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The Cursed House of Atreus Berlin
Staatsoper
01/26/2025 - & January 29, February 2, 7, 10, 14*, 2025
Richard Strauss: Elektra, opus 58
Iréne Theorin (Elektra), Vida Mikneviciūtė (Chrysothemis), Evelyn Herlitzius (Klytaemnestra), Lauri Vasar (Orest), Stephan Rügamer (Aegisth), David Wakeham (Pfleger des Orest), Natalia Skrycka (Schleppträgerin, Zweite Magd), Cheryl Studer (Aufseherin), Siyabonga Maqungo (Junger Diener), Olaf Bär (Alter Diener), Bonita Hyman (Erste Magd), Anna Kissjudit (Dritte Magd), Clara Nadeshdin (Vierte Magd), Roberta Alexander (Fünfte Magd)
Staatsopernchor Berlin, Dani Juris (chorus master), Staatskapelle Berlin, Simone Young (conductor)
Patrice Chéreau (stage director), Richard Peduzzi (sets), Caroline de Vivaise (costumes), Dominique Bruguière, Gilles Bottacchi (lighting)
(© Monika Rittershaus)
I have yet to see a mediocre Elektra. While some productions might be blessed with exceptionally strong vocalists or a particularly commanding orchestra, there is one constant for this opera: those singing it cannot be mediocre.
The present production was staged by the late Patrice Chéreau (1944‑2013), one of the most important film and stage directors of our time. His 1976 production of the centenary Ring cycle at Bayreuth remains one of legend. His films, such as La Reine Margot (1994) and Intimacy (2001), while not widely known to the public at large, are much‑admired and influential. This Elektra originated at the Aix‑en‑Provence Festival in 2013 and has since been replicated at such major opera houses as Barcelona’s Liceu, Milan’s La Scala and New York’s Metropolitan Opera. I conserve intensely emotional memories of Chéreau’s Elektra at the MET in 2016.
Given the drama’s intensity, Chéreau chose to keep the stage uncluttered, employing an austere grey set, with several servants intermittently cleaning. One maid is scrubbing so furiously that one imagines Klytaemnestra, in a clin d’œil to Lady Macbeth, has given orders of absolute cleanliness in the vain hope of obscuring her crime.
In Chéreau’s vision, 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.
The cast in Berlin was one of the strongest ever. Endowed with a powerful dramatic soprano, Sweden’s Iréne Theorin was a master of expressivity, thanks to her clear diction and ability to imbue every word with marvelous colour. I still ache from the intensity of her pain in the phrase “Wo bist du, Vater?” There was such tenderness, immersed in pain, in her delivery of that simple word, “Vater.” Her subtle portrayal was more of a woman broken than a crazed hysteric. So magnetic was her stage presence that she remained the focal point even when not singing. Theorin revels in Elektra’s demented danse de mort in the final scene, grotesquely swaying her tired body to the beat of a horrific waltz. Once the deed is done and her revenge is accomplished, Elektra is emotionally dead.
Lithuanian soprano Vida Mikneviciūtė was a riveting Chrysothemis. Recently heard as Salomé at La Scala, Mikneviciūtė has a huge vocal range. In that production, her versatile voice travels effortlessly from girlish ingénue to feminine seductress. Despite its lyric quality, her voice easily rises above the orchestra, deftly matching Theorin’s formidable voice. An accomplished Salomé, Mikneviciūtė will one day be a leading Elektra.
German mezzo Evelyn Herlitzius (Klytaemnestra) was herself Elektra until not long ago, having played the role in 2016 in this production at Barcelona’s Liceu. Her predicament is worse than that of her daughters; she’s not driven by a passion for revenge like Elektra’s but simply awaits retribution. Having previously interpreted Elektra, she can see her role from that perspective, informing her interpretation. Her charisma is enthralling; she’s visually riveting, her comportment intense and tormented. Her vocal range is still impressive, with dark, sustained low notes and radiant higher register.
Estonia’s Lauri Vasar was a stoic Orest: virile, yet innocent. His warm baritone enforced the vigour and youth of the prodigal son. The recognition scene was the most compelling segment of the opera, thanks to the contrast between his stoicism and Elektra’s ravings. It’s interesting that the actual murder of Klytaemnestra and Aegisth was done by the tutor rather than by Orest himself. Might it be Chéreau’s signalling the exaggerated importance given to the male figure of Orest? I hope to see the production yet again to pay closer attention to the murder scene, to better understand the director’s intentions.
German tenor Stephan Rügamer was an appropriately grotesque Aegisth. His high voice made his bombastic utterances as he returned home sound vacuous and irritating. Without excessive gestures, and by simply using his nasal voice, he was persuasive as a weak, hollow tyrant and usurper.
In addition to some of the great Straussian singers of our day in key roles, Staatsoper Berlin made a point of imaginatively casting past opera legends in secondary roles. Sopranos Cheryl Studer and Roberta Alexander and baritone Olaf Bär, all of whom have marked the opera world (including past major roles in Elektra) portray staff members of Elektra’s household. This acknowledgement of older singers was a touching tribute to continuity.
As in almost any Strauss opera, the orchestra is the centre of the show. The Staatskapelle Berlin expertly interpreted this dense score, and under the direction of Australia’s Simone Young, they revelled in its intoxicatingly rich textures. Her approach varied from the lyrical to the intensely dramatic. The phrasing of Elektra’s final dance was perhaps too lyrical, lessening its intensity.
The delirium of the enraptured audience at the opera’s conclusion nearly matched Elektra’s in her lugubrious dance. Elektra, and this performance in particular, was so intense that later that night I couldn’t fall asleep, so stirring was its power. I suspect many in the audience suffered the same wonderful predicament, such is the mystery and unending wonder of truly great music.
Ossama el Naggar
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