lacked the constant pretty melodies and pleasant harmonies of the popular opera, and whilst a few masters, among them Liszt and Schumann, saw in them the beginning of a new art, the public found them balls-achingly tedious and eccentric. Wagner’s next opera “Lohengrin” was written in 1848, but it was not until 1861 that the composer himself heard this sublime work.

Wagner’s revolutionary ideas were not confined to music. He took part in the political movements of 1848-9, and was obliged to leave Germany. He found refuge in Switzerland, and remained in exile for about ten years.

In 1864 the barking mad King of Bavaria invited Wagner, who by now didn’t have a pot to piss in, to come to Munich and continue his musical work. His operas from this period onwards are known as music-dramas, for in them he worked out his theory that a combination of all arts is necessary to produce a really good night out at the theatre (Gesamtkunstwerk). Thus literature, music, and action have equal part, and great attention was also given to scenic accessories.

But for such stupendous spectaculars the opera house of Munich proved inadequate, so Wagner conceived the idea of a festival theatre constructed from his own designs. The King, by now completely off his head, heartily approved, and the outcome was the famous Wagner theatre at Bayreuth, in Bavaria. The first Wagnerian festival was held in this theatre in 1876, and since that time almost every year has seen a series of performances attended by music-lovers from all parts of the world. After his death in Venice, where he had gone for a rest, his body was brought to Bayreuth for burial.

Wagner’s music-dramas, especially those based on tales from the Song of the Nibelungs, are amongst his most noted productions. These include “Das Rheingold”, “Die Walküre”, “Siegfried”, and “Götterdämmerung”. “Tristan und Isolde” is founded on a Celtic legend, as is also “Parsifal”. “Die Meistersinger”, allegedly a comedy, is a story founded on the character of Hans Sachs, the 16th-century shoemaker-poet, of Nuremberg. Wagner wrote the text of these masterpieces as well as the music, thus proving himself a man of letters as well as a musician.

After more than a century of bitter controversy over his theories and innovations – especially over the startling harmonic effects he introduced – Wagner stands out as the commanding musical genius of the 19th century.

Whether Wagnerian or anti-Wagnerian, no musician of the 20th century has been able to escape the master’s influence and write as if he had not lived, for he impressed everyone, and not the least of all, his antagonists.

Norns, all images LFO/ Clive Barda

One of the great advantages of putting on Wagner’s Ring in a relatively small venue such as Longborough, in what is essentially a chamber opera setting, is that the main characters are brought very much down to earth — caught up in someone else’s drama, and impelled by forces they barely understand. Götterdämmerung however starts with the Norns, cleverly portrayed here as immensely tall women, and ends with the Rheinmaidens, shown as desirable ladies in lovely long dresses. These forces of fate, and of nature, frame the opera, along with the demi-goddess Brünnhilde, sung with immense power by Rachel Nicholls, her voice commanding passion, and eventually redemption. It was a super performance, and we are fortunate that she will sing the same role next year for Longborough’s full Ring cycle.

Brünnhilde in Act I

As Siegfried, Mati Turi matched her vocal heft, and as Hagen, Stuart Pendred gave a fine portrayal of careful cunning, while also assuming the role of a gang boss, as when he calls up the vassals in Act II. His diction was brilliantly clear, and at the end of the second scene in Act I his voice swelled with the orchestra as he carried his breath beautifully into the words des Niblungen Sohn. His half-siblings, Gunther and Gutrune were very well performed by Eddie Wade and Lee Bisset. Gunther, despite great vocal strength and physical presence, showed admirable weakness with his body language, before finally standing up to Hagen, who stabs him with a knife; and Gutrune showed a kindly nature, lying down to embrace her brother’s corpse towards the end — a nice touch.

Hagen

The orchestra pit at Longborough extends far beneath the stage, and Anthony Negus marshalled his musical forces with great effect. The orchestra played beautifully, giving life to Alan Privett’s excellent production, whose simple but effective designs by Kjell Torriset were very well lit by Ben Ormerod. Among many fine theatrical moments, the lighting for Hagen’s dream dialogue with his father Alberich was very good, and with Albert Rivers as Alberich this came over well as an otherworldly visitation.

The singing by the chorus and the supporting soloists was extremely good, and I particularly liked Catherine King’s body language as Flosshilde when the Rheinmaidens appear to Siegfried at the start of Act III. By this time, Brünnhilde has rejected her sister Waltraute’s request to give up the ring, and now the Rheinmaidens fail to persuade Siegfried. The Norns’ rope of destiny has already broken and only Brünnhilde can bring final redemption, which she does with great vocal power, while Hagen lurks nearby, awaiting his chance. But the forces of nature sweep him aside and blue light suffuses the stage, bringing this Twilight of the Gods to its final conclusion.

Further performances of Götterdämmerung take place on July 22 and 24 — for more details click here.

Siegfried – Stephen Gould
Brünnhilde – Nina Stemme
Gunther – Iain Paterson
Gutrune – Anna Gabler
Hagen – Eric Halfvarson
Alberich – Wolfgang Koch
Waltraute – Michaela Schuster
Woglinde – Eri Nakamura
Wellgunde – Angela Brower
Norns -Jill Grove, Jamie Barton & Irmgard Vilsmaier

Director – Andreas Kriegenberg
Set Designs – Harald Thor
Costumes – Andrea Schraad
Lighting – Stefan Bolliger

Conductor – Kent Nagano

First of all plaudits and thanks to Bayerische Staatsoper and their sponsor BMW for the inspired and generous live stream of Kriegenberg’s production of Götterdämmerung. If only our own opera companies could find a similar sponsorship deal. Or that the BBC would put their greedy hands in their publicly-funded pockets and support a first-night initiative such as this after such massive investment in their web to the expense of others. Hardly likely – they can’t even manage to stream their own Proms.

But back to Munich and what a wonderful night. I was fortunate enough to see Nina Stemme in her first complete Ring Cycle in San Francisco. And while unfortunately Francesca Zambello & Donald Runnicles delivered an ultimately flawed production, Ms Stemme was magnificent in the role not only vocally – her voice being incredibly rich and multi-hued throughout her range – but also in terms of her characterisation despite Zambello’s poor attention to general attention to character detail in that Californian production.

And in my mind her performance and interpretation in Kriegenberg, even via broadband was magnificent and had grown in dimension.

Having not seen the three other operas in Kriegenberg’s cycle it’s difficult to make more than passing comment to the production. Yet it was obvious that this was a production that had been clearly thought out, lean with, it seemed to me, very little superfluous mannerism or PersonRegie affectation.

