It was a heady blend of philosophy (Schopenhauer), poetry (von Strassberg), and passion (the married Mathilde Wesendonck) that inspired Richard Wagner to put aside the Ring cycle and create this cyclonic soap opera about love and death. One-hundred-fifty years later, we can still be transfixed, transported, and ‘ who knows? ‘ even teleported to great heights by its hypnotic rhythms

LA Opera has revived its 1987 David Hockney-designed production for the second time, and with a bit of a makeover the sets still exude their whimsical but sobering charm. Since the last time it was presented locally (1997), some of us have had the opportunity to see The Tristan Project at Disney Hall, a Peter Sellars, Esa-Pekka Salonen, and Bill Viola collaboration that was stretched out over three nights, and which proved to be, whatever one thought of it, another way to experience this seductive work by the German master.

There’s quite a bit of back story to Tristan und Isolde, and this is conveyed to us somewhat prosaically as Tristan escorts Isolde by ship to become the bride of his uncle, King Marke. Isolde thought that Tristan was courting her for himself, not for another man in another land. So she’s going to take poison and kill herself, and Tristan, seeming to sympathize with her plight and deception, quaffs his half of the elixir. Alas, alas, Isolde’s handmaiden, Brangäne, has switched vials (yes, how vile of her), substituting a bottle of, well, let’s just call it Love Potion #9.

They don’t fall down dead, but we can hear the appropriate leitmotifs that tell us the fire of desire is coursing quickly through their veins. The escort and the escorted have clearly fallen for one another and King Marke isn’t going to like this.
That’s Act One, which is the most tiresome of the three acts in this nearly five-hour endeavor. I wasn’t encouraged by what I saw and heard. Linda Watson is an adequate Isolde (and ditto for John Treleaven as Tristan), but secretly or otherwise we want our Isoldes to be maidenly and this Isolde has the traditional Wagnerian heft. And although her voice warms up as the story moves along, it does not at first inspire confidence and there is something of a hysterical edge to it that, for me, never quite goes away.

Treleaven doesn’t have an heroic presence, and next to Juha Uusitalo’s Kurwenal ‘ whose burly voice suits him well ‘ he seems less like a romantic lover than an ineffectual pawn. Perhaps the lush overture has let us build up our hopes a little too high.

The second act, outside the castle walls and on the edge of the forest, is visually the most impressive, and the deep perspective with the upslant of the stage allows our imaginations to roam virtually unchecked. One applauds Hockney, but also the lighting designer Duane Schuler, whose work I’ve admired for some years.

In this setting, Tristan and Isolde are pushing the passion pedal, declaring everlasting fidelity and whatnot, but it is also a scene limned with dark presentiment, beginning with distant hunting horns and continuing with intermittent warnings from Brangäne (Lioba Braun) as she keeps watch from the tower window. Beware of that scamp Melot, she says. Melot? Why, he’s my friend! Tristan calls back.

Conductor James Conlon has reinstated an often-cut 12 minutes into this scene, which enables the sublime beauty to grow on us. An edgier production would have used the extra time to turn up the eroticism (as in LA Opera’s depiction of Venusberg in Tannhäuser), but director Thor Steingraber appears to have taken stylistic cues from Robert Wilson’s Madama Butterfly. So instead of an Anna Netrebko-Rolando Villazón love banquet, á la Manon or Romeo and Juliet, we’re left with a lot of bark but no bite. I realize that it was Strauss and not Wagner who gave us Salome (Maria Ewing, be young again!) and her dance of the seven veils, but there’s no indication here that what these lovers want is to rip off each others’ clothes.

Melot (Brian Mulligan) has betrayed Tristan after all, and he barges in with King Marke (Kristinn Sigmundsson). The latter singer (Eric Halfvarson has the honor on Feb. 6 and 10) plays the role nobly and tragically. Swords are drawn, there is a scuffle, and Tristan is wounded. It will take him an hour to die, in real time.

Act Three is set in Brittany on a cliff overlooking the sea, and it is a grandly evocative setting, perfect for a Romantic finale.
Tristan is still expiring, urging Kurwenal to keep an eye out for the ship bearing Isolde, on her way to soothe his delirium and his wounds. The death scene goes on a little too long for the modern palette, but when Isolde does arrive, she’s there to deliver her famous Liebestod, and everyone in the audience is glad they’ve stuck around.

There are wonderful things to say about the music, which especially during the second act seems to be a swirling, lyrical dust devil comprised of various leitmotifs, one moment breezy and the next tempestuous. Nobody before Wagner had created this kind of enveloping sound. This is also to say that it puts the conductor in the middle of the arena, and in the present instance that’s James Conlon, who provides us with a very smooth magic carpet ride.
Tristan und Isolde, presented by LA Opera, is onstage at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave., downtown Los Angeles in the Music Center. Performances tonight and Wednesday at 7 p.m., with matinee performances at 1 p.m. this Sunday and next. Note: Susan Foster sings Isolde on Feb. 3. Tickets $20 to $238. Call (213) 972-8001 or go to laopera.com. ER