It's hard to imagine confirmed Straussians not wanting this starry Metropolitan Opera performance of
Elektra. Strauss and his librettist, Hugo von Hofmannstahl, transformed Sophocles' take on Homer's tale into a harrowing
opera noir. Elektra lives for one reason, to kill her mother, Klytämnestra, and her stepfather, Aegisth, the murderers of her father, Agamemnon. In contrast to Elektra's vengeful obsession, her sister Chrysothemis desires to get on with life. When their long-missing brother, Orestes, returns to do the deed, Elektra celebrates with a dance of death and, her sole purpose in life fulfilled, dies. Strauss joined the hermetic plot to music of the utmost opulence, violent and yearning by turns, evoking the cardinal principles of Greek tragedy - pity and terror.
This Met performance from February 1980 is notable for the playing of the orchestra, itself a major factor in any performance of Elektra, and for the three female leads. James Levine's conducting is full of passion, lyrical when it needs to be, but crushingly powerful in the big moments. Strauss' orchestration sometimes becomes chamber music-delicate, eloquently done by the orchestra. Birgitt Nilsson and Leonie Rysanek were the leading Elektra and Chrysothemis of the day. Nilsson was in her 62nd year, still singing well, even in such a demanding role that taxes singers half her age. But despite small signs that she's husbanding her vocal resources and hints of wavering pitch that indicate tiring, she gives an overwhelmingly intense performance. The booklet notes say that Rysanek was ill with a 102 degree fever, but there's no indication of it in either her singing or her passionate acting as. Mezzo Mignon Dunn, the Klytämnestra, was a Met mainstay for 35 years, and if she lacked the superstar status of Nilsson and Rysanek she more than holds her own here, virtually dominating the stage in her scenes and fully capturing the character's pain and frustration. If the men are not quite up to these three formidable ladies, that's par for the Elektra course.
The single set is of the dimly lit palace courtyard, identifiable as a place where bad things will happen. Herbert Graf's production and Paul Mills' stage direction are conventional, unimpeded by directorial novelty or conceptual misfires. Brian Large's video direction is not as effective or polished as his other Met productions; some moments obscured by darkness, others subverted by too-tight close-ups. The sound is also below the best that could be achieved in 1980, but good enough to do justice to the singing and the orchestra. --Dan Davis