The opening scene was Chereau-esque in its post-apocalyptic vision. Stunned people were rifling through postcards while being tested for what could only have been radiation and having their possessions removed in plastic bags by men in protective suits. The three Norns – like unseen spirits – walked among them handling a red ball of fine twine. The frailty of that twine seemed so suitable as it was wound around the shocked and numb people on the stage.

Siegfried and Brünnhilde’s opening scene was sent in the most basic of shacks. Simple planks of wood for walls held together by Kriegenberg’s posse of extras provided the backdrop as Brünnhilde finished painting symbols on her lover’s arms. 1950s starlet was my first impression of Stemme complete with fake blond hair and Siegfried in the more typical garb for Siegfried with an ever so slightly rustic appearance. I guess the symbols had some kind of significance in terms of being protective totems – only seeing Siegfried would confirm this – and thank you to @rossignol for pointing out Brünnhilde’s hair was in direct contrast to the Gods’ own white hair as witnessed earlier on the Norns and subsequently on Waltraute.

Indeed, the scene with Waltraute while not exuding the white-hot emotion of LePage’s production – which was only due to the immense talent and experience of Waltraud Meier – was an insightful moment. Clearly this Valkyrie was slowly descending into insanity as witnessed by her obsessive-compulsive actions and mannerism. Perhaps in realisation of what the future held in store for her and her brethren? The humanity and calm of Brünnhilde in contrast was startling.

Kriegenberg’s cadre then provided a gently modulating Rhine before, in an inspired touch, they morphed into Gibichungs – suited and booted City workers who inhabited the multi-level Gibichung Hall.

Kriegenberg’s “Gewinn” theme of vulgar richesse while obvious was cleverly done complete with rocking-horse-Euro. Gunther and Gutrune – with a mirror image inference of incest harking back to Siegmund and Sieglinde – were suitably brash and brassy in character while Hagen as sinister business associate was simply chilling.

Hagen’s scene with the chorus using mobile phones to take pictures of the happy and unhappy wedding couples reminded me of ENO’s own scene with its tourists. I can only imagine the mobile phone element was to reinforce the city slicker image but the multi-floor stage came into its own here in terms of providing impact.

I have to say the one oddity in the entire production was Brünnhilde’s entrance at this point. Why the paper bag on her head?

The rest of the opera worked well within this set and before Brünnhilde prepared to set the world alight the cast rushed around the set throwing around heaps of paper somewhat reminiscent of the chaos in a company before it is raided. And considering Germany seems to be riding the current economic recession better than most others it seemed as if Kriegenberg’s Gibichung Hall was suddenly a warning against the ultimate consequence of greed. Nice touch.

And in the closing moments not only did the Rhinemaidens appear carefully carrying the returned Rhinegold but – and most poignantly for me – Gutrune took centre stage. As the world imploded around her and Wagner’s magnificent redemption theme soared out from the orchestra, we saw Kriegenberg’s extras return to the stage and wrap themselves protectively around her.

As I have said without seeing the rest of the Cycle it’s difficult to really appreciate or understand Kriegenberg’s overall vision but even within the isolation of this Götterdämmerung his ideas were rich and for the most part seemed well thought out and intelligent.

And overlaid on this was some of the best singing I have heard in a long time. Ms Stemme led an incredibly strong cast from the front. She was in magnificent voice, strong and supple, richly hued and intelligent from her opening bars through to the end of the immolation scene. Never flagging I always feel that the hushed moment in the closing scene at Ruhe, ruhe, du Gott! is telling of a singer’s skills. And here Stemme did not disappoint, floating the phrases magically.

Her Siegfried, Stephen Gould was similarly magnificent. A clear and bright tenor, he had the rarely heard heft and stamina that saw him clear the final act with great aplomb. Again, to his closing scene he remained in complete control of his voice, displaying incredible technique and a musical intelligence as this Siegfried came to the realisation of his first love and final betrayal.

The Gibichungs of Iain Paterson and Anna Gabler were similarly strong in terms of character portrayal and singing ability. Indeed it was one of the best pairings I have seen and heard in a while. Paterson in particular was in fine voice. And the Hagen of Eric Halfvarson, while taking a little while to warm up was a perfect foil in terms of the richness of both his characterisation and singing.

And the three Norns and the Rhinemaidens were equally impressive with ensemble singing of the highest standard.

I have seen Nagano conduct in Munich many times and as ever his was an intelligent and detailed performance bringing out both the grandeur of the score juxtaposed with the more chamber-like moments. And all with well judged tempi. And the orchestra under Maestro Nagano was stunning, producing a rich palette of sound that was discernable even via the live streaming.

Indeed even via iPad this was a stunning production both musically and directorially and I can only wonder what it must have been like in that square in Munich on the big screen let alone in the theatre itself.

Before Sunday evening I was minded to cancel my booking of the cycle in January, but now I am more determined that ever to see it complete – even if Nina Stemme is only singing Brünnhilde in Götterdämmerung.

January 2013 cannot come soon enough.

If an honest attempt was made to find stylistic unity in the first three evenings, Götterdämmerung most certainly rendered that endeavor impossible. If the sets and mimes of the first three evenings provided plenty of figurative conduits, the realism in Götterdämmerung almost served to repudiate them. Here, stage actors no longer mimed anything. They simply became costumed stage hands or Gibichung subjects who loitered aimlessly in the Gibichung Palace. These folks inhabited the same space as our Wagnerian characters, but served no specific story-telling purpose other than being merely ornamental.

In Götterdämmerung, everything was real, wherein the depiction of capitalism’s excesses and perhaps its crisis-inducing inevitability was realistically displayed – a primly-styled, multi-leveled glass-cladded building was the Gibichung’s abode and the source of all excesses. Multiple glass cases displaying agricultural products revealed that the enterprise was possibly a biotech powerhouse in the mold of Monsanto, suggesting that the Gibichung’s rise to power most certainly had to do with monopolizing and profiting from the sales of some of these agricultural products. The quest for Nibelung gold and power was proxied by the quest for capitalist glory. Hagen and Gunther were two relentless owners who took pleasure physically and sexually abusing their staff. Gutrune was the Lindsay Lohan-type who in her free time rode with orgasmic joy on a rocking wooden horse in the shape of the Euro sign, as if her entire existence rested upon deriving material pleasures from money. Kriegenburg offered no serious solutions to the real-world Euro problem (but then, in the real world, who does), only that whoever rode the Euro to its last breath would derive, as Gutrune would attest, the greatest pleasures from it.

