It’s unclear why Christoph Willibald Gluck—and in particular,
his Iphigenia in Tauris—is enjoying a renaissance
lately. Perhaps his austere sound is refreshing to modern ears,
overstuffed as they are with the compressed soundtrack of noise, news,
and catchy pop songs. Gluck wrote Iphigenia (his masterpiece)
in an age when opera had been taken to its formulaic extremes, with
music alienated from its narrative and embroidered with ostentatious
vocal effects. The content was one-dimensional. Stock characters jammed
their exposition into dry recitatives before launching into
predictable, repetitive poetics.
Gluck broke from that tradition, marrying the word, action, and
music. He wrote stark, noble phrases instead of endless scales and
trill. With opera stripped of its ornaments, the drama became more
direct, and the characters—even the mythical ones—came to
life.
What made Gluck revolutionary then makes him risky today. There’s a
potential for muddying his work if the conductor, director, or singers
feel like something has to be added in order to bring it to life. With
opera companies scrambling to shuck their stodgy public image, Gluck is
not often performed. But director Stephen Wadsworth (of the
Ring cycle) is well known for reimagining dense and
potentially boring material. He’ll also direct Iphigenia at
New York’s Metropolitan Opera, where a new cast will perform it in
December.
The story, based on the Euripides play, concerns the family of
Agamemnon in the years following the Trojan War. Agamemnon’s daughter
Iphigenia has been rescued by the goddess Diana from being ritually
sacrificed by her father. When the opera begins, she is high priestess
of Diana’s temple at Tauris, where it’s become her job to ritually
sacrifice others, specifically strangers. The lives of two shipwrecked
Greeks—one of whom, unbeknownst to her, is her brother
Orestes—are in her hands.
Thomas Lynch’s set evokes an earthier, darker version of the Diana
cult than the customary whitewashed Greek columns. Deep red walls with
sconces and gilded statuettes enclose a large space offset by a large,
black statue of Diana, her bow drawn. Scenic effects, from ex
machina descents to ghostly translucent walls, are understated and
brief, but affecting.
Wadsworth shows his customary attention to the story, choosing to
blend naturalistic details (women of the temple sewing in the
background) with stylistic flourishes (an elaborate dialect of
supplicating hand gestures). His chorus isn’t too stiff—it moves
like a normal crowd instead of a procession of accessories—and
the frenzied choreography by Daniel Pelzig is appropriately ceremonial
and pagan.
But the performances by the principals feel unfocused. Wadsworth’s
attempt to make Iphigenia, Orestes, and the rest more naturalistic and
accessible works against the spirit of the music. Gluck’s writing isn’t
very tuneful or emotional—it’s square and blocky, and the
performance needs something equally stylized, but more dramatic, to
keep the audience’s attention. Normally, directors use tools like fancy
stage effects (which Gluck didn’t like), big dance numbers (which Gluck
also eschewed), or striking tableaux. When Maria Callas and her
director Visconti worked on Iphigenia, they scoured Tiepolo
paintings, looking for evocative poses for Callas to imitate.
Not Wadsworth—his principals either wander about aimlessly or
look bizarrely busy. Orestes, who is tortured by Furies, seems less a
dramatic mythical figure than a fidgety schizophrenic who wandered in
off the street. But baritone Brett Polegato handles the difficult vocal
part (written in the precarious upper-middle range) with strength,
sometimes oversinging but never shouting. His quiet restraint in
“Le calme rentre dans mon coeur” (“Calm enters my heart”) was
the best singing of the evening. Tenor William Burden’s Pylades (the
other Greek who washed up with Orestes) gives a focused, cleanly
inflected vocal delivery. His economy of physical gesture is also in
keeping with Gluck’s concept.
Nuccia Focile’s Iphigenia was a disappointment. Her tone was closed,
driven, and too darkly colored (with distorted, overly round vowels),
which made it impossible for her to sing the text clearly or with much
dramatic accent or nuance. She and Orestes have the opposite
problem—he does too much, she does too little. With the voice
and acting so divorced from one another, the title role nearly
seems like an afterthought. (And, while we’re at it, Phillip Joll as
King Thoas was blustery and wildly off-pitch.)
But the chorus and the orchestra are the surprise stars of
Iphigenia in Tauris. Conductor Gary Thor Wedow leads a
performance at once primitive, passionate, and disciplined. The Seattle
Opera Chorus, under Beth Kirchoff’s direction, sing intelligently
tiered dynamics. These supporting musicians do Gluck the greatest
justice, and the music unites the chorus and orchestra into a true
ensemble—they hit a sweet spot and the audience is stirred to its
feet. 