Of the several productions of Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen that have been recently commercially released on DVD, Vera Nemirova’s staging for Oper Frankfurt is poised to appeal widely. It is generally well cast (if not star-studded), the orchestra offers a lucid reading guided by Sebastian Weigle, and the narrative unfolds effectively through finely wrought characterizations. Produced by the independent label Oehms Classics, which mostly handles CDs, this Ring is a more expensive set than most, but it is handsomely produced and worth the investment. As an educator, I have long relied on Patrice Chéreau’s Bayreuth production to introduce students of all ages to Wagner’s multipart drama. This Frankfurt Ring offers a fresh, accessible alternative that is also rewarding for someone interested in new approaches to staging and design. Notably, it is the first production of Wagner’s Ring staged by a woman to achieve commercial distribution. Recent productions of the Ring shaped by Francesca Zambello (Washington/San Francisco) and Phyllida Lloyd (ENO) faced obstacles. Lloyd’s exciting staging was never performed as a complete cycle, while Zambello’s was detoured by financial problems before it was mounted in full and then revived. Nemirova’s Ring is also enjoying a revival phase. As documented in this 2012 recording, her collaboration with designer Jens Kilian yields a lean, contemporary and engaging approach that promotes critical reflection on Wagner’s tale of power and love.

The aesthetic tone of this production is set during the Prelude and first scene of Das Rheingold. The Rhine is suggested by a digital projection of water droplets that produce concentric ripples atop a large, elevated circular surface. Framed by a blank cyclorama, the remaining stage area is uncluttered. Lighting, designed by Olaf Winter, plays a key role in varying the mood of the open space, with a restricted, symbolic colour palette. Cobalt blue, complemented appropriately by golden shimmer, dominates this opening stretch. Projections are not a mainstay of this production, but the water imagery anticipates how the circular stage framework will reveal itself to be a mechanical structure comprising a series of rings. The Rhine daughters emerge from the sphere’s core, while Alberich, also in modern formal attire, appears on the fringe at stage level. With his theft of the gold, the initially static, abstract environment becomes wildly dynamic, as the series of nested rings breaks up, moving both vertically and in rotation. This visual manifestation of chaos capitalizes on Oper Frankfurt’s especially large, integrated revolving stage. The versatility of the raised framework is impressive; diverse worlds come into being seamlessly, with no need for mystical, coloured steam.

Although the form of a stable, spherical acting area is resumed once the gods have assembled, the apparent harmonious atmosphere is palpably fragile. Wotan is shaped as a patronizing figure, clearly not to be trusted. As portrayed by the vocally powerful and obviously mature Terje Stensvold, the head of the gods plays a desperate game from the outset. He later despairingly lies in Erda’s lap while all look on. Fafner and Fasolt break into this world from below, appearing as if from under a manhole cover in the centre. They are flanked by a small cohort (suggesting perhaps a much larger group) – a strategy that evokes a mass labour force, as was vividly undertaken in the 1970s by Joachim Herz in Leipzig. Costumer Ingeborg Bernerth covers the giants’ dark work clothes with extra gloves, further implying that many hands will fulfil Wotan’s shady contract. Loge, meanwhile, flies into the scene – literally, and from above. Kurt Streit portrays an athletic, adventurous outsider and is a singer with outstanding diction. His generous lyricism is shaded here and there so as to reveal a creepy dimension of his persona; he, too, is utterly untrustworthy. Jochen Schmeckenbecher as Alberich is another vocal standout in this cast, a manipulative figure of dark grey but not black hues. The impact of Wotan’s suspect bargaining is made palpable when the giants return with Freia, sung convincingly by Barbara Zechmeister as an utterly traumatized figure.

With the descent to Nibelheim, the stage machinery as a whole is tilted up like a partially opened manhole cover, as if shifting to a lower, murkier realm. Here, and in later scenes, Nemirova seizes on the possibilities of positioning characters at different heights. Loge and Wotan arrive up high early enough to overhear Alberich’s cruel taunting of Mime, utilizing the Tarnhelm, while remaining unnoticed. There is no effort to suggest magic when Alberich is later goaded into using the Tarnhelm by his visitors. He does however don a red glove that is later worn by Hagen at his most manipulative moments. Hunding’s world in Die Walküre is also presented in this quasi-subterranean space, as is the first scene of Act 2, which geographically ties the decline of Valhalla to Wotan’s efforts to breed a heroic race in that world. Fricka’s appearance is thus all the more striking, effectively handled through a rotation of the giant sphere that reveals her seated majestically – but also with the air of a grim reaper. Brünnhilde eavesdrops from above long enough to hear Fricka critique Wotan and his wild band. When the Valkyrie returns, Fricka has ascended to the top level bearing Wotan’s spear, leaving her husband a crumbled, defeated figure below. She passes the spear to Brünnhilde as she quits the scene – a silent, unnerving command.