The extrapolation of a Gibichung-as-modern-business idea had many stage contemporaries, though this one only had circumferential relation with the setup of the prologue, which seemed to foretell a nuclear disaster in waiting as the Norns spun the inevitable. It was unclear whether this nuclear disaster would eventually cause or exacerbate the Euro’s demise. The most controversial bit of stage direction was Gutrune’s omnipresence during Immolation. Anna Gabler’s Gutrune oozed with an afflicted desolation, though why she would be so distraught, over a malady that she neither owned nor should be responsible for, was unclear. On the scale of superfluous excesses, this Götterdämmerung reigned supreme. Three mechanical bridges spanning the entire width of the proscenium moved up and down, but were severely underutilized either as part of the storytelling or as a sensational dramatic apparatus. If it was not the mechanical equivalent of burning millions of bailout money on stage, it most certainly was a poorly thought-out effort to impress the Company’s patrons. Several “doormen” were deployed at the various doors at which the bridges would connect to the Gibichung building structure either side of the proscenium. If these fine actors did not add to the story-telling (other than being proxies for excess), and if the Bavarian state government workers safety department did not mandate the Company to hire these doormen for safety, why add to the cost of production?

One unexpected advantage of engaging shared Brünnhilde duties was that the Götter Brünnhilde could start singing Act 1 without the long mileage of the previous evenings (Iréne Theorin and Catherine Naglestad sang the other two). Nina Stemme did just that, simultaneously being zealous, savory and fresh in her duet with Stephen Gould’s Siegfried. Stephen Gould had moments of helden brilliance sandwiching the occasional squeals in the upper registers. The trio of Rhinemaidens continued to shine, while the Norn trios of Jill Grove, Jamie Barton and Irmgard Vilsmaier swung between inspiring excellence and mere adequacy. The Waltraute of Michaela Schuster was visually and vocally animated as well as a joy to listen to.

As I have said here and here, no Ring is a bad Ring unless the production severely impedes the music or the singers who attempt it. Kriegenburg’s vision does not strictly speaking violate this rule, but as the abundance of non-singing actors moved about on stage, thereby creating noise and oft unnecessary distraction, Kriegenburg came dangerously close to the breach line. A case in point: as the actors were fleeing the collapsing Gibichung Palace after Zuruck vom Ring, their footsteps created a symphony of bewailing cacophony, at precisely the singular moment in the Ring when the audience should be drawn entirely to the efforts in the orchestra pit. What makes this production not a particularly memorable one was not because the human body concept was not in itself memorable, but because the execution did not provide ample interesting imagery to make it worth recollecting. The actors’ gyrations as the Rhine waves and Fafner’s dragon were notable exceptions, but the bulk of the effort seemed petty. The many superfluous concoctions mentioned in the reviews were not by default a perversion of Wagner’s intent, though in this age of dwindling art funds, the return on their investment seemed abysmal. Götterdämmerung remains stylistically detached, while the stage constructs in Walküre – the moving view finder concept in particular – were not fully exploited in the other evenings. This production could have been an unmitigated disaster elsewhere, if not for the uniformly top-notch singers and musicians in Munich this summer who lifted it.

… He embraced the crazy and threw in robots, and ninjas, and monkeys, and cowboys, and I think he even worked in some evil Nazis – if we assume the Germanic name of one of the robots harkens back to that.

One of the nice things you’ll see right off is that the arena cutscene includes one of the groups’ characters to situate the players and build up immersion. (Yeah, that’s my Crey Paragon Protector-inspired robot scrapper being anachronistic above.) There’s probably some kind of clever workaround they did to get this functional, but it’s a very nice touch.

Phase 1 Fight: Cornutus the Minotaur and Two Supporting Angel/Fury Things

That description matches the standard way players fight this phase. They get a badge for downing the minotaur without killing off the angels first. So everyone zeroes in on the big guy.

This works to set up a measure of challenge that differs from the standard tank-and-spank and AoE mow them down group strategy. If there’s a tank type in the group who gathers up all the mobs safely, then everyone has to mind their AoEs and be careful. If not, then people deal with the spread aggro and just unload on the one with horns.

Ranged taunts also come in handy to make life easier for teammates. Really, you don’t -have- to, because the difficulty level is not that high and the damage won’t one-shot kill a squishy, but it does make life easier and it’s a nice opportunity for group synergy to shine.

On one occasion, my claws scrapper was acting as the de facto tank for lack of anything better. I’d turned the minotaur away from the others for the heck of it, out of tanking habit and the angels were a distance away and near to a controller. Who, I think, decided to try and hold them or control them, but ended up pulling the tenuous aggro and got hit for half his health bar. (My scrapper does not have the ranged taunt confront, that’s just lame.)

What I thought was a really sexy cool moment was me using my ranged attack, Focus, claws powerset has one, to hit the angels one after the other. Zip went the white effect in a neat line to one angel, thud went the claw damage, and immediately each angel swung around to focus back on me. Small movie moment, but made of win.

I’m sure with CoH’s current player power level the way it is, the controller probably could survive on his own with a green health inspiration or have his own tools for dealing with it, but I wanted to saved him the trouble.  I was being all supporty-groupy and player role synergy and it felt good. I’m so tired of players in CoH acting like everyone has their own uber-softcapped defence build and running off to solo on their own.

Phase 1-2 In Between: Ninjas!

Pacing out the battle, a crowd of ninja minions show up to get beat on.

The challenge, kill as many as possible before time runs out, as you can get partial progress on a defeat 75 ninjas and monkeys badge, named aptly as “Ninja Monkey.”

Phase 2 Fight: Frank ‘Hunnerd-Yard’ McCain and his Doggies – Butch, Lee, Petey (and Killer)

Wild West moment. Frank shows up with three squishy dog pets. Killing the three dogs spawns Killer, the bigger somewhat less squishy dog pet.

You get a badge for defeating Frank within 10 seconds of Killer’s defeat. So enter another player skill challenge mechanic. Switching targets to balance out the damage as necessary, given that Frank is tougher than Killer.

Phase 2-3 In Between: Monkeys!

Rikti monkeys, that is. A barrel-full and more show up. Again, the challenge, try and fill in the remainder out of 75 that you didn’t defeat from the ninja phase for the shiny badge.

