COC’s expressionist ‘The Flying Dutchman’ buoyed by a thrilling directorial vision and striking performances

The Flying Dutchman

By Richard Wagner, originally directed by Christopher Alden and conducted by Johannes Debus. Presented by the Canadian Opera Company. Through Oct. 23 at the Four Seasons Centre of the Performing Arts, 145 Queen St W. coc.ca or 416-363-8231

Christopher Alden rarely leaves you feeling indifferent. The American director’s unsubtle revisionist style, leaning heavily on a modernist visual palette, is something you either embrace or revile.

That spectrum of responses was on full display at Friday’s opening night for the remount of Alden’s “The Flying Dutchman,” first staged by the Canadian Opera Company (COC) in 1996 and last mounted in 2010. Within a five-metre radius of where I was sitting, no fewer than half a dozen patrons walked out before the end of the production. In the same area, other audience members showered superlatives at the curtain call.

I’m typically averse to Alden’s heavy-handed approach to classical works. The director’s farcical take on Mozart’s 1791 opera seria, “La Clemenza di Tito,” in 2013 and pointlessly minimalistic presentation of Barbara Monk Feldman’s “Pyramus and Thisbe” in 2015 demonstrate how his obstinate vision can gratingly clash against the material he’s handed.

But, alas, “The Flying Dutchman” is a shining example of what can be achieved when Alden’s bold direction works with the music and narrative to mine new themes and additional tonal resonance. Despite one glaring misstep, this remount, helmed by revival director Marilyn Gronsdal and led by a pair of striking central performances, is a winning spectacle that should satisfy even the most cynical of Alden’s critics.

The production’s success can be attributed to Alden’s sincere reverence for Wagner’s work, a sweeping tale about a Dutchman (Johan Reuter) condemned to sail the seven seas for eternity unless he finds true love when he lands ashore once every seven years.

The fantastical narrative could fit alongside the fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm, but Alden is wise not to lean into a sentimental, Disney-like aesthetic. Instead, he takes his cues from Wagner’s haunting music, filled with rousing lyric arias and raging duets which evoke the feelings of agony and devotion that consume the Dutchman and Senta (Marjorie Owens), a woman ashore who is drawn to the sailor’s story and in whom he ultimately finds salvation.

Allen Moyer’s hulking yet surprisingly versatile set — a box severely tilted on its side, like a cross-section of a ship’s hull tossed in the waves — is inspired by the austere designs from early 20th century German expressionist cinema and heightens those moods embedded in Wagner’s music.

As the tormented Dutchman, Reuter immediately elicits sympathy, as he staggers around the set, drenched in an oppressive red light (lighting designs by Anne Militello). His burly exterior and richly textured voice give way to a portrait of a man yearning for love and acceptance.

Owens, who rightfully earned the loudest ovation of the evening, is scintillating, demonstrating utter control of her instrument with her rapturous delivery of Wagner’s iconic “Senta’s Ballad.” She avoids playing Senta as a young woman smitten by the mysterious sailor, but instead as a character who demonstrates curiosity and compassion, especially amid the cruel harshness of her fellow townsfolk (played by the industrious COC chorus led by Sandra Horst).

Franz-Josef Selig is equally compelling as Senta’s self-interested father, Daland. But as Senta’s jealous suitor Erik, Christopher Ventris’s voice felt strained on opening night, especially opposite Reuter’s and Owens’s in the final trio.

The COC orchestra, conducted by Johannes Debus, offers a dynamic interpretation of the music, clearly bringing to life each of the musical themes (“leitmotifs”) peppered in the orchestrations.

It’s somewhat disappointing, however, that this otherwise electric production, featuring incredibly propulsive staging, is halted dead in its tracks by a cumbersome intermission. Wagner intended for this opera to run without an intermission. The 2010 mounting heeded that directive.

Based on the discrepancies between the print and digital programs, it seems the decision to add an intermission to this remount was rather last-minute. It shows, with the curtain awkwardly descending just before the narrative climax, as the two main characters freeze in a tableau, only to have the curtain rise 20 minutes later with Owens and Reuter in that same awkward position.

But while the intermission certainly throws audiences off the thrilling journey Alden has so carefully crafted over the preceding 85 minutes, with Owens and Reuter at the helm of this ship, the onward journey is well worth the wait.