The title “Electra Persona” merges references to Sophocles’ tragic play about a daughter ensnared in vengeance, and Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 film that features an actor who suddenly becomes mute while portraying Electra on stage.
In this adaptation directed by Benedict Andrews, the two narratives are intertwined. The production features Cate Blanchett and Nina Hoss, who alternate in the roles of Electra and her vengeful mother, Clytemnestra, alongside Bergman’s silent character, Elisabeth, and her nurse, Alma, who engage in a troubling, reflective relationship.
Each night, the roles are assigned by a coin toss, with Blanchett asking Hoss to flip the coin in front of the audience. The winner determines which character she will portray; Blanchett often ends up as Clytemnestra and Alma, while Hoss takes on Electra and Elisabeth.
This innovative format aims to extract the complexities of mother-daughter dynamics from both stories while delving into themes of performance and identity. The production seeks to explore how actors embody their roles and differentiate themselves from their characters, rather than merely turning the performance into a theatrical contest.
This gripping, uninterrupted production operates as a dual narrative, with Andrews’ reimagining of the ancient story proving more compelling than his interpretation of Bergman’s film.
Throughout the evening, Blanchett and Hoss engage in a series of intense confrontations. Though the merging of two distinct narratives may stretch the concept, the two actresses become the production’s greatest strength, showcasing their talents even as the awkwardness of “Persona” reveals its flaws.
The performance begins with Hoss delivering a powerful portrayal of an enraged teenager, wielding a hammer with an unsettling blend of humor and menace. Her character’s complex feelings toward her mother blend love and hatred.
Blanchett, meanwhile, commands attention, though she is less domineering than Stockard Channing’s interpretation of Clytemnestra in the West End’s quirky rendition of “Elektra.” Beneath her regal demeanor and occasional humor lies a desperate plea for vengeance over her daughter Iphigenia’s death, sacrificed by her father Agamemnon, which makes both mother and daughter’s quest for retribution feel justified.
The production is marked by overt theatricality, with characters donning costumes and applying face paint as they enact their family’s tragic story. Electra momentarily takes on the roles of Agamemnon and her brother Orestes by wearing their jackets, while her more compliant sister, Chrysothemis (played by Ella Lily Hyland), trembles in the pure white gown of Iphigenia.
The scene depicting Clytemnestra’s lover, Aegisthus (played by Patrick Robinson), meeting his demise features stark blood splatter, effectively showcased against Magda Willi’s ascending staircase set, giving the performance an almost magical quality. The sound design by Brendan Aanes adds an electrifying heartbeat that elevates the tension without descending into chaos, maintaining a sense of control throughout.
However, the production falters when it attempts to incorporate elements from Bergman’s film. Known for its psychological depth, the film’s adaptation to stage proves more challenging. Andrews introduces a screen and a handheld camera that intermittently reflects the audience and primarily focuses on Elisabeth in silent close-ups.
Hoss often operates the camera, reenacting the film’s beach chase as a backstage scene with handheld footage. This technique, now a familiar trope used by directors like Ivo van Hove and Jamie Lloyd, feels somewhat stale in this context.
While there are clever connections between the two narratives, with shared props and costumes, Alma’s monologues often feel disjointed against Elisabeth’s silence. The film’s influence on directors like David Lynch is acknowledged, but the execution here comes across as a derivative attempt.
Ultimately, as a dual presentation, the first segment stands out not only as a showcase for its lead actresses but also as a celebration of the power of performance itself.
This production is currently running at the National Theatre in London until October 10.
