Review: Elektra

by Mike Matthaiakis

Somewhere beneath the rubble of this overwrought production lies the bones of a timeless Greek tragedy. Unfortunately, Electra at the Duke of York’s Theatre is less a reimagining and more a demolition job of Sophocles’ classic, leaving audiences picking through the debris of what could have been a compelling night of theatre.

From the outset, it’s clear that director Daniel Fish has opted for shock and abrasion over clarity and emotional depth. Instead of drawing us into Electra’s visceral grief and unrelenting thirst for vengeance, the production assaults the senses with a barrage of blinding lights, abrasive sound design, and jarring tonal shifts. It’s less of a tragedy and more of an endurance test.

The central performance by Brie Larson, in what should have been an electrifying West End debut, is hampered by the sheer noise and clutter around her. Larson possesses undeniable intensity, but under the suffocating weight of the production’s constant sensory bombardment, her portrayal becomes repetitive and emotionally hollow. We are rarely invited into Electra’s psychological torment; instead, we observe a woman raging into a void, without variation, modulation, or any sense of narrative crescendo.

Fish’s vision seems to hinge on tearing down the traditional scaffolding of Greek drama, only to replace it with half-formed concepts and hollow provocations. Characters don punkish costumes, bark lines through distortion-heavy microphones, and flail through a set that resembles a post-apocalyptic warehouse. It feels less like a reinterpretation and more like a director daring the audience to walk out before the final, limp conclusion.

Even the occasional flashes of invention—moments where stillness or silence threaten to pierce through the chaos—are quickly snuffed out by yet another unnecessary gimmick or sonic onslaught. The emotional heft of Electra’s plight is never allowed to breathe, buried instead beneath layers of self-conscious styling.

There’s a tragic irony here. A play about familial fracture, fate, and revenge becomes itself a victim of its own hubris. The production is so determined to be edgy and iconoclastic that it loses all sight of the humanity at the core of Sophocles’ work. By the time the curtain falls, catharsis has long since exited the building, leaving behind only frustration and the faint hum of feedback in one’s ears.

To call this a Greek tragedy might be fitting—but sadly, the tragedy is happening on stage and not just within the story.

“Elektra” is running until 12 April at the Duke of York’s Theatre.