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3Jarrell, who created his own libretto, gave much thought to the setting of the French language and Racine’s alexandrines; he created a text that was free of the strict classical form of the language while retaining the sense of the original. The libretto for the ninety-minute work, presented in four sequences, was generally clear and apt, combining natural speech rhythms with more elaborate vocal flourishes for musical emphasis and some electronic murmurings from a pre-recorded chorus. There was warmth and a sustained atmosphere of reflective grief in the strings at the opening of the orchestral score, powerfully conducted by Jordan. Guth created athletic and stylized movement for the singers against Christian Schmidt’s classical-style three-room set. As the opera ended, there was a palpable sense of emptiness and despair as the three central characters each ended up in a state of glacial solitude. Racine’s final “hélas” produced a tragic orchestral sigh before a warm reception from the capacity audience
In the title role, the splendid Barbara Hannigan embodies the voice of passion and gives free rein to her emotions with agile and voluble phrasing. The final scene enlightens her personality in a new way, her singing seeming constrained as soon as she submits to the demands of duty. Conversely, Bo Skovhus's majestic Titus expresses himself in long and monotone phrases, his resignation expressed by rigidity of voice. But at times, the emperor allows emotion to swamp him: at this point, the singer shows his most wonderful effects: cries of distress and heavy-breathed sighs. In the pit orchestral profusion heightens the monotony of the voices, its timbre carefully balanced under the baton of Philippe Jordan. Contrasting atmostpheres flow from moving harmonic fields, the breaking of waves or nervous silences that match the dramatic meanderings. None the less, this carefully crafted texture is made from well-proven effects: don't expect the unexpected in this opera. If one's interest is in novel sonic experiences, what's lacking here is the prophetic exaltation which made Jarrell's Cassandre such a success. None the less, the conventionality of the music and the breathlessness of the libretto do not eclipse the merits of a high quality production, served by an unimpeachable cast.
The cast and décor ostensibly represent an elderly care facility, although the bleakness and lack of privacy are more reminiscent of a detention center. Iphigenia (convincingly acted and sung by Tara Erraught), condemned by her father Agamemnon, has been rescued by Diana (Marianne Croux) and serves the goddess as a priestess. Her brother Orestes (Jarrett Ott), whom Iphigenia believes to be deceased, arrives in Tauris with his friend Pylade (Juilen Behr) in tow. Although the titular heroine fails to recognize her brother initially, she is drawn to the newcomer and attempts to rescue him when he receives a death sentence. Iphigenia only learns of Orestes’ true identity in the final moments before his execution, recognizing him in extremis. She fails to carry out her brother’s punishment, angering the King of Sythia (Jean-François Lapointe). He condemns both siblings until the goddess Diana swoops in to save the day. In Warlikowski’s production, several timelines intermingle: the traditional narrative is recalled in flashbacks sung center stage by the main cast, while the presence of Iphigenia’s older self (non-singing role performed by Agata Buzek) is lost within her recollections at the nursing home, still exercising the nervous gestural ticks that her younger self displayed. The stark setting of the care facility morphs into a labyrinthian internal landscape of dreams and memories while the stage’s architectural machinations adapt accordingly. Glass wall panes and video projections provide depth and additional chambers, punctuated by a giant mirror scrim that opens the performance and reappears later, transforming the stage into a veritable memory palace. Clad in a shimmering gold skirt suit, both Iphigenias cut a tragic figure à la Jackie-O. But there is also enough bling and benevolence to conjure up Dolly Parton. Orestes blows in like James Dean, lending a hint of fragile rebellion to the role, complete with dark sunglasses. The coordination between reflective costume surfaces and sets is no accident, both were created by Malgorzata Szczęśniak. The successful production design is at the heart of this staging, providing an interactive schema. It shines a reflective light on both audiences and cast, questioning the hauntology of traumatic memory. Are some things best left forgotten?