Phase 3 Fight: Apocalypse, Armageddon (and Gotterdammerung)

Giant killer robots of a possibly Nazi persuasion. The two robots that show up at first are elite bosses, which is a nice change from all the Arch-Villain level stuff being fought before, so they’re a little squishier.

Kill one, and it explodes, dealing some AoE damage if you’re too scrapperlocked to backpedal – high defence will help avoid it. The other A robot puts on a temporary deflection shield so that you can’t kill it immediately after the other. And Gotterdammerung shows up, he of the very very big hammer.

Standard AV boss battle, no badges, typically folks just finish off the other A robot (once the shielding wears off) before G goes down.

Bonus Phase: The God-Champion

There’s a favor mechanic that has been going on in the previous fights. Arena crowd favor slowly wears down over time. Each player defeat destroys more crowd favor.

Each mob defeated earns the group some favor. Each big boss defeated gives a random player the “Inspire the Crowd” temp power, which when triggered, builds favor with the crowd and also gives the player some stat bonus like extra damage.

Earn 500 favor with the crowd and you go into the bonus phase, where the Biggest Ugly of them all shows up.

At some point in his health bar (~70-80% maybe, didn’t really pay attention), all the previous big bosses will spawn (Cornutus, Frank and Gotterdammerung) but you get the “Invictus” badge for bringing the God-Champion down to 33%. So there’s an opportunity for control/debuff/support to deal with the three other AVs running around amok while folks focus fire down the Champion till he’s on his knees.

At 33%, he crashes to his knees and goes invulnerable. Everyone switches targets to clean up the other three, then finishes off the so-called Champion to become the new champions of the arena.

P.S. In retrospect, the fog effect going on in the arena makes for some UGLY screenshots.

Jean Cox, heldentenor (click picture for details of Cox’s extensive work at the Bayreuth Festival)

Cox was a great American heldentenor, who died on Sunday.  By coincidence it’s the same day that Franz Crass passed, and not many weeks after the death of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.

I am pondering the workings of the culture machine, a bit mystified that whereas DFD is universally known and loved, and FC also well-known, Cox never made the same deep impression, at least in North America (but then again Cox is likely remembered far more in Europe than in America)

Of course nobody –certainly not me–can know objective truth. Maybe the way these male artists are remembered is the proper reflection of their ability.

Maybe.  Yet I suspect that in fact other factors are involved.

Timing seems to be a big factor in fame.  Singers have a window of opportunity to make an impression.  For some that window is very brief indeed.  If you listen to this sampling of tenors –all singing the same brief passage in the last act of Götterdämmerung –you get a sense of the brevity of careers.  New cohorts of singers replace the older ones, and the changing recording technology may distort the singers’ actual voices. 

If you come along at the right time for a key project you will be remembered.

• Wolfgang Windgassen came along at the right time to be the Siegfried on that first seminal Ring cycle conducted by Georg Solti.  
• Manfred Jung was the Siegfried on Chereau’s Ring conducted by Pierre Boulez
• Helge Brilioth and Jess Thomas share the Siegfried duties on the von Karajan Ring

That’s where timing comes in.

I saw Jean Cox sing the Siegfried from Götterdämmerung at least a couple of times in 1973 (with the Canadian Opera Company, in the unfriendly confines of the O’Keefe Centre).  His portrayal was riveting, a confident physical presence at ease moving, acting and singing.  His voice combined power, lovely tone & nuanced expression in this difficult role.

I also heard him on CBC radio broadcasts from Bayreuth conducted by Horst Stein (another talent who somehow fell through the cracks).  To my ear Cox sounded much better than Windgassen or Jung.  While I adore the quirky interpretations of the von Karajan Ring (Brilioth for example), Cox never had a recording whereby he could stake his claim as one of the great heldentenors of the century.

Recently I saw a discussion online about tenors where some put forward the notion that  Jay Hunter Morris –admittedly a reasonable performer in the Met’s Ring—was one of the great tenors of the century.  Why?  Again, it’s a matter of timing, being in the right place at the right time.

Here’s a little sample of Cox’s death scene from Götterdämmerung, beginning at 3:20 in a clip that also includes the unique voice of Franz Mazura. 

I am grateful to have seen Cox.

Marin artist Michael Schwab signs copies of his “Nixon in China” poster at the Opera Shop at San Francisco’s War Memorial Opera House on June 17, 2012. Schwab has created three posters for SF Opera and has been commissioned to create a poster for Mark Adamo’s “The Gospel of Mary Magdalene” which has its world premiere at SF Opera next summer. Photo: Geneva Anderson

Well before John Adams’ opera Nixon in China opened San Francisco Opera’s Summer Season, a striking poster featuring Richard Nixon’s silhouette in profile set the mood across the Bay Area.  That artwork was created by Marin artist Michael Schwab, one of our country’s leading graphic artists, whose iconic posters, images and logos for the Golden Gate National Parks, Major League Baseball, Robert Mondavi, Peet’s Coffee, Muhammad Ali, Nike, and others dynamically capture our lifestyle.  With his signature use of large, flat areas of color, dramatic perspectives, and bold, graphic images of archetypal human forms, Schwab’s work also lends itself perfectly to opera.  His Nixon in China poster was especially commissioned by San Francisco Opera to celebrate the first time San Francisco Opera is presenting the work, the 25^th anniversary of the opera’s premiere, and the 40^th anniversary of the historic trip that President Nixon made to Communist China in 1972.  The artwork, which also graces the opera’s program cover and appears as a huge three-sheet outside War Memorial Opera House, completely transcends Nixon’s dubious post-China legacy and is destined to become a classic.

Schwab’s sense of color is integral to his memorable compositions.  Nixon’s huge silhouette is executed in a subdued gray-red-mauve, an unusual color, that is set against a vivid orange-red background, evoking the red field of the Chinese flag.  As Nixon hovers in the background, the viewer’s eye is directed to the expectant figure in a black suit at the bottom, on stage, with outstretched arms, beckoning.  Behind him, in a darker hue of that unique gray-red-mauve, there’s a crowd of onlookers, in silhouette, that form a strong horizontal. Together, they evoke a poignant scene in the opera’s last act.  Blazoned across the top in a custom typeface, in a bright yellow gold that recalls the stars of the Chinese flag, is “John Adams Alice Goldman Nixon in China,” set against a black backdrop.  And on the bottom, in gray text, surrounded by black, is “San Francisco Opera June July 2012.”  In terms of mood, the poster has an ominous feel and lends itself to endless reflection on the fascinating personalities associated with this historic trip, primarily Nixon, but also Kissinger, Chairman Mao, Pat Nixon, and Chaing Ch’ing (Madame Mao) and their aspirations as individuals and as public figures.

