HGO constructs an 'Elektra' of epic proportions

"Elektra," Richard Strauss' monumental setting of the classical Greek tragedy, is an opera only the largest companies can mount, as the production comes with a stage setting that's almost as epic as this tale about extreme family drama.

A facade of crumbling stone columns and stairs that descend into a pit fills the stage with a texture and dimension that gives weight to the setting, while leaving room for a climactic display of blood flowing down the stairs.

Houston Grand Opera is among the companies that can accommodate the demands, as it opened an enthralling production of "Elektra" in the Resilience Theater at the George R. Brown Convention Center last Friday night, one that emphasizes the makeshift theater's compromises and yet seems oddly apt for this challenging season.

From the enormous orchestra - during the curtain calls, the lights came up to expose a veritable army of musicians packed behind the staging area - to the title character's volcanic emotions, "Elektra" threatens to overflow its bounds at every turn, which carries a bit of irony, given Buffalo Bayou's flooding crippled the Houston Grand Opera's home theater, The Wortham Center.

From the first unveiling of John McFarlane's set in this David McVicar production revived by Nick Sandys, the monochromatic gray of the set and costume design is pierced by a red glow from within the depths of the palace, like a bloody volcano threatening to erupt. Those crumbling columns and adjacent rubble flank the palace entrance, their monochromatic gray reflected in the drab gray of the servants' costumes and that of Elektra herself. The sparkling black farthingale gowns of Queen Klytaemnestra and her female courtiers support the production's monochrome look, their pale, bald countenances evoking gothic vampires.

And while the set design is key, any production of "Elektra" hinges on the availability of a soprano with the heavy voice and rock-solid technique capable of surmounting this Everest of the soprano repertoire. Christine Goerke has scaled the peak of "Elektra" and confidently planted her flag at the summit. Elektra's spiky vocal lines sounded effortless and lyrical in Goerke's powerful, yet musically sensitive performance, her hysterical outbursts balanced by soft, sensitive moments wherever she could find them in this densest of Strauss' scores. Her innate lyricism made it all the more dramatically potent when Goerke, as Elektra, declaims in frustration, "Are there no gods in heaven?!" with the word "himmel" (heaven) bursting forth as a panicked scream.

Mezzo-soprano Michaela Martens, as Elektra's elegantly debauched mother Klytaemnestra, employed an impressive vocal palette, ranging from imperious declamation and the occasional growl in her exchanges with Elektra, to half-whispered, occasionally hissed vocal shadings as the desiccated queen describes the nightmares that plague her.

Soprano Tamara Wilson sounded as though she were driving her sound a little too hard early on as Chrysothemis, but soared impressively over the massive orchestra and chorus at the end; baritone Greer Grimsley's sepulchral low notes contributed to an ominous portrait of Elektra's brother Orest; and in tenor Chad Shelton, it seemed luxurious to hear a tenor in his prime as Elektra's degenerate stepfather Aegisth.

HGO music director Patrick Summers led the Houston Grand Opera Orchestra in a vigorous account that never failed to deliver in the score's many "goose bump" moments.

How frustrating must it be, then, for this distinguished cast and orchestra to perform in a temporary space that gives them no acoustical help whatsoever? Torrents of sound emanate from the stage and are completely absorbed by the house. But on the positive side of the ledger, this vivid drama is played out close to the audience in a way that's not often possible in the Wortham. Every play of emotion - intense grief, relief, disbelief - on Elektra's face, as she recognizes her long-lost brother and avenger Orest, is clearly visible.

In the end, Orest carries out Elektra's revenge upon their mother and stepfather, his palace killing spree bringing about the production's final indelible image: the family's crimson-streaked past and bloody present surging beyond the confines of the palace, blood streaming down the stairs toward Elektra's spent, lifeless body, creating a perilously slick barrier for Chrysothemis. One final overflow in a production and opera that defies containment.