Then, as the curtain rose on this Canadian Opera Company (COC) production, it offered a stunning sight to the expectant audience that had come to be there at the opening of not just a new opera season or the opening of Richard Wagner's Ring des Nibelungen (generally referred to as the Ring Cycle), but also to be present at the long awaited opening of the city's—the country's—first real opera house. It was a moment worth waiting for.

Rhinegold, the shortest of the four works that comprise the Ring Cycle, had much to offer to this highly expectant and critical audience. The opening scene had a stunning visual impact. It featured billowing, shimmering white sheets that covered all three sides of the stage and rose high into the air beyond the sightlines to create an image of falling water and rising mist in which the Rhine maidens awoke at the bottom of the river. It reminded one of the Rhine fall at Schaffhausen, where the Rhine divides Switzerland from Germany.

Director Michael Levine, who was also the designer for the whole COC production of this Wagner tetralogy, made his debut as stage director in Rhinegold. In these opening moments he staged a lighthearted pillow fight between the three water sprites, Woglinde, Wellgunde and Flosshilde, to show their capricious nature. But then he took some liberties with the interpretation of Wagner's work. Among the playful sprites appeared a prone, sleeping man (dressed in a dark suit) in the middle of the stage. He substituted for the ragged cliffs and rocks that Wagner calls for in his directions. Who was this awkwardly place male figure? Why was he subjected to having his left leg lifted numerous times by the dwarf Alberich, who hid behind him and then tried to climb over him in his attempt to smooth-talk the nymphs. One pitied the man/rock for having to put up with the sprites clambering between his legs. From a staging and choreographic point of view, this was a disaster.

As it turns out, the sleeper was baritone John Fanning, who at the last moment had been called on to substitute for bass-baritone Pavlo Hunka in the role of Wotan. Hunka had to bow out of the production because of illness that turned out to be diabetes. Scene II finally revealed that this man was meant to be the sleeping god Wotan.

Soprano Laura Whalen (Woglinde), mezzo Krisztina Szabó (Wellgunde) and mezzo Allyson McHardy (Flosshilde) presented a delightful musical trio as they played among themselves and then teased the Nibelung dwarf Alberich (baritone Richard Paul Fink). His lust for the girls soon changes to the lust for the gold resting at the bottom of the Rhine, which the maidens are supposed to be guarding. Of course they fail to do so because they believe Alberich will never give up love for the sake of the power that the gold can bestow upon him. Ah, such sweet naiveté.

The lighting in this scene, but especially when the gold made its appearance, was beautifully handled by the Ring Cycle's lighting designer, David Finn. There were, however, moments later on when one wondered why he insisted on obscuring the faces of principal characters. This had also been a problem in the other three productions of the Ring Cycle that we saw individually before the complete cycle finally made its debut with Rhinegold.

Fink, in fine voice, gave a visceral performance throughout. He let us feel Alberich's menacing nature, his growing lust for gold and power, and even his pitiable state as he is finally robbed of the gold by the combined cunning of Loge (tenor Richard Berkeley-Steel) and Wotan. Dressed all in gold, lording it over his brother, Mime (tenor Robert Künzli) and other Nibelung slaves, Alberich became the embodiment of greed, before his denigration turned him into a seeker of revenge.

At the end of Scene I Wagner's original stage instructions call for Wotan and Fricka to appear sleeping on a meadow in the mountains just after Alberich's theft of the gold folds everything into darkness. Hence, Levine's philosophy behind his placing the sleeping Wotan into this scene from the very beginning makes some sense. It's the execution that fails.

The second scene introduces the newly built Valhalla, the place that is to be home to the gods, and built to please Fricka (mezzo Judit Németh), goddess of marriage and fidelity, and Wotan's wife. The giants Fafner and Fasolt were the contractors, so to speak, of Valhalla. Their payment for constructing the godly abode was to have been Freia, the goddess of youth and love, and a sister to Fricka. The plot is getting complicated for now Wotan must scheme to outwit the giants to save Freia (soprano Julie Makerov) from her less the desirable fate. Besides, the gods cannot prosper without her golden apples, which ensure their immortality and youth. So, it is not all familial love that propels Wotan to deprive the giants of their payment. Self-preservation is very much a motivator. To complicate things, fratricide enters the story as well.

The Valhalla that the giants built is a white building in the neoclassical style. It looks like a combination of the U.S. Capitol in Washington, DC. and St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican. The implied symbolism here has a negative connotation and has no place in this opera.

The imposing entrance of the two giants in the second scene had the required dramatic effect. Resting aloft a group of men dressed in the mode of the late 19^th century proletariat, they looked like many-limbed monsters. Vocally, basses Robert Pomakov (Fasolt) and Phillip Ens (Fafner) produced a strong impact here, matching the effect of their size.

Levine set this opening production clearly in the 19^th century through the costumes worn not only by the giants and the supernumeraries who carried them, but also by all of the other players in this scene. The ladies wore black Victorian bustled dresses, the gents—including Froh (tenor Thomas Rolf Truhitte) and Donner (baritone Julian Tovey), brothers to Fricka and Freia)—Victorian black day suits. Only Loge, the demigod of fire, moves about in more causal attire.

This contrast of the bourgeois and proletarian dress appears to be another philosophic comparison by Levine. It looks as if this opera is a confrontation between the proletariat (the giants) and the upper classes (the gods), although Wagner could hardly have been a champion of such a cause. He may have briefly been a nationalist revolutionary, but as the sycophant of the aristocracy and the rich—after all, he wanted to build his Festspielhaus, and he loved to dress in velvet jackets and sleep between silk sheets—he surely had no such philosophical thoughts in mind when he created the giants and the gods by refashioning Nordic and Celtic myths. His interest lay more in showing how all strata of society can quickly become ensnared by the lust for power, and enveloped in greed. He understood those emotions.