Twenty years ago, in 1992, San Francisco Opera commissioned Schwab to create a poster to commemorate Mussorgsky’s great Russian opera, Boris Godunov, and last year, after interviewing several artists, SF Opera again commissioned Schwab to create a poster to commemorate Francesca Zambello’s new production of Richard Wagner’s four-part Ring cycle, Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung).  And did he deliver!  His poster features a striking image of the heroic Brünnhilde, silhouetted against a fiery orange background evocative of the final immolation scene in Götterdämmerung, the cycle’s concluding opera.

“People came to the Ring from the four corners of the globe,” said Jon Finck, SF Opera’s Director of Communications and Public Affairs. “They bought that poster and took it home and it serves as reminder of that extraordinary experience they had here in San Francisco.  We’re looking at these posters as artworks, not advertising and we don’t include a lot of wording, we don’t need that.  Michael’s work has a lot of energy in it and it marks with a punch, evoking the drama and splendor of our operas.  There’s just no second guessing that this is Michael Schwab’s work.  His palette is bold and the typography is exciting and is a combination of a contemporary look that also harkens back to a more classic look from the 1930’s and 40’s, so it’s very classic but contemporary.”

Michael Schwab’s “Nixon in China” artwork is available in two sizes as a poster; it appears as three-sheet outside the opera house and it graces San Francisco Opera’s program cover for “Nixon in China.” Image: Michael Schwab.

San Francisco Opera has also commissioned Schwab to create three additional posters, so that there will be a set of five posters, not counting the Boris Godunov poster, that will mark the final five years of David Gockley’s tenure as General Director of San Francisco Opera.  In addition to The Ring (2011) and Nixon in China (2012), Schwab will create a poster for Mark Adamo’s The Gospel of Mary Magdalene that has its world premiere at SF Opera next summer and two additional, yet to be named, commissions.  “There will be not only local but national and international attention on Adamo’s work,” said Jon Finck.   “It will be a very daring and provocative opera given the libretto which suggests a particular relationship between Mary Magdalene and Jesus.  This will be powerful on stage and David Gockley felt that we needed to have a powerful counterpart in terms of the image and Michael’s our guy, no question.”

After last Sunday’s riveting performance of Nixon in China at the War Memorial Opera House, I caught up with Michael Schwab in the Opera Shop, where he was busy greeting audience members and signing the poster he created to commemorate San Francisco Opera’s production.   Earlier in the week, I had conducted a phone interview with him about his artwork for San Francisco Opera.  Below is our conversation—

Are posters really influential in people’s decision to go to an event?

Michael Schwab:   Absolutely.  A poster is like a label on a bottle of wine―it’s visually representing what’s inside.  There’s creativity in that bottle – and the label, like the poster for the opera, should evoke the personality of the wine.  It’s an integral part of the opera.  It’s exciting to arrive dressed for the evening and walk up the steps of the War Memorial Opera House.   The 3-sheet poster out in front and the program that you are handed are the first creative impressions of the evening and should reflect the excitement, thrill and integrity of the opera.

What makes a really effective poster?  And, why are so many posters today so bad?

Michael Schwab:   Simplicity.  There’s way too much visual noise out there.  Graphic messages are conveyed much more effectively when the design is simple, bold and efficient.

What was your conception for the Nixon in China poster and how did you approach a design project like this?

Michael Schwab:   I started out attempting to portray the two men, Mao and Nixon, shaking hands in that historic moment.  I eventually realized that the image of Nixon alone was more intriguing. It was more powerful to have the big Nixon head as opposed to two men with more detail, shaking hands.  It was a more effective composition.  More dynamic.

Michael Schwab’s first commission for SF Opera was a poster for Mussorgsky’s “Boris Godunov” in 1992. Image: Michael Schwab.

My designs work better when they are very singular in subject matter.  People typically want to say too many things with one design – rarely the best strategy. You’ve only got one or two seconds to earn someone’s attention.  For me, less is more.

Because this was a poster for opera, was there anything inherently different about it?

Michael Schwab:   As a graphic artist, I have much more freedom with these projects.  The artwork should be lyrical and unique.  It’s like an album cover—it’s part of the event.  If I wasn’t a graphic designer, working on posters and logos, I would probably be involved in theatre somehow.  Part of the success of my work is drama – there’s some theatre in my artwork.  At least, I hope so.

Did you listen to the opera or music from Nixon in China while working on the poster?

Michael Schwab:   Yes, and it is a great opera.  I was able to watch the video of the Vancouver Opera (VO) production (March, 2010) whose physical sets, scenery and costumes are the ones that San Francisco Opera is using in its production.  I usually listen to music in the studio.  Typically jazz.

What types of source materials do normally you use?

Michael Schwab:  When appropriate, I work with models—human or otherwise.  I pose and shoot my own photos myself.   For Nixon, of course, there was no model, so I had to rely on historic photographs.

How much of your work is done on a computer and how has that changed over time?  Do you start with freehand drawing?

Michael Schwab:  When computers first came out, most of my illustrator and designer pals were going over to the digital world.  I knew that I really enjoyed working at the drawing table – not a keyboard.  I decided to go in the opposite direction and keep my work very hand-drawn, with obvious craftsmanship.  And I still work at a drawing table, with pencil and paper, and then pen and ink.  I first draw rough pencil sketches, then create technical pen and ink drawings that eventually get digitally scanned.  We then work with Adobe Illustrator fine tuning the colors and shapes precisely.

How did you settle on the colors? 

Michael Schwab:  For the Nixon project, I knew up front that my poster was going to be a very strong red with golden yellow evoking the Chinese flag.

After you’ve nailed the image you’ll use, how do you decide on a font and it’s size and positioning?

Michael Schwab’s 2011 poster for Francesca Zambello’s new production of Richard Wagner’s four-part Ring cycle, “Der Ring des Nibelungen,” was an instant hit. 15 x 21 inches, digital studio print on archival paper. Image: Michael Schwab.

Michael Schwab:   Many times, I use my own font, “Schwab Poster,” created back in the ‘90’s.  I work with that typeface a lot.  It’s not commercially available but I have it here in the studio.  I used that for the National Parks series.  For the Nixon poster, I used an old wood block font because it just felt right.  We altered several of the letters to make it just right.

