“The problem is not the problem of the poison, the poison is man and woman – that’s the poison, and also in this opera, night and day.” This crap, printed in the programme, introduces Herbert Wernicke’s abstruse production of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, much derided on its first appearance 18 months ago, and not much improved by time.

Forming part of Bernard Haitink’s adieu to the Royal Opera, it is in many respects emblematic of his music directorship as a whole. Haitink has achieved interpretations of considerable profundity, though his unwillingness to intervene in matters theatrical has led to some duff stagings, of which this is one.

Wagner’s erotic masterpiece pushes to extremes the Renaissance conceit that equates orgasm with death, as the eponymous lovers, finding no fulfilment in life, seek sexual oblivion in physical annihilation.

Wernicke, missing the point, puts on stage the parallel fantasies of a pair who fancy each other rotten, but never actually meet. On a glaring, mock-Mondrian set, he immures each of them in a coloured box, where they flannel about, clutching at wobbly, phallic rods in moments of frustration.

They have apparently availed themselves of the postal service, however, since Isolde reads Tristan’s letters during the love duet, lip-synching his vocal line. The ending is as curiously ill-defined as the rest. Tristan dies after impaling himself on Melot’s sword, though Isolde remains alive, intoning the Liebestod in necrophiliac ecstasy.

The opera survives this travesty thanks to Haitink and his cast (which, if uneven, is vastly better than last time round). The playing is shockingly beautiful. The lovers, however, aren’t ideally matched. Tristan is sung by Wolfgang Müller-Lorenz: accurate, if weak of voice, and handsome on stage until he inadvisably rips off his shirt, revealing a flowing tummy and sagging pecs.

Isolde is the Australian Lisa Gasteen. Winner of Cardiff Singer of the World in 1991, she’s matured into the most intelligent of contemporary Wagner sopranos, tireless, voluptuous in tone, outstanding in her response to the text and glowinglyrapturous. The rest of the cast are exemplary. Go and hear it – just avert your eyes.

Tim Ashley | 8 Apr 2002