The "green" Ring, as it has been dubbed by general director Speight Jenkins, had its Seattle premiere in 2001, and this summer marked its third run. The Technicolor® brilliance and sylvan detail of the production (the collaborative brainchild of director Stephen Wadsworth, scenic designer Thomas Lynch, costume designer Martin Pakledinaz and lighting designer Peter Kaczorowski) are astounding. Its recurrent, iconic image of an old-growth alpine glen might be mistaken for someplace in the Cascades. But the ancient oak tangle in Act I of Die Walküre, Brünnhilde's rock and the Teutonic carvings in the great hall of the Gibichungs (not to mention the river on the horizon) place us firmly in the environs of the Rhine. This scenically traditional Ring is the direct result of a conceptually traditional Ring.

In Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, Wadsworth focused on the dual themes of Fidelity/Fricka and Love/Wotan (aided by outstanding supra-title translations). Although such touches as having Fricka walk on after the death of Siegmund, and the Wanderer's wandering, lustful hands, were jarring conceits, the ideas do underscore the central argument of the Ring, conveying the scale of Wotan's folly as well as his sexual magnetism.

The scene in Nibelheim was played for laughs, which one can infer from the music, but the busy antics of Loge and Wotan veered uncomfortably toward slapstick, with Alberich at one point actually choking Wotan! This sort of stage business was typical in crowd scenes, and I had to stifle laughter in Act III of Die Walküre as stricken Valkyries flinched to the low-brass punctuation of Wotan's threats. On the other hand, the calling of the Vassals in Act III of Götterdämmerung was very cleverly managed, and the usual chorus slap-happiness was channeled into a genuine celebration. Wadsworth and his creative team lavished tremendous care on the immolation scene, bringing a cinematic blow-by-blow air to the grand finale. A widescreen inferno covered the scrim, slowly fading to an underwater shot of aerialist Rhinemaidens, then there was a cut to the gloomy interior of Valhalla, where the characters of Das Rheingold awaited their doom, and finally, D-flat major cued the eternal alpine glen. This realization followed Wagner's fantastic instructions closely, and it was a marvel of artistic and technical synthesis.

The real story of the first cycle was the Siegfried of Stig Andersen and the Brünnhilde of Janice Baird, each dealing with vocal trouble in a different way. Andersen labored through Siegfried, doing his best to protect what was left of a voice compromised by a viral infection. He was not helped by attire less suited to Siegfried the Wälsung than to Bottom the Weaver. Two nights later, he had recovered sufficiently to give us a more accurate portrait of his voice, which is large enough for the lyrical stretches of the role, but has insufficient vocal steel to penetrate the immense orchestral textures of the heroic passages. Andersen's relentless cheer made a winning case for the character, though, his acting most effective in Siegfried's foggy near-recollection of Brünnhilde and most poignant in his death.

Baird worked valiantly to jumpstart the bottom half of her voice throughout the cycle but never quite got it to turn over. To her great credit, she never pushed audibly, and in all probability, most of the house never knew anything was amiss. However, despite Baird's complete involvement in the low-lying Todesverkündigung, she was almost inaudible. Happily, by the last cycle, her shining top notes were back, having lost the beat they had acquired during the first run, but the middle still wasn't firing properly. She covered by occasionally dipping into her chest voice, which made musical hash of a number of phrases. Baird's acting was affecting, especially Brünnhilde's anguish when condemned to mortality, and her rage during the oath scene in Götterdämmerung.

Greer Grimsley's demonstrative Wotan has deepened in the four years since his last Seattle Ring. In the current mounting, his penetrating, evenly produced bass-baritone made a strong, if monochromatic, case for the iron will of the god, and his slow metamorphosis from good-time Wotan to desperate Wanderer was convincing. Stephanie Blythe, as Fricka, dominated her scenes with her glinting, enveloping voice, hammering home the severity of the unfolding crises. On the final evening, she dwarfed her sisters as the First Norn, and in Waltraute's narrative, she brought the urgency of the impending disaster into focus through the elemental force of her sound.

Absolute magic emanated from the orchestra. Here was a Ring of sonic translucence and infinite variety: brass attacks strong, strings radiant, woodwinds sonorous — now mix and match. Conductor Robert Spano paced scenes with clarity and an overarching emphasis on ensemble playing. This did not translate into the much-vaunted grand "paragraphs" of music some conductors achieve in Wagner, but it hardly mattered in the "Forest Murmurs," "Siegfried's Ascent" or the opening bars of Götterdämmerung. However, Spano was unyielding when it came to his jeopardized principals, doing little to lessen the wall of sound for their sake.

Margaret Jane Wray sang her fourth Seattle Sieglinde. (A partial Ring was given in 2000.) She has not worn out her welcome. The desperation needed at the end of Act II never descended into hysteria, nor did it impair a gleaming "O hehrstes Wunder!" She returned for an excellent Third Norn several nights later. Her Siegmund, Stuart Skelton, sang with a good understanding of Wagnerian style, and with admirable abandon in the "Wälse!"s, although he ran out of steam right at the end of the act. Marie Plette's sympathetic soprano is the sort that one associates with the helpless characters of Freia and Gutrune; Gutrune's melodramatic suicide certainly livened things up, though.

The venomous Alberich of Richard Paul Fink swaggered with lethal assurance, blustering about in a huge, gritty baritone. His excellent diction was matched by that of brother Mime, in a sinister, conniving portrayal by Dennis Petersen. I generally tire of this character about ten minutes into the show, but Petersen kept the first half of Siegfried interesting, with a sound that frequently verged on heroic. This created a sharp contrast to two ugly characters portrayed by a genuinely ugly voice — the Fasolt and Hunding of Andrea Silvestrelli. He sounded hoarse in Das Rheingold and was indeed in better voice in Die Walküre, but what a thuggish, black, scarifying noise Silvestrelli makes. As Fafner, Daniel Sumegi fared better, although the static buzz of his sound frequently covered the text.

Sumegi's Hagen revealed a twisted being whose menace was tempered by a seldom seen vulnerability. Gordon Hawkins's mellow baritone and wooden stage presence made for a sluggish Donner, but it proved the perfect combination for the ambitious and feckless Gunther. The promising Jason Collins made the most of Froh's heroic entrance in Das Rheingold, and Kobie van Rensburg's soft-grained Loge made up in fiery wit for what he lacked in volume.

The eight Valkyries were a chummy bunch — horseless, and freed from that distraction able to focus on some impressive singing. One of their number, Maria Streijffert, emerged twice as Erda, with a warm, deep, upholstered sound. The Rhinemaidens, Julianne Gearhart (doubling as a bright Forest Bird), Michèle Losier and Jennifer Hines, sang well in Das Rheingold, but the part-writing in Götterdämmerung, to my mind some of the most beautiful music in the Ring, requires a blend they couldn't provide. Luretta Bybee built a dramatic scene out of the Second Norn's narrative. Finally, hats off to chorus master Beth Kirchhoff and the superb männerchor of the company, which nuked the "Heil!"s and "Wilkommen!"s in the double wedding scene.

JAMES C. WHITSON

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