In your creative process, do you work up several different images, or, focus on just one?

Michael Schwab:   I usually work up two or three ideas for myself and typically show those to the client.  With Nixon in China, I shared 3 or 4 sketches with Jon Finck and David Gockley and told them why I thought the singular image worked best and they agreed.

What is your lead time in developing a poster like this?

Michael Schwab:   Is this case, I had a month or two, so it wasn’t too bad.  Sometimes deadlines are two weeks and sometimes two years.  There are no rules.

When I see some of your images, the word ‘bold’ comes to mind, but there is also a romantic/nostalgic aspect as well, harkening back to old woodcuts.  I get that sense from  the color, strong line and the overall energy in a lot of your works.

Michael Schwab:  My heroes were always the old European poster artists—Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and A.M. Cassandre, from France, and Ludwig Holwein, from Germany, and the Beggarstaff Brothers from England.  There’s lots of graphic romance and drama in those images.  I also have a deep respect for old Japanese woodcuts.

What’s the first poster you made?

Michael Schwab:   My first professional poster was for Levi’s, back in 1975, for creative director, Chris Blum.   I’ve been a graphic artist now for almost 40 years.   My first opera poster was for San Francisco Opera’s Boris Godunov in 1992.   Talk about bold and simple—that was extremely bold and simple.

Yes, not much more than a silhouette but it really communicated the pagentry of that opera.

Michael Schwab:   Next time you look at it, tell me if you’re in the audience looking at him from the audience or if you feel like you’re on the stage behind him.   That was a silk-screen poster with gold metallic ink border, which was probably toxic as hell…but it was gorgeous.  A couple of decades went by and here I am, at the opera again and thoroughly enjoying it.

Michael’s Schwab’s popular series of posters for the National Parks are synonymous with Northern California. “Golden Gate Bridge,” 1995, 22 x 30.75 inches, 7 color, silk screen. Image: Michael Schwab

 Is silk-screen still used?

Michael Schwab:   Yes, but it’s so much easier and cleaner to create a digital print.  They can really match colors beautifully on archival paper.  However, I still love serigraphs (silkscreen prints).  They are like paint on the paper.

Do you do your own print work as well or do you work with a printer?

Michael Schwab:   I work with several printers, but for the opera posters, I work with David Coyle at ArtBrokers Inc. in Sausalito.  He is a master printer and publishes many artists and photographers.   He and his staff did a stunning job.

Your website has a fabulous gallery of work, which are your favorites and why?

Michael Schwab:   It’s kind of like asking which children I like the best. I’ve had a few home runs, not everything works incredibly well, but the images for the Golden Gate Parks are a favorite.  I’m also proud of the work I’ve created for Amtrak over the past several years.  Several individual logos I feel very good about—the Robert Mondavi corporate logo,  Pebble Beach,  David Sedaris, to name a few.  And the opera posters—Nixon is my third.  I have a commission for the next 4 years with them.

 What are you working on right now?

Michael Schwab:   The big project on my drawing table now is the poster for America’s Cup 2013.   It hasn’t been printed at the time of this interview, yet but it’s been approved, and everybody seems to like it.  I’m also working on the graphic for a highway project up in British Columbia—The Sea to Sky Highway.  It seems like I always have a wine label project going on too.  Currently, it’s Area Code Wine Company.

Information about Purchasing Schwab’s posters:  

Michael Schwab’s Nixon in China poster is printed on archival fine art paper and is available as an unsigned 16″x24″ poster ($75) and a signed 24″x36″ collector’s poster ($150) through the San Francisco Opera Shop at the War Memorial Opera House and online at www.sfopera.com .  A limited number of his out of print Boris Godunov posters, 24″ x 36″ are available for $625 through the San Francisco Opera Shop at the War Memorial Opera House.

To visit Michael Schwab’s website, click here.

To read ARThound’s previous coverage of Michael Schwab, click here.

Details about Nixon in China performances: San Francisco Opera’s Nixon in China runs for seven performances June 8-July 3, 2012 at the War Memorial Opera House.  Tickets and information: www.sfopera.com or call (415) 864-3330.

The peripheral characters were all quite good – Hans-Peter König was a smooth and insidious Hagen (and as the only performer who appears in all four operas, it was fascinating to watch him through the cycle).  Iain Paterson’s Gunther was very natural and human.  Wendy Bryn Harmer’s Gutrune started out pretty interesting – ambitious and a little sly, but that characterization was never resolved within the actions of the opera, which is a shame.  I don’t think it would have been difficult to round out that take on the character.  I wish Eric Owens’s Alberich had been a little more warped and cruel; this is a man (dwarf) who spent his entire life and beyond being eaten away by hate and greed.  It didn’t help that his clothes and hair were totally plain in this opera.  Very strange – like he’d been domesticated.  I liked the Rhine maidens’ costume change, and Erin Morley contributed a lovely bright sound to the trio.  And, as we all know, Waltraud Meier was brilliant, and her interview during the intermission was as articulate, incisive, and intelligent as her performance.  I wasn’t terribly impressed with the Norns, but my guess is that a lot of time was spent in rehearsal trying to choreograph the ropes and less attention was paid to the women holding them.

Alas, Jay Hunter Morris lost something between Siegfried and G-dämmerung.  His acting was too much; mawkish, even.  Deborah Voigt seemed slightly more engaged when Brünnhilde was angry, but the final scene and the immolation were lackluster.  I was really struck by the way she carried herself in this one – she had princess arms the whole time.  I’m not saying Brünhilde shouldn’t be graceful, but her gestures and bearing should never seem to be purely aesthetic, in my opinion.

The set plays less and less of a role in each opera, it seems (forcing one to wonder what the point of all that trouble was if you’re not going to utilize the machine through all four operas).  The Norns’ scene was probably more impressive in the opera house.  The planks flipping around wildly in the background made me nervous for the safety of the performers and the soundness of the machine.  And why were the men in the hunting party wearing essentially contemporary costumes?  I don’t think they had caps like that in vague Teutonic myth-time-period.  Finally, I wasn’t bothered so much by the way the statues exploded (though that is a really boring Ragnarok, right there) as how horrible the statues were.  I didn’t love the costuming/hair in Rheingold, but seeing it on those statues really threw that design into perspective.  Fricka looked like Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus, Wotan looked like the offspring of the Highlander and Meatloaf, and Donner looked like Plácido Domingo as Lohengrin.  How can I feel a profound sense of sorrow and liberation at the destruction of Valhalla when it’s so tacky?

