Review: FLAGSTAD Enlightens at Scandinavia House

On the first evening of Flagstad: Triumph and Tragedy, Scandinavia House warmed in the presence of Norwegian actress Nina Bendiksen.

Victor Borge Hall, a cozy theater nestled in the inimitable charm of Nordic heritage, is fitted neatly beneath Grand Central Station along Park Avenue. Adorned in a nightie, Flagstad walked through her bedroom.

The vintage scenography, and the candor of Bendiksen's authentic Norwegian accent, spoke serenely, and directly, into the hearts of the audience. Among those seated, laughing, and applauding throughout the play, was none other than Liv Ullman, perhaps the greatest Scandinavian actress in film history.

Writer and director Einar Bjørge crafted a masterful drama, shedding light on a taboo figure of 20th century music, whose reputation was cast in the unfathomable shadows of Nazism. At 40, Kirsten Flagstad, an unknown Wagnerian soprano from Norway, made her 1935 Metropolitan Opera debut.

That night propelled her into unforeseen stardom. In the next decade, she would lose nearly everything dear to her, except her fame, yet she was an introvert.

As Bendiksen interjected, Flagstad had not favored Wagner most, for in truth, she adored Beethoven over all. With a bright resolve, and holding more than her own throughout the one-woman-show, Bendiksen carried the tone of a historic voice with a fearless grace.

Flagstad was never personally allegiant to Nazi Germany, nor did she support their occupation of Norway. Nonetheless, her husband was a staunch businessman, who stopped at nothing to prevent a Communist takeover, even if that meant collaborating with Hitler.

Flagstad became a widow in 1946. Meanwhile, she lost the confidence of her country, and during her years performing abroad was unable to return. More, as her fame grew, she was becoming aloof from her daughter, who was living in the U.S.

Filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, one of the prized namesakes of modern Scandinavian culture, had been a partner and father with his muse, Liv Ullman. Unmistakable by her classic visage, she stood up to toast a glass of wine to Bendiksen and Bjørge after the show.

As Ullman raised her glass in the memory of one of the world's greatest operatic voices, she recalled growing up in Scandinavia, where children are taught never to listen to Flagstad, the shunned "Nazi sympathizer".

Effusive with proud emotion, Ullman promised to listen, as all drank in agreement, in the name of a woman whose tragedies speak to all women, yet whose unique triumphs beg the humanistic respect given in the superlative eulogy, Flagstad: Triumph and Tragedy.

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