‘There was a man who saw the deep, the bedrock of the land, who knew the ways and learned all things.’

These are the opening lines of what has been described as the ‘first great work of literature’, created more than four thousand years ago in Mesopotamia – modern-day Iraq. The origins of the epic poem Gilgamesh are unclear. It was written in Akkadian cuneiform on clay tablets, and found in the ruins of the library of the Assyrian King Ashurbanipal (c.650 BCE); the literary style suggests an oral origin sung by bards before being transcribed. These remnants emerged over a timespan of nearly 2000 years, displaying substantial differences in style and mood, tracing the exploits of a great hero, and culminating in a final meditation on mortality. Unlike the celebrated epics of Greece and Rome, the story of Gilgamesh was lost until the clay fragments were discovered by Hormuzd Rassam in 1853 near Mosul, then moved to the British Museum and later translated. 

Since then, more tablets have been found and much of the text has been reassembled to depict the story of the semi-divine Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, and the ‘wild man’ Enkidu, whom the gods created ‘out of silence’ as a counterweight to prevent Gilgamesh from oppressing his people. After his ‘creation’ and while on his way to Uruk, Enkidu meets a temple prostitute who humanises him during their seven-day sexual tryst. Gilgamesh and Enkidu meet and fight, but neither prevails. Together they go on a long journey, during which Gilgamesh meets Ishtar, the goddess of love and war, or, as some describe her, ‘sex and violence’. However, Gilgamesh rudely rejects her. The two men fight Humbaba, monstrous guardian of the Cedar Forest, and kill the ‘Bull of Heaven’, for which the gods strike down Enkidu, arousing great grief in Gilgamesh at the loss of his companion whom he loves, as the epic notes, ‘like a wife’. Gilgamesh journeys further, meeting Uta-Napishti, the survivor of the Great Deluge (which long precedes the biblical Flood), but is unsuccessful in his quest for immortality. He returns to Uruk and builds a Great Wall to protect the city and its people. His new-found empathy and desire for a peaceful existence will guarantee that his fame lasts long after his death. 

Jeremy Kleeman as Gilgamesh (photograph by Daniel Boud)

Opera has drawn on myth from its Italian origins in the late sixteenth century, with its sources dominated by Greek and Roman mythology. While the subject matter of opera has greatly expanded over the subsequent four centuries, new operas drawn from these original sources still regularly appear, amplified by a much wider range of world myths. Of course, the most celebrated and substantial opera based on myth – Norse mythology – is Wagner’s epic Der Ring des Nibelungen. The legend of Gilgamesh has inspired a wide range of artistic responses including a celebrated novel by Australian writer Joan London (2010), which uses the legend as an organising strategy. Prominent musical ones include an oratorio, The Epic of Gilgamesh, by Czech composer Bohuslav Martinů (1955), and an acclaimed opera by Danish composer Per Nørgârd, Gilgamesh (1972).

The source material – with its combination of gods, loss, ageing, friendship, sex, youthful adventure, a quest motif, even a monster, and much else besides – provides great scope for artistic engagement. Despite the antiquity of the sources, there is much for contemporary readers and audiences to engage with, particularly the very human title figure whose trajectory ultimately ends in failure, but who gains our sympathy during the process. Librettist Louis Garrick provides a humorously frank appraisal of what this source material can offer: ‘Despite being based on the oldest written story in existence, Gilgamesh is absolutely a work of our times … It’s still very much a capital-O opera, with frocks, a triumphal march, a diva that makes a stunning entrance, a love duet, a tragic death scene and – believe it or not – a couple of tunes.’

It is no surprise that composer Jack Symonds and Garrick were drawn to this rich source; owing to its incomplete state, it offers freedom and artistic licence to potential adaptors. Symonds and Garrick have remained relatively faithful to the overall structure of the poem. However, they have developed many moments for traditional operatic arias and ensembles for most of the principals in the opera’s eight scenes, some of which are Garrick’s own invention. While using the highly regarded translation of Andrew George as a starting point, Garrick has created most of the text – the original poem has little dialogue – providing a poetic, flexible, and expressive language for Symonds’s sonically wide-ranging and ever-inventive musical score. The orchestral palette for the performance is provided by two of the country’s finest contemporary ensembles, the Australian String Quartet and Ensemble Offspring, supplemented by the extensive and highly effective use of electronics and sound design by Benjamin Carey, conducted by Symonds with his usual aplomb. There are five singers: Sydney Chamber Opera stalwarts Jane Sheldon and Jessica O’Donoghue sharing a variety of roles; baritone Jeremy Kleeman in the title role; tenor Daniel Szesiong Todd in several roles; and baritone Mitchell Riley as Enkidu. 

Symonds’ music is difficult to classify. There are strong echoes of earlier successful operas of his such as The Shape of the Earth (2018) and Notes from underground (2011). These are uncompromising, modernist works exploiting a variety of electronics; they demand extreme vocal and instrumental pyrotechnics from the performers. Gilgamesh draws on many techniques at the cutting edge of contemporary opera, but there is a strong lyrical element that was perhaps not as prominent in Symonds’s earlier works. The nature of the libretto and the arc of the action call for frequent moments of reflection and almost musical stasis amid a sense of inevitability.