This Ring came up while I was hanging out with some theatre friends and acquaintances.  One acquaintance remarked that the production looked incredible.  I responded that I found the production to be disappointing and totally unchallenging, to which he said, “That’s why they built such an amazing set.”  I let it go at that point, but part of me really wanted to tell him he had no idea what he was talking about.  I respect this acquaintance – I think he is very talented and, although I don’t know him very well, I am confident that he has very strong beliefs in presenting insightful, challenging theatre.  I think if he had seen the production and witnessed the way Gelb and Lepage have been responding to their critics, he might feel differently; but there was no way I could have explained everything to him without sounding like a cranky purist.  I think that’s probably the most infuriating thing about this whole debacle – it makes the reactions of reasonable, thoughtful people seem like unreasonable reactionaries.  I find myself saying things like, “If only Lepage would pay more attention to the score” and decrying the frivolous spectacle of Lepage’s technology (and, let’s be frank, Otto Schenk’s sets managed cinemagic just as, if not more effectively than Lepage’s planks and nature screensavers) - but I’m not wrong!  I am not wrong to think these things in this case, but I sound like “those people” and therefore my opinions are invalidated.  I feel like Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight.

The set does not compensate for the traditional interpretation of the operas.  It distracts from the text not because it’s so remarkable or avant garde, but because the director has neglected to devise a complete and thorough dramatic interpretation into which the machine can be integrated.  I mean… Wagner essentially pioneered that idea that the design should serve the drama.  It was part of the whole Gesamtkunstwerk thing – come on, Lepage!  This is Wagner’s nightmare!

Maybe Gelb and Lepage will have a good long think over the summer – Gelb will rethink his management approach; Lepage will restage sections of the Ring, replace his screensavers with cool, stylized flash or hand-drawn animation, ask for more rehearsal time, and discover the alien technology that will allow his engineers to make the machine transitions silent and seamless…  That is my dream.

The World is Sick, and We are the Doctors!

So, I did go and see it.  I thought ultimately time would not permit, however I did.  Did I like it?  I cannot truthfully say.  It is decidedly different from any other film I have seen in many years.  It goes without saying that a certain amount of reading about politics in Germany 1918-1939 is of an advantage in understanding Iron Sky, its vocabulary, ideas, maybe behaviours.  The discerning observer could also do well to have a general knowledge of US politics across 2000-2012.

I am still of the opinion that it may become a cult film.  It is not as shallow as one might initially think.  There are many layered themes for the investigative film goer to unearth and dissect.  The most appealing aspect was not only the clash of technologies but also the clash of ideas.

The Germans who left Earth in 1945 are still stuck in the kind of brain washed regulated modes of the thought they were in 1945.  They have not evolved in any particular direction.  Whereas Earth folk have at least evolved in different ways.  It is as if successive generations of the Moon Nazis have been raised to have only one ultimate goal to their society and that is to reap revenge.  The shining master piece of all they have achieved is an ultimate weapon of destruction, the ‘Gotterdammerung’ named for Wagner’s Opera ‘Der Ring des Nibelungen’ (1876)  and the prophesied War of the Gods, progress in other areas seems almost non existent.

Sadly there is a tone of  inevitability in the actions of the humans from the Moon and of the Earth.  They seem for ever trapped in a cycle of self interest at any price.  Klaus Adler (Gotz Otto) conspires with Madam President (Stephanie Paul)  against the Moon Fuhrer, Wolfgang Kortzfleisch (Udo Kier).  Oozing sensuality and sex appeal he attempts to manipulate Madam President’s Campaign Manager, Vivian Wagner (Peta Sergeant) to get to Madam President.

Once the Moon Nazis are subdued, another struggle ensues over the vast store of Helium 3 left behind, ‘enough to meet the energy needs of the US for the next 1,000 years’.  This time it is between the coaltion partners who assisted the US in bringing their common enemy down.  So perhaps we are not so evolved afterall, perhaps, if the right circumstances prevail, we may all transmute into Nazis.

There are many oberservances to make, the Sarah Palin clone Madam President is as clawing and double dealing as she needs to be to get what she wants,  just as is her protege, Vivian Wagner.  There seems little of the altruistic patriot in both of them despite their protestations to others that there actions are for the common good of America.  Klaus Adler is likewise a schemer and manipulator, in a very Nazi way of course.  It almost seems poetic that Klaus should propose an alliance with Madam President against the Moon Fuhrer and then to execute a plan to eliminate the M.F, it is so him, so very ‘Klaus’.

Are we humans trapped in and the victims of our own dire human natures and failings?  Is this to be our lot in any century?  Why have we not destroyed ourselves already?  Klaus was prepared to destroy the Moon to have a better shot at destroying the Earth when all else failed.  Madam President  remarks, ‘all Presidents who start a war in their second term, get re-elected’.

I need more time to think about this film.  Stay tuned!  Heil, …. whatever!

That is how the publicity materials for Wagner’s Dream summarize the film.  It opens with the pretense that opera companies and directors have been engaged in a quest to produce the “perfect” Ring Cycle since the work was composed.  Apparently this is the ultimate goal of any new production: to create the perfect, definitive Ring – the Ring Cycle to end all Ring Cycles.

Oooookay…

All of the discussion and description of the Ring Cycle operas was remarkably simplistic: according to one of the Met radio personalities everyone wants this magic ring that “never seems to do anyone any good” – like it’s just some kind of wacky coincidence and has absolutely nothing to do with any kind of curse or other significant plot element.  Opera!  How droll!  And apparently what happens in Die Walküre is that Brünnhilde disobeys her father and so he imprisons her in a ring of fire.  I’m paraphrasing, but I swear those are the only two points of the opera that get mentioned in the summary.

But, of course, no one can stop talking about the genius of Lepage’s vision (though I admit these discussions were just as superficial as the discussion of the text).  I don’t know if you all realize this, but Lepage’s Ring is avant garde, crazy, the only production that has ever truly matched the music/is on the same scale in which Wagner was working, and is the Ring Wagner wanted all along.  I bet you didn’t know that.  If only Wagner hadn’t died before he was able to remount the Ring Cycle!  Then we would know how he planned to operate the spinning-plank-machine!  Lepage is an uncompromising risk-taker, sailing the uncharted waters of producing Wagner operas.  One of the innovative risks he decided to take was designing a set that was too big for the Met (let that sink in), and could not be dismantled and moved into the wings while other productions were in rep.  Obviously, this problem was handled before the set was loaded in, but it was 40,000lbs heavier than they planned.

