Author : Jos Hermans
The clinical term "hysteria" is still brand new when Hugo von Hofmannsthal becomes Richard Strauss's librettist and, with Elektra, stirs up operatic literature with a piece steeped in pathological psychology : a priestess without a temple, whose only gruesome ritual is the shedding of blood, becomes the protagonist of a study of hysteria. A pathological work according to many. It still is according to some. Patrice Chéreau called Von Hofmannsthal's Elektra a barbaric version of Aischylos' original. In The Spectator, Michael Tanner wrote : "had Nietzsche had the good fortune to live a little longer he would have been better off saving the arrows meant for Richard Wagner for Richard Strauss." Un Richard peut en cacher un autre.
Wozzeck already knew : man is an abyss. And so, why shouldn't art occasionally descend into places it shouldn't normally go ? Who else but art can guide in such a descent? With Elektra, Strauss not only heralds Artaud's "théâtre de la cruauté," he also provides a lead for colleagues Schoenberg and Berg to dynamite tonality. For the overstrained nerves of operetta fan Friedrich Nietzsche, all this would have become downright hell.
Should we be allowed to update this work with impunity and place it in a dysfunctional family closer to us than the archaic clan of the Atrides? It doesn't seem like a good idea to me. The creators were concerned with bringing back to life the demonic, ecstatic Greece of the 6th century. In other words, the Dionysian cult of ancient tragedy was composed into the score. Yet scenographic dwellings in an indeterminate, claustrophobic world (without necessarily referring to Hellenism) have been successfully tried before. Anyone who takes it further than this is stepping on slippery ice.
Waiting for Orestes is an essential part of the action. Ruth Berghaus even placed Elektra in a watchtower. But what if Orestes does not show up? What if he exists only in Elektra's sick imagination? What if the double revenge murder doesn't happen? Director Claus Guth makes these reflections the starting point of his staging.
It is difficult to keep Elektra out of the clinical sphere. She is a fundamentally neurotic character who clings to her principles and has made matricide her life's goal. Yet Elektra is usually portrayed as the only normal character in a world of madness, like some kind of growling feline predator confined to a palace cage. Guth turns her into a hysteric who collapses at the recognition of her own illness. In doing so, Guth takes the sting out of the work. The grotesque, archaic hyperboles of the score fall on a cold stone, and Guth's Elektra becomes a character with whom one cannot develop a connection as a spectator. As we know, this is the standard recipe for a frustrating evening of opera. Consequently, it has become one of the least convincing productions I have seen from Claus Guth yet.
Katrin Lea Tag's theatrical space is one where people are treated, not in a grim clinical setting but in a rather abstract environment with purple striped wallpaper. Everyone here is a patient, with no noticeable social differentiation. Patients seem to attend therapy sessions. The walls can shift and seem to demonstrate the psychological imbalance of those present. The climate of fear that normally grips the House of Atreus is completely absent here. The opening scene with the babbling maids sounds sufficiently differentiated and expressive to keep pace with more conventional productions. As such, it is a scene that remains recognizable in the context of an institution as an institution also needs cleaning ladies. Occasionally they indulge in slapstick-like choreography that by now has become a constant in Guth's work. When Klytämnestra and the other patients hear the news of Orestes' death via the LCD screen in the institution's TV room, the banalities have piled up to such an extent that Guth has definitely lost me by then.
Chrysothemis, wanting to come to terms with the past and to find her way back into life through the vision of motherhood is closer to what is required. She models the scarf she holds in her arms into an infant. Jennifer Holloway sings the hysterically jubilant Chrysothemis with verve and walks away with the evening's vocal trophy.
Orestes appears as if in a dream. He most closely resembles a shadow lurking near the emergency exit, a hood pulled over his head. An empty armchair symbolizes his expected presence. The recognition duet Elektra sings to herself, lost in the sweet reveries of the past and in the strands of a playful wire curtain. Father Agamemnon also haunts as a witness to Elektra's obsession. At the end, all the patients go wild in a rain of confetti, dancing the polonaise. Elektra breaks down from the vehemence of her hysterical fever dream.
Aile Asszonyi sings a solid Elektra but limits herself to a rather conventional figure. Surprisingly, she never becomes the stage animal that is needed here. Simon Bailey gave Orestes a fine resonating baritone. Susan Bullock disappointed somewhat with her moderately projecting voice and her rather flat portrayal of Klytämnestra.
Make no mistake: Elektra is a violent score. The worst thing that can happen to an Elektra orchestra is to get bogged down in a blurry morass of sound. Herbert von Karajan once said that you shouldn't conduct Elektra after the age of sixty: it takes a lot of discipline, helmsmanship and great dynamic control to catapult all that violence into the auditorium with maximum transparency. My personal litmus test for the orchestra imposes itself after the scene with the maidens: it is the orchestral emphasis that follows Elektra's invocation of Agamemnon. The primitive violence that bubbles up from unfathomable depths via the double basses usually sounds far too well behaved. Not so with Sebastian Weigle. Weigle reigns supreme over the volcano of humming basses, granite chords and pathologically tormented woodwinds. His fellow musicians of the Frankfurter Opern- und Museumsorchester will never unload the tension. All the essentials were available and could be observed with great detail : the psychic polyphony (dixit Strauss) of Klytämnestra's dreamscapes, the lyricism of the near-love duet of the recognition scene, the Viennese flair of the Aegisth music, the obscene violence of the two murders, the rapid tempo changes. This was another evening where the orchestra was lord and master of the ritual and far exceeded the scene.