Review: IPHIGÉNIE EN TAURIDE, London Coliseum

Even buoyed by the backwash of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (raking in a scarcely believable £100m at the UK box office alone) and the sight of hipsters reading dogeared copies of Homer on the Tube, Iphigénie en Tauride is a bold choice for the ENO. Perhaps mindful of that, this new production from Lyndsey Turner receives just four performances, in the middle of the longer run of (checks notes) Tosca. 

Christoph Gluck wrote the opera in his 60s and it premiered to electrifying effect in Paris in 1779 (perhaps everything was electrifying then and there) and it marked a turning point in opera, as Richard Bratby details in his fine essay in another strong programme at this venue. Gluck and his librettist, Nicolas-François Guillard (a much younger man) ditched much operatic convention, stripped back its affectations and binned off an overture in favour of a storm crashing a temple. If that sounds like musical theatre sans jazz hands and hot hoofers, you’re not far wrong.
 

Iphigénie, having been rescued from her sacrificial demise by Diana (the gods were rather more interventionist in classical mythology) is now her high priestess in a remote temple. The Scythians, who inhabit Tauris and favour Hugo Boss tailoring, ritually sacrifice any foreigners found in their lands (don’t tell Stephen Miller) and demand that Iphigénie does her duty when the donner and blitzen deposits two Greeks on the shore.

But there’s something about the two men brought to her for death, and something about her dreams of family fracturing that disturbs her. The two know what’s coming, plead for their lives or rather for each other’s, their bond of friendship strong. Unbeknownst to the increasing distressed Iphigénie, one is her matricidal but noble brother, Oreste,  and the other his lifelong buddy, Pylades.

The intersecting dilemmas seem impervious to resolution, especially with King Thoas and his sharp-suited goons watching on, daggers to hand. Until, well, until Euripides (who wrote the source material) does Euripides things.

There is so much to admire in this production. The chorus, the priestess and her acolytes are clad in a striking burgundy and sing beautifully, led by the ever impressive mezzo-soprano, Christine Rice in the title role, an old favourite of the ENO. She’s not even the best in show, as baritone, Jacques Imbrailo, excels as Oreste, catching the desperate emotion and soaring above the ENO orchestra. 

They’re in decent nick too, under the hands, if not baton, of David Bates, making a fine debut at this venue. The music takes some time to warm to, too loud and melodramatically urgent at first, dominating the voices, but, even without the familiar arias that punctuate more frequently staged operas, it grows on you, a soundscape to the trauma. 

For someone who has lived outside the knowledge of conversations between composers before and after Gluck’s effecting of a paradigm shift in operatic storytelling, the first hour can drag a little, with Tim Mitchell’s spectacular lighting doing the heavy lifting usually undertaken by the set. It also (and, for all the comparisons I made earlier with musical theatre, I know it’s not that genre) feels a little static, this cavernous stage occasionally swallowing the singers. 

Possibly one for those steeped in opera’s centuries of history, rather than casual fans, but it eventually delivers on its promise if a little slow in its build.  

Iphigénie en Tauride at the London Coliseum until 14 November