Desultory Diary, Episode 22: At Least Elektra Can Sing

Yesterday, I streamed the 2016 Met performance of Elektra. It was directed by Patrice Chéreau and starred Nina Stemme as Elektra, Waltrud Meier as Clytemnestra, Eric Owen as Orestes and Adrianne Pieczonka as Chrysotemis, The opera was spectacularly cast, especially regarding Nina Stemme in the title role. The set and stage direction were equally brilliant; this was, unfortunately, the last opera directed by Chéreau, who died in 2013 at the age of 68. The performance was dedicated to his memory.

                               Patrice Chéeeau (1944-2013)

I wrote recently that some operas have weak librettos and remain popular due to the quality of the music, Così Fan Tutte and Il Trovatore, for example. That is not the case with Elektra. Hugo von Hofmannsthal, who wrote the text, was a famous poet and writer in his own right; his work is still read today. The five texts he wrote to operas by Strauss (der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, die Frau ohne Schatten, Arabella, and die aegyptische Helena, are all, in my opinion, masterworks, albeit in some cases flawed masterworks. The collaborations of Strauss and Hofmannsthal are among the most significant ones in musical history.

 The quality of Hoffmannsthal’s text to Elektra has been taught in German literature classes separately from consideration of the music written to it. It is a superb psychological drama, the pacing of which is pitch-perfect.

While viewing Stemme’s stunning performance for the second time, I had a new insight into this opera. Elektra is an opera about mental illness. Its portrayal of mental illness is unique in the repertoire. Where else does one find in opera a main character who suffers from this condition?

Elektra is tormented by her own mind. Although her father’s murder occurred years ago, the image of it keeps repeating over and over in her consciousness. The desire for revenge has become a waking nightmare; it has left no room for any other emotion in her life. She imagines that when her fixed idea becomes reality, all problems will be solved and she will finally be able to lead a normal life. When her father’s death is avenged, however, what is she left with? A void, nothing. She has sacrificed everything. She has been living for some time “with the dogs” outside the palace. True, her mother banished her there, which is understandable because the object of her mad daughter’s vengeance fantasies are centered around her lover and her, Clytemnestra, and Aegistes. Psychologically, however, her banishment symbolizes the isolation of madness.

Part of Elektras’s fantasies is imagining herself dancing for joy once her father’s death has been avenged. Yet after Orestes accomplishes the deed, she cannot dance. She’s been crazy for too long; she is out of shape mentally and physically.The director did a splendid job at this point. Electra tries to lift her stiff legs and dance, but to no avail. She dances pitifully. Finally she stops trying and simply stares into space, directly at the audience. It reminds me of Anthony Perkins in the last scene of Psycho. No, I am not going to move, even though the fly is crawling across my face. Another great portrait of madness!

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The above is a perfect segue to discuss the mental state of our President, Donald J. Trump. I have long been expressing concerns  about Trump’s mental condition. This is not partisan; I admit that I am a liberal, but Trump’s madness, I believe, is just as obvious as the madness of Elektra and of Norman Bates. 

Trump is a pathological narcissist. He is only interested in himself.
He cannot help lying. He denies having done anything wrong, ever. He is like a little girl with mud on her hands; asked over and over by her mother whether she had anything to do with an uprooted plant in the garden, the little girl replies—while holding the uprooted pant in her hands—that she never would do something like that and knows absolutely noting about it! Trump calls himself a genius, but comes across as a very ignorant man. He is paranoid, an example of which is his tendency to blame President Obama for everything.

Astonishingly, Trump has never taken responsibility for anything. He has never once, to my knowledge, admitted that he had done anything wrong. I remember listening with disbelief at Trump's response to the question as to whether he ever asked God for forgiveness. "No", he replied, "for I never did anything wrong!"

A hallmark of pathological narcissism is lack of empathy. How could a president, for instance, sleep at night while immigrants are confined to deplorable conditions in detention centers? Easy, if that president is a narcissist. 

It must be tough for Trump who needs constant praise; a president is always going to have to deal with criticism. Trump, of course, can't deal with it.

Any news he doesn't like is fake news.

He has no empathy for others, yet feels sorry for himself. In his mind, he's been the best president in history while, apart from his base, fewer and fewer citizens agree, which only increases his paranoia.  I heard him say in today's news briefing (April 22) (the false claim) that we are taking very good care of our senior citizens, "yet no one wants to take care of me." (Trump will be 74 soon.) A bad joke? No, he was deadly serious. Can you imagine any other president guilty of such maudlin behavior?

His narcissism demands that he is the smartest person in the room. He's usually not even close to that. Such pathology! The list goes on.

The portrayal of Elektra's madness is both riveting and entertaining; the portrayal of Norman Bates’s madness is riveting and entertaining as well. Trump’s is just plain riveting.

When the opera is over, we feel a catharsis, pity for a brilliant woman who has descended  into madness. We feel no such catharsis with Trump—at least not yet—since we, collectively, are part of the madness he represents; maybe not by popular vote, nevertheless, we elected a man who is not fit for the job. A veritable meme of spite and vindictiveness, Trump is leading us down a garden path from Oz to a Kansas governed by a man infected with Trump’s madness.

Trump’s pathology, if not infecting, is, at the very least, affecting all of us. Can you imagine our country with Elektra as president? That’s what we have; only worse.

At  least Elektra can sing.