Fanning as Wotan, although he had little time to prepare, excelled in the role. Berkeley-Steele's Loge was deliciously fluid. Contralto Mette Ejsing as Erda, goddess of the earth, gave a powerful, unwavering vocal performance. One just regretted that the lighting kept her face frequently hidden. Makerov's Freia shone, and Németh's Fricka was imposing, even if now and then her voice seemed a little drowned by the orchestra. Here it has to be mentioned that Richard Bradshaw, the general director of the COC and the conductor of this Ring Cycle, had already warned that it would take the orchestra at least a season, maybe two, for the musicians to get to know the hall and learn how to balance their playing with the voices of the singers.

The orchestral presentation sometimes stole the show. Bradshaw presented a clear score without unnecessary ornamentations, and when the music was at its most lush, one just wanted to close one's eyes and become part of it. While Das Rheingold had some flaws, its overall effect was more than just a promising start to the COC's Ring Cycle. It proved highly satisfying. As a consequence, one looked forward to the remaining three operas, which had already made their debuts in 2004, 2005 and early 2006. Just how would they look and sound in their new home?

Having already reviewed Die Walküre, Siegfried and Götterdämmerung, there is no need to do so again other than make some brief comments. The sets and lighting in Walküre and Siegfried appeared even more effective in their new setting. Fortunately, gone were the spot lights that blinded members of the audience in the original Walküre. Bass baritone Peteris Eglitis, who had performed Wotan and The Wanderer in the original productions, stepped in to take over the roles that Pavlo Hunka had to vacate. Given that he had no chance to get used to the small changes in the set, Eglitis performed excellently with just one unfortunate physical stumble in Walküre. Although in Siegfried, as the Wanderer, his voice did not always soar over the orchestra, one felt this was more the fault of the orchestra than the singer. One, therefore failed to understand the few boos that rose up at the Siegfried curtain call when Eglitis made his appearance. One also failed to understand why Atom Egoyan, director of Walküre, was sizzed during his curtain call. It was a well-thought-out production that clarified a few moments that had been obscure in the original in 2004.

In Siegfried director François Girard infused more meaning into the relationship between Siegfried and The Bear (George Molnar). Unfortunately, however, his restaging robbed that important moment of the tenderness of the original when Brünnhilde and Siegfried come to the realization of their love for each other . Of course, here too, one wonders once more what the designer, David Levine, had in mind when he included Christian crosses in the set's overhanging debris. Would the audience have been as accepting if a Star of David or some Islamic symbol had been included in the debris that implied the downfall of the gods?

The big disappointment turned out to be—as before—Götterdämmering. Its one saving grace was the outstanding performance of bass Mats Almgren as Hagen. He not only has a powerful voice but also a commanding presence that paled all other performances in this production. He was the star—the sun; the others were the moon. As for the set of the Gibichung hall, the seat of a great clan living along the Rhine, it remained as cheesy as it had been in the original. Sally Ann could have done better.

The transposition of this opera into the late 20^th century or early 21^st made little sense. It is ludicrous to have Siegfried running around with a sword and the hunters with spears. They should have been carrying AK-47s to fit the period, or at least hunting rifles. The Gibichung men looked like the gray men of Tokyo in their business suits when they first gather, not like warriors. The implied statement here is, of course, that today's warriors can be found only in the boardrooms and the halls of capitalism. The final scene, in which the gods and Valhalla come to their end through fire, fell as flat and unpalatable as a collapsed cake in its reworked staging. It just didn't work. The original had far more impact, even if it wasn't perfect when we saw it in early 2006. As for the entire production of Götterdämmerung, one had the feeling that both the set designer, Levine, and director, Tim Albery, were busy biting the hand that feeds them.

One more gripe that applies to all four productions: the surtitles. Fortunately I do not need to rely on them in German operas and most Italian, but those who do must have wondered what happened to the English language. Since there was no word-for-word translation of the text, and since the titles are meant to give only a general meaning, why did one have to contend with German syntax applied to English? We are used to Chinglish, but do we have to now add Germlish to the fractured English that comes to us from other countries? Is there no one at the COC with enough language skills to give us clear English or to correct what was presented? And, what are a Nixies? Well, surely the good old Anglo-Saxon word of 'sprites' could have been applied here to represent the German Nixen. (Nixies, by the way, are 1. in postal parlance in North America, pieces of undeliverable mail; 2. in electronics, tubes that displaying numerals or other information). To today's person a 'helm' is a tiller or wheel by which a ship's rudder is positioned, not something worn as a protective head covering. The Tarnhelm worn by Alberich, and which later gave Fasner the ability to change into a dragon, and Siegfried the ability to take on the shape of Gunther, should have been translated as camouflage 'helmet', not just 'helm'. In Götterdämmerung, when Siegfried and Gunther come to Brünnhilde, Siegfried, transformed into Gunthers through the Tarnhelm , sings this:

So why did the surtitle translate 'suitor' into husband? These are only a few items that came to my attention as I looked quickly to the surtitles—which by the way also contain such misspellings as 'to' instead of 'too'. All this may seem niggling. So be it. What really offended was the mangling of the English language. There is no excuse for it as no poetics are involved when it comes to the translating of lyrics for surtitles. Nobody expects word-for-word translation. What one does expect is greater professionalism from a company that wants to be world class.