Jessica O'Donoghue as Shamhat (photograph by Daniel Boud)

Both O’Donoghue and Sheldon have lyrical passages to sing amid their more frequent violent vocal outbursts, while Szesiong Todd reveals an attractive lyrical tenor. Symonds exploits Riley’s unique vocal timbre, astonishing physical abilities, and extreme vocal range, creating a fascinating character out of the enigmatic figure of Enkidu. His scenes with Gilgamesh contain some of the most beautiful moments in this richly rewarding score. Kleeman as Gilgamesh dominates the opera, creating a powerful, multi-dimensional character. He possesses a beautifully smooth baritone voice, rich in colour, wide in range, with an expressive and limpid vocal line. His voice has the required authority of the epic warrior for the more dramatic passages, but also the flexibility and a varied vocal palette to convey the emotional transformation the character undergoes with a growing sense of humanity and empathy as the opera nears its end. 

Sydney Chamber Opera has drawn together an outstanding production team led by Kip Williams as director. Williams, who recently stepped down after an extensive and highly successful period as artistic director of the Sydney Theatre Company, has had a long and fruitful association with SCO. The set designer is Elizabeth Gadsby, also a frequent collaborator with SCO. Both costume designer David Fleischer and lighting designer Amelia Lever-Davidson have extensive operatic experience; this team has created a visually arresting and thought-provoking dramatic experience, with the costumes particularly expressive of the nature of the characters being portrayed.

The action takes place in the large Bay 17 of Carriageworks – a square, flat playing area with no actual set. The opera opens with a fractured tree dominating the setting; branches of this tree are used throughout the performance as props. The lighting supporting the music is the main dramatic device used to signal changing scenes and moods, and the final moments of the opera have a tree stump as focal point – the symbolic destruction of the Cedar Forest is a dominant motif in the epic and is a potent reminder of ecological damage that is depicted throughout.

This is a substantial and important opera, with a running time of more than two hours and thirty minutes. The first act establishes the relationship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, while the second act depicts its destruction. The opening of the opera sees the ‘creation’ of Enkidu. Riley is astounding in his ability to convey the transformation of an undefined, writhing living creature into human form – both vocally with his wordless vocalisations gradually forming recognisable language, combined with the gradual physical emergence of a human being. A particular highlight of the first half is an intensely lyrical aria (‘Enchanted forest, indifferent to visitors’) for Enkidu, leading into the scene where their love for each other is finally consummated. Gilgamesh awakes from a nightmare and is comforted by Enkidu. This scene has a powerful combination of violent vocal outbursts interspersed between almost bel canto vocalisations for the two protagonists. Gilgamesh’s account of his dream, ‘It is night. Alone in the plains I stand looking into the dark’, is music of great beauty, culminating in an extended duet, occasionally with quasi-baroque articulations, for the two well-matched and outstanding voices.

The second act has an extended and moving death scene for Enkidu, but the act is dominated by Gilgamesh, who realises that his desire for immortality is unattainable. He reaches Uta-Napishti, the immortal human who tells Gilgamesh that he must ‘sing his own song eternally’. Gilgamesh finally understands that he must return to rebuild Uruk. Again, there is music of great beauty and drama in these final scenes, with Gilgamesh’s monologue expressive of the profound transformation he has undergone, the extended vocal techniques conveying the anguish of the realisation of failure as Uta-Napsihti tells him ‘There is nothing for you here.’ Gilgamesh describes himself as ‘the king who cast off his robes and clad himself in the hides of lions’ – the music and text poignantly fractured to display his anguish. He is given the gift of a plant for his journey back on the boat – the music a ‘slow barcarole … into infinity’. The opera ends with a glacially slow vocal quartet as Gilgamesh sings: ‘I have seen what is secret. Write it on a tablet of stone. I saw the deep’, his self understanding finally complete.

Gilgamesh – the first collaboration between Opera Australia and Sydney Chamber Opera – bodes well for future projects and the development of opera in Australia. Both organisations bring much to the table, SCO providing the contemporary, avant-garde repertoire and expertise sometimes lacking in OA’s seasons, while the major opera company offers SCO much-needed infrastructure and technical and artistic resources, the lack of which has negatively impacted productions in the past. Opera is as much a visual as an aural art form. 

Louis Garrick, in his program note, offers a wide-ranging and thought-provoking, if rather pessimistic, appraisal of the current state of operatic practice, making the valid point that opera needs renewal and re-imagining if it is to appeal to new audiences. He quotes the great American director Peter Sellars, who told him and Symonds, while directing an opera at the Sydney Festival, that ‘[o]ur job as artists is simple. See what’s not there, then put it there.’ While the staples of the operatic repertoire will maintain their popularity with certain audiences, if there is any chance of attracting younger audiences, different approaches are urgently needed. This may be how collaborations such as this one will bear the most fruit. One is left full of anticipation as to how this might develop in the future.

Gilgamesh (Opera Australia and Sydney Chamber Opera) continues at Carriageworks until 5 October 2024. Performance attended: 26 September.