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Agamemnon avenged Berlin
Deutsche Oper
03/22/2025 - & March 29, April 1, 2025
Richard Strauss: Elektra, Opus 58
Elena Pankratova (Elektra), Camilla Nylund (Chrysothemis), Doris Soffel (Klytämnestra), Tobias Kehrer (Orest), Burkhard Ulrich (Aegisth), Jared Werlein (Pfleger des Orest), Hye‑Young Moon (Die Vertraute), Sua Jo (Schleppenträgerin), Maria Motolygina (Aufseherin), Thomas Cilluffo (Junger Diener), Michael Bachtadze (Alter Diener), Annika Schlicht (Erste Magd), Martina Baroni (Zweite Magd), Arianna Manganello (Dritte Magd), Maria Vasilevskaya (Vierte Magd), Nina Solodovnikova (Fünfte Magd)
Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Jeremy Bines (chorus master), Orchestra of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Thomas Søndergård (conductor)
Kirsten Harms (stage director), Bernd Damosky (sets & costumes), (lighting), Silvana Schröder (choreography)
Just over a month ago, I saw Patrice Chéreau’s staging of Elektra at Berlin’s Staatsoper. Only in Germany’s capital with its three opera houses may one see two exceptional productions of Strauss’s opera with first‑rate singers within such a short period. As the recent production was truly amazing, I didn’t expect to be as overwhelmed mere weeks later, but I was.
Austrian poet/playwright Hugo von Hofmannsthal (1874‑1929) managed to abridge his own play Elektra (1903), making the opera (based on Sophocles) more suited for another art form. The result is probably the most intense work ever written for the operatic stage. A Berlin‑based friend who often accompanies me at the opera when visiting the German capital declined to join me as he deemed the opera too emotionally-charged. At the end of the performance, I understood; I was completely drained, but content.
The opera focuses on three women: Elektra, Chrysothemis and Klytaemnestra. The latter (the mother) is the perpetrator of the crime, who fears the return of her son Orest, to the point of suffering endless nightmares, further amplified by her daughter Elektra’s hostility. Chrysothemis is the docile daughter, aware and angered by her mother’s crimes, but unwilling to fight a losing battle. While she hopes for Orest’s return, she doesn’t allow revenge to control her life. Despite her outrage following her father’s murder at the hands of her mother and her lover, life continues, she yearns for love and to one day start a family. Finally, there’s Elektra, defiant and revenge-obsessed. She’s forsaken love, the prospect of marriage and even life itself. Her life is on hold until Orest’s return, to vindicate their father.
German director Kirsten Harms’s vision of Elektra was one of the most austere. Sets for this work tend to be sparse as everything is already in the text; elaborate sets would only distract. Elektra, grieving for her father’s murder by her mother and her lover Aegisth, is reduced to a wild animal. She doesn’t live her like a normal princess in the palace, but roams in the palace’s courtyard. Harms makes the courtyard into a pit of dark earth. Elektra dwells in it like a rodent, disheveled and unkempt, partially burying herself in the dark earth. Like a rodent, she’s created mounds throughout the courtyard.
The palace’s serving maidens are dressed in contemporary bourgeois attire – black dress and pearl necklace – to contrast with the tragic heroine and to indicate their conformity. Chrysothemis, Elektra’s younger sister, wears the same black dress as the maids minus the pearl necklace, insinuating relative conformity but a purely nominal princely status in her mother’s palace.
Two contraptions overlook Elektra’s pit; one at the same level as the courtyard that served as a door and one at a higher level that served as a window for the palace’s residents to look onto the beastly princess.
The opera opens with the palace maids looking fearfully on Elektra, who’s lying in a mound in the courtyard. Von Hofmannsthal has given voice to Sophocles’s chorus in the palace maids, who comment on Elektra’s condition. All fear and despise her save for one maid, who admires her pride and tenacity.
