Sophocles’ Ancient Greek tragedy ‘Electra’ provides the framework for experimental physical theatre that shines a light on generations of gender violence.
Oxford’s Offbeat Festival and The Old Fire Station welcomed award-winning, female and queer-led company Vertebra Theatre to the stage with Electra Untitled, their modern adaptation of Sophocles’ Greek tragedy. This ensemble are specialists in research-led experimental and surrealist performance art, and I was intrigued to see how this ancient narrative would be reworked “through the lens of the female gaze”, as the show notes decreed.
“Electra is the protagonist and antagonist,” explains a voice-over early on in the performance. As the ancient story goes, Electra and her brother Orestes seek to avenge their father Agamemnon’s murder at the hands of their mother Clytemnestra and stepfather Aegisthus. Being a key player in the death of two family members – Clytemnestra, most significantly – Electra’s traditional position as a ‘mother’s daughter’ is defied as she’s driven by cruelty into maniacal acts of killing (sorry, spoilers). But whether or not you knew the story, this opening line makes clear that the titular figure is an antihero ripe for modern analysis.
Three pieces of suspended red fabric created an initial atmosphere of unease, matched by the sound of Claire-Monique Martin’s haunting violin playing. The trio of actors, Pelagie-May Green, Depi Gorgogianni and Mayra Stergiou, then pulled themselves inside the material, appearing like writhing effigies to a soundtrack of swarming flies. Electra Untitled’s keynote of violence was clear from the off.
These long stretches of cloth were central to most of the movement sequences, used to restrict or catapult bodies across the stage, to connect two heads as they giddied about with hysteria, or to be searched with wandering hands in a general state of derangement. The physicalities of the performers must be commended, showcasing abilities to move with both softness and strength, rigidity and fluidity, their bodies appearing angered and silenced. Ultimately though, I felt these dance-like motifs lacked overall gravitas, as the more the fabric was used, the less impactful the bloodied colour and swaddling effects became. Weaving in some additional narrative might have been beneficial to really hone the subject of these visual routines.
Group singing was an effective homage to Greek chorus, while the use of live video worked to firmly cement the piece in 21st-century cultural conversation. Operated by Stergiou, the camera panning to Gorgogianni’s blood-covered hands was a stirring moment, but the text felt a little lacking in substance here. I wonder whether the show could be developed further in future, with more than one instance of puppetry to mix up the tempo and perhaps less audio reverb; while this was undoubtedly an atmospheric choice, it was sometimes difficult to make out the speech against the booming echo.
A contemporary retelling, this show was not. I was reminded to free myself into the mindset of surreal physical theatre, rather than spending time intellectualising Electra Untitled’s relation to Sophocles’ original text and cohort of characters. This Ancient Greek tragedy instead provided a conceptual framework to explore broader, timeless themes of gender violence – the ‘Electra’ we see on stage is not a singular person, but an allegory for mental turmoil and trauma. Without detracting from the impressive components of movement and soundscape, some head-on pieces of script that tackled the difficulties of patriarchal suppression and domestic violence might give the piece more resounding impact.