Tristan und Isolde – Live in HD at the cinema.

Reviewed by Miguel Syjuco.

The hum and tweets of the orchestra warming. A backstage announcement: “Maestro Levine to the pit, please.” The audience, spectacled, silver-haired, settles into seats. The Lincoln Centre’s proscenium still darkened. Spectators munch Becel-bronzed popcorn. Sip pop from huge glasses. Someone picks daintily at his gooey nachos. Could this be Tristan und Isolde?

Verily. This is opera with stadium seating, tragedy with handy drink holders. The Metropolitan Opera’s recent High Definition simulcast of Herr Wagner’s fiendishly difficult masterpiece is the latest in the new age being ushered into the opera house. Or rather: cinemas. And why not? Produced by Dieter Dorn and directed by Barbara Sweet, it’s been over a century since opera been so accessible.

It starts with two fat ladies singing. Isolde (Deborah Voigt) and her maidservant Brangane (Michelle DeYoung) in the hold of a ship on the Irish Sea. Cornwall having defeated Ireland, Isolde is a peace offering – being delivered to victorious King Marke by his most-loyal soldier Tristan (Robert Dean Smith). But Isolde is as disgruntled as Tristan is honourable. She gets her captor to quaff poison before herself imbibing. This, however, is opera: Brangane had secretly switched the bottle with a love potion. The rest, as they say, is mythology.

Appropriately, the cast is stunning, clothed in robes Ayn Rand would’ve worn had she been painted by Klimt. The steely-eyed Voigt – a lauded Wagnerian soprano – her hair fiery and her acting flawless, is perfect in her debut Isolde. Mezzo DeYoung makes a credibly sturdy maidservant. And baritone Matti Salminen as King Marke sings a heartbreaking rendition of Tatest Du’s wirklich?, a song about trust and love crumbled by betrayal. The role of Tristan, however, is not as straightforward. Robert Dean Young was flown in from Wagnerian ground-zero, Bayreuth, for this filming – two years in advance of his scheduled Met debut. The week, you see, had had two Tristan mishaps: Canadian John McMaster’s voice buckled repeatedly, bequeathing him boos at the end; his replacement, Gary Lehman, slipped into the prompter’s box and bonked his head. Given there are only about ten Tristans in the world, Young’s arrival literally saved the show. Though heroic of voice, his mien could not be less so. His acting, even for opera, was wooden. At times he looked like a confused handyman, at others he seemed the organiser of a Star Trek convention to which nobody showed.

But don’t let’s nitpick. Wagner, taking a break from the Ring Cycle in 1857 to write Tristan und Isolde, never would have envisioned opera like this. Nor would the first cineastes to film the performing arts. This is big drama on the biggest of screens. Live. Full HD colour. Surround sound. Split shots, close-ups, slow pans. Back stage interviews during intermission: the stars, conductor, production coordinators, each quizzed by seasoned vet Renée Fleming. There was even a time-lapse film of the complicated stage set-up. Shots of the musicians blowing into candy-red oboes. The crystal, punctuating coughs of the more phlegmatic audience members. This was the next best thing to being there, but a fourth of the price.

After all, as aficionados will tell you, the magic of opera is more than what happens on stage. Sure, sitting through four-and-a-half hours (with two half-hour breaks to wring out hankies and buy steamies and Twizzlers) is still exhausting. But it is softened and made interesting by cinematic innovation. Mind you, the sound was nearly as flat as the screen. But you can’t win ’em all. At least not yet. Note to stalwart sceptics: tickets to most screenings were sold out weeks in advance.