Klytaemnestra, Elektra’s mother is cursed with nightmares due to her guilt and fear of the prediction of the return of her son Orest to avenge his father. First through the window overlooking the courtyard and then up close, down in the courtyard, Klytaemnestra asks her daughter for a remedy for her nightmares. The cunning Elektra cajoles her and reassures her there’s a remedy through a sacrifice to the gods. A hopeful Klytaemnestra feels some respite, lowering her defenses, to be told the sacrifice is to be human. When the Queen inquires if it has to be an innocent virgin maiden and the proper rites to be performed, Elektra shocks her by revealing that the sacrifice is to be Klytaemnestra herself. Elektra, who had preserved the axe with which her father was murdered, swirls the axe at her mother, who falls in terror to the ground. Elektra does not strike her for she awaits the oracle’s premonition; Orest is the one who is to strike. When the maids come to the rescue, Klytaemnestra’s shrieks turn into a hysterical laughter of relief, mocking Elektra.
What follows is an exchange between Elektra and her docile sister Chrysothemis. Both are burdened by their father’s murder, but Chrysothemis tries to go on living, aware of her helplessness vis‑à‑vis her mother and stepfather, and still aspires to have a life. This is in stark contrast with Elektra, who’s stopped living and only aspires for revenge.
Rarely does the cast for Elektra disappoint; lesser singers have a vast repertoire of less demanding operas to choose from. Russian dramatic soprano Elena Pankratova is a phenomenal artist, at ease in diverse dramatic soprano roles including Turandot, Fidelio, Ortrud in Lohengrin, Barak’s wife in Die Frau ohne Schatten. Heard as Turandot last season in Barcelona, Pankratova astounds with her versatility. Moreover, her diction is equally good in both Italian and German. Von Hoffmansthal’s text is so well written and perfectly synched to Strauss’s music that no vowel distortions are needed to blur the clarity of the text. What impressed was Pankratova’s ability to sing softly despite the boisterous orchestral writing. By opting for this approach, the Russian soprano astutely spared her voice in this killer role where she sings much of the time and is onstage the opera’s entire duration. At the end, when she erupts into rapture at Orest’s murder of the culprits that had killed her father, her voice was (amazingly) still splendidly fresh.
Finnish dramatic soprano Camilla Nylund was a surprising choice as Chrysothemis, as she could easily have been cast as Elektra herself. Recently heard as Brünnhilde in Die Walküre at La Scala, Nylund has a huge vocal range that enabled her to perform the lighter role of Chrysothemis with brio. With her magnetic stage presence, she was a less subdued Chrysothemis, which made for riveting interaction between the two sisters.
Well into her seventies, German mezzo Doris Soffel, a leading Angelina (La Cenerentola), Rosina (Il barbiere di Siviglia), Isabella (L’Italiana in Algeri) and Dorabella (Così fan tutte) decades ago, is still able to impress. Recently heard as the old Prioress in Dialogues des carmélites in Valencia, she mesmerized the audience with her powerful performance. Her voice surely shows signs of aging, but Soffel uses her vocal weaknesses to great dramatic effect, rendering Klytaemnestra both terrifying and fragile. Her offstage shriek at the moment of her murder was blood‑curdling.
German baritone Tobias Kehrer was such a charismatic Orest that he nearly stole the show. Endowed with a beautiful and virile voice, his diction was so impeccable and enunciated with such emotion that I was moved to tears. This Orest is less bloodthirsty avenger and more loving brother. The recognition scene, when Orest and Elektra realize they are siblings, was shattering. His sadness at his sister’s condition was even stronger than his desire for revenge.
German character tenor Burkhard Ulrich was more than adequate as Aegisth. The role is not vocally demanding, but Ulrich was not of the same towering level as the other four leading singers. He was perhaps too unctuous; understandable for a murdering usurper who gained the throne through Klytaemnestra’s bed. However, he has been king for a while and a little more bombast and regal demeanour was needed.
Danish conductor Thomas Søndergård impressed with his poetic approach at pivotal moments, such as the recognition scene and the exchanges between Elektra and Chrysothemis. Nonetheless, he avoided excessive lyricism in Elektra’s final rapturous dance. Even in the most dramatic and intense moments, he avoided boisterous sounds that would obscure the singers. I’ll try to hear this brilliant conductor again in the near future.
Next time I see Elektra, I’ll be sure to remember my friend’s remark about the work’s draining effect. I may remember his words, but I’m unlikely to resist.
Ossama el Naggar
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