A Night at the Lyric: Elektra
Took myself on a date tonight to “Elektra” at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. Clocking in at a brisk 1hr40min with no intermission, this opera in one act is a primal powerhouse of rage, loathing, and retribution. It is visceral and blood-soaked, and the denouement—at which point the title character collapses in death—while most oft termed “cathartic”, I would argue is actually best described as “orgasmic”. In Elektra, we have a character whose filial devotion to her father has morphed into a lust for slaughter so profound that it verges on carnal.
Our introduction to Elektra is through maids discussing how she has been driven mad by grief and anger, which is quickly confirmed in Elektra’s “Allein! Weh, ganz allein!” (“"Alone! Alas, all alone!”), in which she vows to bring about the sadistic massacre of every living thing within the palace and then, her father thus avenged, she will proceed to freakin’ Riverdance atop the legion of bloodless corpses razed by her wrath.
We’re only about 15 minutes in, at this point. And let me tell you: this is one of the few operas where I am reading the surtitles. Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s libretto is thick and layered, his language so evocative and his verse so poetic that you can hear the tissue and muscle of throats part beneath a blade, smell the warm arterial spray, practically feel the clammy dead flesh beneath Elektra’s bare feet as she cavorts in joyous victory over her enemies. Generally, I don’t read surtitles; if the director, conductor, and singers are doing their jobs, you don’t need surtitles to understand what’s happening onstage. But with von Hofmannsthal, in this opera, his language, however it’s translated, illuminates the beauty of the characters’ suffering.
von Hofmannsthal is entirely responsible for my undying passion for “Elektra”. Don’t get me wrong—Strauss delivers a gut-wrenching score and absolutely no other partnership could’ve produced this work, but it is von Hofmannsthal’s libretto that keeps me hungry for another taste (in fact, von Hofmannsthal was my gateway to Strauss, not the other way around). von Hofmannsthal’s libretto squanders naught: we are come ‘in media res’ to a rampage, and every moment is another step toward that ultimate bloodshed.
If you’re not familiar with the story, let me 'splain…No, there is too much—let me sum up:
Elektra’s father King Agamemnon (commander of the Greek military) is brother-in-law to Helen, who eloped with (or was kidnapped by???) Paris, Prince of Troy (yes, yes, a thousand ships launched, Trojan horse, Achilles, the “Iliad”, etc.). Aggie, affronted, sets off to bring Helen back, ritualistically sacrificing his own daughter, Iphigenia, to guarantee success in this endeavor. Aggie’s wife, Klytämnestra, is understandably pissed about that sacrifice, and finds solace in Aegisth, with whom she begins an affair. When Aggie returns, Kly and Aeg murder him. Aggie’s son, Orest, is driven into exile, Elektra is demoted from Princess to menial, and their sister Chrysothemis basically just keeps her head down.
There’s a whole lot of exposition to all of this, but the basic takeaway here is that this is a supremely screwed up family where everyone is either heroic or villainous depending on whose side you choose to take. Yet what strikes me most about this story is this:
It is, ultimately, a tale about love.
Helen and Paris—whether it was affection or abduction—destroyed thousands of lives. Paris’s love for Helen led to large-scale war, and Agamemnon’s reaction sparked war on a small, more intimate scale: his family absolutely unraveled. Klytämnestra’s love for Iphigenia ultimately led to Agamemnon’s murder; Elektra’s love for her father Agamemnon and her brother Orest ultimately led to the murder of her mother Klytämnestra; Chrysothemis’s love of her sister Elektra and her brother Orest ultimately led to her being trapped in a no man’s land between them and her own desires. In the end, everyone’s love was poison, where ever it was injected.
When I consider Elektra, I can’t help but think of her as a sort of mirror reflection to “The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa”. In the midst of all this rage, the bloody carnage, Elektra does finally dance her dance, in the aftermath of Orest slaying Klytämnestra and Aegisth, and she is ensconced in divine rapture. Whatever we might think about the proceedings, we do see Elektra fulfill some portion of her promise as she dances, exultant, to her brother’s reaping of retribution. Whatever our thoughts on this family, we are nevertheless dismayed to find that, as Chrysothemis calls out to Orest for help, the gate to the palace is suddenly barred. von Hofmannsthal offers no explanation for this, and the curtain falls; but to my mind, this is yet another example of love gone to rot.
Elektra gave her status, her dignity, her very life, to avenge her beloved father and see her beloved brother returned to the throne, but in the end, she is just another corpse in a family saga beset with blood. To quote an Ambrose Phillips work: “His too eager love has made him busy to his own destruction”.
I haven’t spoken much of the actual Lyric performance. The orchestra formidable; the singers consummate; the production…thought-provoking. I could write an essay on the production itself, but I will say this about the scenic design: it’s so appropriate to see this opera staged on a once magnificent structure now dilapidated, crumbling, leaning-toward-collapse, because the characters moving across it, through it, over it, are standing amongst the ruins of love.
I encourage you to read the libretto, but let me leave with you with this line, spoken by Elektra at the culmination of her great vengeance: “Love kills, but none die without having known it.”
Happy Valentine’s Day.
