Getting a complex about it. Photo: Simon Kane
After garnering excellent reviews for his first two plays, If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet and Wanderlust, Nick Payne turns his pen to Greek tragedy, with a new version of Sophocles’ Electra.
Ten years after witnessed the brutal murder of her father at the hands of her mother, Electra is still suffering – much to the annoyance of her family. While her mother, Clytemnestra, seeks to have her committed, Electra appeals to Chrysothemis, her more submissive sister, for assistance in avenging their father’s death. But finding her sister’s mettle fails to match her own, Electra’s only hope lies in Orestes, the brother they haven’t seen since the killing.
Working with Carrie Cracknell, co-Artistic Director of the Gate Theatre, Payne successfully brings this ancient story to life for a contemporary audience. It’s a psychological study of sorts; an examination of the nature of grief. Set neither now nor then, the action takes place in a no man’s land, a liminal space – it is abstracted and universalised in a way that makes it accessible, recognisable and enduring. Working from an original translation, Payne’s version, linguistically, is spare and simplified, with a graceful eloquence; quite stylised on the page, but completely natural in the mouths of the actors.
Madeleine Potter steadily portrays Clytemnestra with a cold, controlled dignity, with Natasha Broomfield as her meeker daughter, Chrysothemis. Alex Price is the powerful, duty-driven Orestes, hungry for retribution, aided by Strophius, the old man who raised him, played by Martin Turner, who helps bring a little comedy to this otherwise rather gruelling evening.
Cath Whitefield excels as the disturbed, impulsive, but very human Electra. Teetering on the brink of madness, her high, nervous energy creates a sense of danger and tension. One moment she is hostile and defiant; the next, full of boyish mischief; the next again, hopelessly defeated. Unpredictable and brimming with agitation, her emotions erupt in fierce bursts, and Whitefield captures her every mood, her every thought, all those subtle shifts in temper – she brings life and truthfulness to it all.
Powerful lighting by Guy Hoare and thrilling, hair-raising sound design by Tom Mills help make this a stunning piece of theatre. We are repeatedly plunged into blackout, with brief flashes of disturbing imagery illuminated in the darkness: a child in a nightdress scrubbing at a bloodstain; a young woman frantically scrabbling on the floor, trying in vain to loosen the tiles; an ominous hooded figure, silhouetted against the light. The deafening pounding of the music, with its banging and screeching, drives it all forwards and keeps us on the edge of our seats. The same technique is employed as a way to get round the fight scenes in the play. From blackout, we see a rapid succession of images, mere suggestions and glimpses of violence, which is much more effective and frightening than they would have been played out in full.
Dramatic and technically accomplished, Cracknell’s production is realistic and edgy. This is not a comfortable 80 minutes, by any means; it’s dark, bloody, anguished and, as was Payne’s expressed hope, difficult to watch.
Read the Exeunt interview with Nick Payne.
