From the first moments of the opening overture, with its driving beat that ebbs and flows and so draws you into the events that are to unfold before your eyes, it became clear that we were in for an exciting evening. The COC Orchestra executed itself superbly under the direction of maestro Richard Bradshaw. That overture, if played right, signals that the music director knows his stuff, and Bradshaw obviously does, even when hindered by the faulty acoustics of the Hummingbird Centre. But, of course, we all know that the next time Die Walküre makes its debut in Toronto, in September of 2006, it will be at the new opera house, and the sound will surely be magnificent, not just excellent.

As the curtain rose, David Levine's set, at that point almost hidden in deep shadows, revealed a world in turmoil. The set consists in part of huge metal scaffolding and catwalks with klieg lights attached to them, though not burning, except for one very piercingly bright light; the stage floor is covered with large tiles, many uprooted and scattered about, in the centre of which stands the stump of a huge ash tree, its felled trunk forms a shelter that represents Hunding's hut. A small fire burns in the foreground and Siegmund stumbles into the interior of this desolate hovel, showing signs of exhaustion, his tattered clothing revealing a man in flight. And so the story unfolds, and what a complicated tale it is.

Wagner built on the already established Das Rheingold (Rhinegold) and anyone not familiar with it will be lost without the notes that give the background to Die Walküre. The opera will end with the expertly directed final scene in which the god, Wotan, says farewell to his favorite daughter, Brünnhilde, whom he has condemned to a deep sleep for defying his commands.

Director Atom Egoyan created a scene that will surely stay in the audience's mind for a long time. He has given us a tender moment, free of artifice. It reveals the split emotions of a god, who knows that his world will come to an end; we see a god, who is helpless to prevent disaster from happening because he is fettered to a code to which he must adhere though in the end it will lead to his downfall. We witness a struggle between love and obligation, between power and codes of honour, and the desire for freedom, a struggle which is the ultimate theme of Die Walküre.

Unlike in other productions, Brünnhilde does not fall asleep on a rock, but on an earth-covered floor. She lies there, sheltered by her father's cloak, not a shield, and her head rests on his jacket. She is surrounded by flames carried there on torches by her eight sisters, the Valyries (Walküren), who then fade away as Wotan places his lance near the flames. Around this lance he tied the two red fetters, which he had unwound from Brünnhilde's hands. And the final curtain falls as Wotan sings: "Wer meines Speeres Spitze fürchtet,/durchschreite das Feuer nie!" (Whosoever fears my spear's point/ will never step through this fire.)

Which brings us to the Valkyries, those much maligned clichés of Wagnerian opera. In this production they carry no shields, they wear no Viking headdresses with cows' horns, and they do not ride horses. Instead, they are dressed in black, spaghetti-strapped bustiers on top of Victorian-style long, black, bustled skirts. They go about their chore of collecting dead heroes from the battlefields to take them to Valhalla, the home of the gods, by walking up and down the catwalks. The movement of the bustled skirts captures the tempo of the music, and it seems perfectly suited to the rhythm of the famous Ride of the Valkyries. Who needs horses, whether real or fake, who needs motorcycles, and butch women as other productions have given us? These Valkyries are amazingly feminine, yes womanly, and perhaps because of this they capture the spirit of their nature very well. You cannot be a simpering girl to do the kind of job these Valkyries have to do. The voice of these eight daughters of Wotan form a formidable chorus and add much to the success of this production.

The dead, whom these daughters of Wotan collect, appear to be covered in white funeral shrouds, not unlike those used in the ancient Middle East, and so seem to be one of the many symbolic moments the designer and director have woven into this production. Another of these symbols are the red fetters that each Valkyrie wears wound around her hands, giving the impression of bloodied hands, yet also alluding to the text that frequently speaks of the gods and humans fettered to each other.

Wotan, sung powerfully and, when needed, compassionately, by bass-baritone Peteris Eglitis, is a god who could not resist the desire for ultimate power by gaining possession of the magic golden ring cast by the Nieblungs from the stolen gold of the Rhine maidens. He then uses this ring to pay two giants for building Valhalla, and so the downfall of the gods begins in Das Rhinegold, and continues in Die Walküre which the love for power is pitted against the power of love, a love that Brünnhilde, among others, tries to use to unfetter the gods and humans alike.

Director Egoyan can be commanded for his excellent solution to the long passage that Wotan sings in the second act in an interchange between him and Brünnhilde. Egoyan's refusal to cut this passage proved the right choice for he thereby emphasized the god's inner turmoil in having to order the killing of his own son; this is a defining moment in Die Walküre, and the director rose to it.

Soprano Frances Ginzer's beautifully textured voice captured Brünnhilde's warrior nature without being shrill. One could not help being touched by her voice that so clearly expressed the wonder of discovery when, confronted by Siegmund's refusal to part from Sieglinde for a place in Valhalla, she comes to realize the importance of human love, which leads her to defy her father.

Siegmund, Wotan's human son, is sung by tenor Clifton Forbis, whose excellent voice certainly fits the description of Heldentenor. This means he is able to be both strong and vulnerable and thus offers us moments of considerable lyricism during his interaction with Sieglinde.

Sieglinde is sung by soprano Adrianne Pieczonka, a fine choice for the role. Her silky voice ably captures Sieglinde's vulnerability, and her loneliness from living isolated with Hunding, a fairly undesirable husband. And it can also portray the inner fierceness that Sieglinde must possess to be able to run away with Siegmund, and so betray Hunding. Bass-baritone Pavlo Hunka takes on the role of Hunding with excellent voice. It is Hunding who kills Siegmund when Wotan stops Brünnhilde from protecting him. Hunding is then sent off by Wotan to kneel before Fricka, goddess of marriage and Wotan's jilted wife. This, of course, means that Hunding dies. This was the one moment where the direction failed for me, because the death occurred behind the tangle of metal scaffolding, and therefore did not have the required impact.

Lighting designer David Finn contributed greatly to creating the right mood for this production, although sometimes the lights either hid the faces of the performers too much or bleached them out. Thanks to Egoyan's direction, the acting and action flowed naturally, and thanks to Bradshaw's musical direction and skill at picking the right performers for each role, the voices portrayed the expected emotions. If only we could always have seen those emotions on the faces of the singers.

Die Walküre is, of course, sung in German. Thanks to the COC's invention of the Surtitles, the gist of the story is well told. German is devilishly hard to sing and all of the singers showed excellent diction. Yet, even the most astute listener, who understands the language, has difficulty catching all of the words. This is neither the fault of the singers, nor that of the language coaches. It's the nature of German, just as it is the nature of Italian to be understood clearly, no matter who sings it.

Die Walküre runs at the Hummingbird Centre until April 23, 2004