A director of Elektra has many choices of things on which to focus: the dramatic arc of Greek tragedy, the dysfunction of the Atreides family and the Jungian psychosexual aspects of their relationships, the sheer matricidal brutality of the siblings Elektra and Orest or even, more tangentially, the bathhouse in which Klytämnestra and her lover Ägisth murdered Agamemnon in the backstory to the opera. In his new production at Covent Garden, Christof Loy chooses none of these things. Rather, Loy is interested in the humanity of his protagonists. These are not monsters but people capable of love. In another story under less vengeful gods, Chrysothemis’ thirst for a loving life might have mollified Elektra’s rage; Klytämnestra might have chosen a better man than the nonentity, Ägisth; she might have brought her children to an understanding that Agamemnon’s sacrifice of their sister Iphigenia made his murder inevitable.
This view of the opera was perfectly matched by Sir Antonio Pappano’s reading of Richard Strauss’ score. With an orchestra of over 100 (one of the largest in any opera) playing 100 minutes of music without a break, Elektra has the potential to be seriously loud from beginning to end (in a rehearsal, George Hall relates in the programme note, Strauss actually asked the orchestra to play louder to drown out the contralto, whom he disliked), but Pappano took the opposite path, using those forces to create timbral variety and emotional nuance. The recognition scene at Orest’s homecoming was lush and warming, the relationship between Orest and Elektra on the edge of spilling over from sibling love into eroticism. Chrysothemis’ doomed attempts at bringing Elektra back from the brink were lent enormous powers of persuasion by the rapturous orchestral colours. Even in the scene of Elektra feigning kindness to her mother, the orchestra conjured up enough magic to make her blandishments sound real. Only in the opening scenes with the maids and in the final murderous mayhem did they lapse into stridency.
Every one of the singers gave a persuasive account of their character. The purest beauty of voice came from Sara Jakubiak as Chrysothemis, whose delicious high register radiated sweetness. Karita Mattila stole the show (which isn’t exactly an exceptional event), in fine voice as Klyämnestra, veering between imperious and neurotic. As Orest, Łukasz Goliński showed why his career is currently on a steeply rising path, with a bass-baritone voice that was both ardent and urgent. In the title role, Nina Stemme gave us her usual masterclass in portraying a tortured heroine, although her voice was inconsistent, having no trouble with power in the midrange but hesitant in high register pianissimi to the point where some lines disappeared altogether.
With Loy focused on characterisation, the visuals of this staging take second place. The setting is Vienna around 1909 (the time and place of the opera’s composition), but rather than showing us the opulence of a royal palace, designer Johannes Leiacker places us in its grimy courtyard, caked with coal dust and strewn with litter – we only get occasional glimpses of the bright lights indoors. This serves to focus on the “upstairs downstairs” relationships, with Elektra condemned to a dowdy existence amongst the carping maids, but after we’ve gained that understanding, which happens very soon after the opera starts, the scenery contributes little other than to provide a severe, dingy backdrop to proceedings. Klytämnestra is given the only striking costume (satin ball gown, fur stole, bejewelled tiara). Chrysothemis’ pastel gown is muted to the point of sadness; the other costumes (business suits for most men, maid’s outfits for most women) are largely anonymous. All this fits the schema of personalities that Loy is building without exactly making for a visual feast.
What made this performance memorable, therefore, was the portrayal of relationships through music, with characterful singing matched to a wonderfully nuanced orchestral performance. We came out with surprisingly high levels of empathy for everyone except the maids and the hapless Ägisth. Rather than horror, we were left with sadness at what might have been, with any of our anger reserved for the gods who have driven this fate.
