Having a star in your show (and the ticket sales they bring) might, understandably, give a production confidence. This new version of Sophocles’ play has chutzpah – let’s give it that. But a lot the bravado is superficial, and I fear its celebrity casting – in this case Brie Larson – doesn’t come out as well as she deserves to.
The driving force for the production, and by far the best part of it, is the chorus. This sextet (Hannah Bristow, Wallis Currie-Wood, Jo Goldsmith-Eteson, Nardia Ruth, Rebecca Thorn and Adeola Yemitan) are present all the time, both narrating and responding to the action. They sing throughout, and Ted Hearne’s compositions are superb. Anne Carson’s script is strongest in the lyrics. And, importantly, the songs are good deal clearer than when the performers speak.
If the chorus brings the audience, other onlookers, close to events, it is worth remembering that there is a big world full of powerful people in this play. Carson fails to explain this, removing the action so far from its context, without providing an alternative, that it causes confusion. Most of the performers suffer: Stockard Channing plays mummy Clytemnestra, Marième Diouf and Patrick Vaill are Elektra’s siblings, and there’s a brief but powerful turn from the excellent Gregg Hicks. They all seem a little lost – and that’s an awful lot of talent to waste.
To add to the injury, the performers are put through the mill by director Daniel Fish. The stage revolves. The costumes are ungainly. There are a lot of microphones and a blinding light. And everyone is sprayed with some black fluid upon entrance. The atmosphere is one of experimentation. But these are experiments most will have seen before. To be fair, Fish uses all of the huge space (there’s a lot of dry ice). And while I hope Larsen is enjoying the experience, when it comes to her role, no one suffers more than her.
This isn’t a one woman show. The chorus is too strong for that and Larsen is a generous performer. But the focus is too much on the titular character which, ironically, makes Elektra weaker. Placing her in some kind of performance art space with touches of a spoken word open-mic night doesn’t just date the production, it diminishes her rebellion. Take Elektra’s singing: she sings the word ‘no’ (and Elektra says ‘no’ a lot). The point of it, as with many of the production’s bizarre movements, is a puzzle and it should be obvious that it will tire quickly. But it also means that Electra’s “destroying tongue” – her power – does not convince. And that is a tragedy.
Until 12 April 2025
Photos by Helen Murray