The Wälsung twins have meanwhile attempted to break free from Hunding by ascending to the top of the mechanical structure, which takes on the appearance of the inner rings of a tree. While a natural image, the environment is chilly. ‘Du bist der Lenz’ emerges in contrast to the wintry, snowy world we see on stage. Act 1 ends with the soon-to-be targeted lovers in the centre of an image that now suggests a bullseye, framed in bright red light. In her deranged state in Act 2, Sieglinde renders their flight visible by running multiple laps around the outer rings, seemingly unable to stop. As the act progresses the exposed rings become the dark harbinger of the moment in which Sieglinde prophesizes the felling of the ash tree, which resonates symbolically with the demise of the Wälsung family tree. When Brünnhilde, sung and acted persuasively by Susan Bullock, appears in the ‘Annunciation of Death’ scene, she is burdened by knowledge, and her conscience. Her sales pitch to Siegmund is delivered in a cool, unconvincing fashion, which makes her sudden decision to support Siegmund and Sieglinde more credible than usual. As Siegmund heeds Hunding’s battle calls, Sieglinde steps onto the stage floor, rendering her distant and helpless when the conflict begins atop the raised platform. Fricka appears triumphantly at the end, against the bleakest of horizons. Unlike many productions today, the Valkyries in Nemirova’s staging do not dash about the stage energetically, singing naively about the joys of their job. In a row atop the platform, these Valkyries appear a bit more sober, while men in modern dress slowly bring one coffin after another to a graveyard underneath. After a moving farewell from Stensvold, real fire circles Brünnhilde.

In terms of the orchestra’s performance, Siegfried is a highlight of this set. Weigle carefully paces the music’s climaxes, and also excels at chamber-like textures, although he occasionally wallows in individual timbres at the expense of dramatic flow. Visually, the continued tendency towards abstraction yields colourful, textured and dynamic solutions for the forging scene and intimations of a forest, with excellent video projections designed by Bibi Abel. Nemirova’s novel approach to the Woodbird involves an androgynous male dancer, Alan Barnes, wearing long, feathered finger extensions. Playful, graceful and glorious to watch, Siegfried’s winged support system is present for substantial stretches, while the role is sung intermittently offstage. With the spherical acting area raked upward, Fafner remains invisible; he is roused to life in a seeming abyss of red light and smoke glimpsed through the rings as they are variously raised. After he is slain, he appears physically, wrapped in gold chains, to sing his parting words.

Nemirova has chosen to portray Siegfried as naïve and not inherently malicious. This works well with Lance Ryan in the role, as he exudes a youthful appearance and energy with seeming ease. Vocally capacious, his pitch is sometimes unwieldy, and he would benefit in this characterization from a warmer tone in softer passages. Still, the genuineness of his performance is rare, and renders credible the moment (in this particular production) when he appears sick to his stomach after killing Mime. He is furthermore set apart from this world of machinations by his old-fashioned, vaguely mythological dress, with which he is matched with Brünnhilde at the opera’s end. This proves important as the last opera opens, when, as Nemirova explains in additional interview material, ‘All is unmasked as a machine. It is today. No more fantasy.’

Scenographically coherent with the previous three dramas, the heart of the Hall of the Gibichung is located underneath the platform, with a setup that might be described as Hagen’s man cave. Noteworthy is the way Gregory Frank sings and acts like a mesmerizer when he shares his plan to dope Siegfried with Gutrune. A less subtle and strikingly effective theatrical moment occurs towards the end of Act 2, when Hagen rewards Brünnhilde’s revelation of Siegfried’s physical weakness by draping his own gold lamé jacket on her shoulders; the physical structure above them rotates simultaneously to reveal the entire wedding party up above, toasting Siegfried and Gutrune. Gunther is richly sung and characterized by Johannes Martin Kränzle. Instead of a traditional procession following Siegfried’s death, Gunther remains onstage during the ‘Funeral March’, enacting different stages of grief, reflection and resolve. The music can thus be heard as his personal response to the hero’s death. Lingering onstage, he remains silently self-absorbed while Gutrune’s queries about Brünnhilde’s whereabouts go unanswered.

Recalling the end of Das Rheingold, the house lights are turned on as Brünnhilde finally tosses the ring back into the Rhine. Earlier, the gods had toasted their new abode with champagne from the proscenium boxes. In the end, it is Alberich who watches the stage spectacle from this privileged position. A visual counterpart to Brünnhilde’s sweeping final address, all of the characters of the Ring, save the gods, gradually fill the platform, framed by the chorus bearing candles. Gentle optimism is balanced by the searching gazes of all the singers looking out into the auditorium.

Nemirova and Kilian’s production nods in several directions: to the creative outputs of Wieland Wagner, Robert Wilson and Peter Konwitschny, to name a few. It invites very positive comparison with the recent staging at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, which features an extraordinarily expensive central mechanical structure, but one that is not nearly as inventive, flexible, or dramatically integrated as Nemirova and Kilian’s rings. Another spirit lurks in the air – that of Ruth Berghaus, with whom Nemirova had the opportunity to work early in her career. Berghaus’s Ring was also mounted in Frankfurt, in the 1980s. It was also recorded, and would be a valuable addition to the commercial options if released, even if mostly for production specialists and lovers of post-dramatic theatre. Nemirova’s mode of storytelling is more logical and direct, and already appears to be withstanding the test of time.