Circa, Russell Harcourt and Prudence Sanders with WA Opera and WASO in Orpheus and Eurydice at The Maj

Acrobatic dancers and laser-focused principals, with dazzling light and design amid a rich musical tapestry, couch WA Opera’s Orpheus and Eurydice in success at His Majesty’s Theatre this week and next. The joint production with Opera Queensland and Brisbane’s Circa ensemble mingles mythology with madness as Orpheus’ descent to hell in pursuit of his lost love Eurydice plumbs the depths of his mind in a modern asylum. Countertenor Russell Harcourt sustains the febrile, tormented Orpheus through the stages of grief with unwavering tone and pathos, while soprano Prudence Sanders’ warmer timbre as both Eurydice and the mystical Amor (Love) strikes a fine balance between ecstasy and despair. Written by Christoph Willibald Gluck in the transition between Baroque and Classical tradition, the retention of a countertenor, constrained by pitch, with fuller orchestration is another fine balance well met by conductor Chris van Tuinen with WA Symphony Orchestra musicians and WA Opera Chorus. Director and designer Yaron Lifschitz has created a challenging, constantly diverting scene, with striking costumes by Libby McDonnell, lights by Alexander Berlage and projection by Boris Baggatini. But the dynamic leaps, bounds and aerial work of the Circa troupe, under Bridie Hooper’s choreography, probably linger longest in the imagination. Bright tones of the overture raise the curtain on a lone, red-robed acrobat high above the stage, slung from a dangling cable as if fate hung in the balance, gradually subsiding to earth. A funeral scene reveals Orpheus restrained on a bed as the chorus sing a dirge and the distraught lover desperately intones Eurydice’s name. Like Rodolfo in La Boheme, a name is all he has left; yet this is just the start of the drama. Visions of a red-robed Eurydice stalk the stage as surtitles roll out like graffiti across the back wall and the acrobats’ perturbations mimic inner turmoil. Railing against the gods and vowing courage to the end, Orpheus encounters Amor, an image of his lost love tempting him to an outrageous quest beyond death. Not quite a conversation, more an abstract challenge, the tone is sincere yet distant, dreamlike, as half-naked attendants reflect metaphysics and mental health care in equal measure. Dramatic chords herald the descent to hell as fires break out in strobe lights, and frantic strings signal no place for the fainthearted. Harp settles the mood, an echo of Orpheus’ calling, but the furies are hard to please; defiant in voice and gyrating gymnastic gestures. Pity at last prevails through Orpheus’ ethereal pleas to find his lost love. Amid a claustrophobic, vertiginous dystopia he briefly joins the aerial display and glimpses Eurydice. Again, a lone acrobat rises above the stage, dancing slowly in the air as pastoral woodwinds prepare Orpheus’ epiphany: “Che puro ciel!” (What clear sky!) he sings. Death is perhaps not so bad, ditto madness, each within their own boundaries. He acknowledges the “place of departed heroes” as red petals rain down on his beloved amid sensuously dancing spirits. The chorus welcomes Orpheus to the realms of the dead in a glorious anthem. Yet hell is constrained by the ritualised ways of the furies, who reunite the lovers in blindfolds: “Do not lament your fate,” they sing. “You have your own Elysium.” Black-clad choristers pass among the throng like dark matter or energy, the glue of an obscure universe. The frustrated lovers quarrel, bound by Amor’s command that they exchange no glances until freed from hell. Eurydice, full-voiced in the upper register, is destined to prevail – the contrast between the couple a powerful dynamic – yet her success is her second death. Orpheus, back on his cot, bemoans the bitter moment as acrobats channel visions of the damned in medieval art; tortured outwardly as the lovers are inwardly. Weakness comes not through the human actors, who meet the challenge with stamina and verve, but by the inexorable workings of fate. “Che faro senza Eurydice?” (What shall I do without Eurydice?) Orpheus laments, a peak moment delivered on his knees with power and passion. Yet can love prevail? Convention in Gluck’s day demanded a “lieto fine” – a happy ending – and Amor halts the flow with a telling, “Stop this madness!”, calling Orpheus to life, not death. Orpheus writes out “The Triumph of Love” in the leitmotif black, red and white, graffiti-style on the back wall, as acrobats dance balletically and the chorus models a formal tableau, perhaps reflecting the audience on itself. Eurydice returns in anthemic glory with life, love and marriage restored. And yet – is all well? Orpheus and Eurydice is at The Maj until November 2. Read more in Weekend Arts in The West on Saturday.