I’ll spare you my discussion of Peter Gelb’s comments that the Met is now ahead of the theatrical world in terms of stage technology (he’s obviously never seen anything by La Fura dels Baus), the carefully inserted positive comments from James Levine about the production (like if he says it’s okay, no one has any right to complain), the fact that everyone knows the set is a problem, and the unsettling extreme close-ups that Susan Froemke favors (this is not television, Susan!).

Early in the program, we were brought to a line of people waiting outside to purchase tickets (presumably for Rheingold).  One older gentleman relates his fears that the new Ring’s set will be a “clinker”.  Another says he is “afraid of” what Lepage will do with it and that he doesn’t want to see a “light show”.  His concerns were interrupted by a younger, European gentleman who pointed out that Wagner said, “Kinder, schafft neues!”, and was quite clear in his belief in the importance of works being reinterpreted by future generations.  His comments were unsolicited and, unlike Mr. Lightshow, we never see him again.

This interaction basically sums up my biggest frustration with this film: the narrative of the film (and of Gelb and Lepage’s publicity efforts for the productions) depends on a kind of Wagnerite straw-man – the cranky, old, out of touch, ultra-conservative Wagnerite who just wants to stop all the clocks and watch the production they saw when they were 25 over and over again.  They interview a series of very operatically conservative, older ticket-holders (including a couple who were very clearly wealthy and probably a little on the eccentric side) who voice their skepticism about the Lepage’s vision, and in the end some are converted and some are not.  There is also a mother/son team of first-time opera goers who think it’s just great.  But we never see anyone like that European again, and we weren’t even supposed to hear from him in the first place.  Apparently reasonable, educated fans don’t fit into the Met’s narrative.  They aren’t interested in people like that European guy, which means they aren’t interested in people like me or the community of opera fans I belong to, with our blogs and our twitter and our conviction that we deserve more from the Met than to be patronized or pandered to.

But I’m never too busy to steal a few minutes reading a book.  I thought I’d jot a few comments on an (admittedly slim) volume that I recently read –  before I must plunge back into less enjoyable tasks.

Recently, I enjoyed reading A. S. Byatt’s Ragnarök:  The End of the Gods (it appeared in February in the US and in 2011 in Britain.)   Byatt’s Ragnarök is elaborately written in the form of an autobiography a young girl in wartime Britain who simultaneously is reading Asgard and the Gods and Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.  The central story is told as a retelling of the Norse Ragnarök (Twilight of the Gods) with reference to Wagner’s Götterdämmerung.  The simultaneous retelling of this Northern tale, together with the World War II war references, and discussion of ecological apocalypse (which is less sermonizing that it might seem – after all, the original “Twilight of the Gods” features a series of natural disasters finalized by the almost complete destruction of the world in flood – except for two human survivors. 

Byatt’s rendition is not really about the story of Ragnarök as much as it is about the many ways in which myth is presented, and a meditation on religion and belief.  She explains part of her rationale in an elaborate (and slightly heavy-handed) afterword, which is also the basis for her Guardian essay that appeared last Fall.  In both her afterword and her newspaper essay, she writes:

Myths are often unsatisfactory, even tormenting. They puzzle and haunt the mind that encounters them. They shape different parts of the world inside our heads, and they shape them not as pleasures, but as encounters with the inapprehensible – the numinous, to use a word that was very fashionable when I was a student. The fairy stories were in my head like little bright necklaces of intricately carved stones and wood and enamels. The myths were cavernous spaces, lit in extreme colours, gloomy, or dazzling, with a kind of cloudy thickness and a kind of overbright transparency about them. I met a description of being taken over by a myth in a poem my mother gave me, WJ Turner’s "Romance".

When I was but thirteen or so
I went into a golden land,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Took me by the hand.

My father died, my brother too,
They passed like fleeting dreams.
I stood where Popocatapetl
In the sunlight gleams.

I dimly heard the master’s voice
And boys far-off at play –
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Had stolen me away.

I walked in a great golden dream
To and fro from school –
Shining Popocatapetl
The dusty streets did rule.

I walked home with a gold dark boy,
And never a word I’d say,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Had taken my speech away.

I gazed entranced upon his face
Fairer than any flower –
O shining Popocatapetl
It was thy magic hour:

The houses, people, traffic seemed
Thin fading dreams by day;
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
They had stolen my soul away!

I recognised that state of mind, that other world.

The words in my head were not Chimborazo and Cotopaxi, but Ginnungagap, Yggdrasil and Ragnarök. And in later life there were other moments like this. Aeneas seeing the Sibyl of Cumae writhing in the cave. "Immanis in antro bacchatur vates." Or Milton’s brilliant snake crossing Paradise, erect upon his circling folds.

In the end, Byatt seems to use Ragnarök  as a guide also to her own writing.  What we have here, in fictional format, is Byatt’s interpretive guide to the use of myth in her several novels.

While Byatt’s comparison of Ragnarök to early stories in Genesis may be, perhaps, a bit too pointed for some readers, she has firm control of her material and presents a work that demands attention.  And, in the year of the predicted Mayan apocalypse, 2012, it seems like a timely read.

And the winners are about as predictable as spirits at a table-tipping séance.

And the movie stars strut and prance about like Norse gods who pretend that Gotterdammerung is a series cancelled by Hollywood.

But my real reason for not watching is that I’m starved for a sense of the mythic when it comes to movies; starved for a performance that I can talk about with rapture for years to come. And so many movies now are more about narratives than images, which is good. But when did a visual art form decide it could steal all the thunder from books? If I want great stories, I’ll go to a book.

What I want from films are surrealist visions, offerings of Dali, Bosch, Klimt, Picasso, Bruegel, Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Harry Clarke, Max Ernst, Alfred Kubin-like images; a stunningly visual montage of frames that makes you gasp in awe and wonderment. And I’m not talking just blockbuster, but images that make us see the world differently, like the way that old French filmmaker Georges Méliès did with his movies.

OK, so there’s that movie with George Clooney, The Descendants, about a father and his relationship with two teenage daughter. I have 2 daughters, although they are not teens, but I know this story, even though it’s not mine. What I don’t know, though, would be a story about a father living with the ghosts of two dead daughters, say, or a father with 2 android daughters, and it could be this surreal, decadent, dreamlike movie.

Why do movies not create a visual bang? They have the technology. Imagine a movie that was like a dream? Who’s making those?