Review: ELEKTRA at Duke of York's Theatre
Revenge. Bloodlust. Family trauma. And, apparently, the urgent need to assault the audience with as much noise, nonsense, and meaningless theatrics as humanly possible. Welcome to Elektra at the Duke of York’s Theatre - a production so aggressively self-indulgent that I started wondering if it was some elaborate social experiment to see how long people could endure it before walking out.
Brie Larson, Oscar-winner, Marvel superhero, and now, victim of a director with too much creative control, commits fully to the role. She stomps, she wails into microphones, she twists herself into contorted poses like she’s trying to summon a demon. She sings the word ‘no’ every time it comes up. It’s raw, it’s relentless, and it’s utterly exhausting to watch. You can practically see the emotional turmoil radiating off her, but after a while, it just starts feeling like screaming for the sake of screaming.
And then there’s the production itself. Imagine a
group of theatre students were let loose in a warehouse with unlimited access
to props, lighting effects, and sound distortion. That’s what we’re dealing
with here. Random blimp hanging in the background? Sure. Microphones that
distort voices beyond recognition? Of course. A pop song suddenly blaring
mid-scene, drowning out all dialogue? Why the hell not.
And then, of course, there’s the moment where Larson just starts spray-painting everything black. Does it symbolise her grief? Her rage? The futility of existence? No. It just feels like filler. The whole show reeks of trying too hard – like Fish is standing just off-stage, desperately whispering, “Do you get it? Do you see how clever I am?”
It’s theatre that confuses chaos with meaning. And unless you enjoy productions that feel like an avant-garde assault on your senses, you’ll spend most of it contemplating the logistics of sneaking out undetected.
The good: …Stockard Channing. That’s it. The absolute legend that is Stockard Channing strides onto the stage as Clytemnestra, wrapped in fur and dripping with detached menace. She actually manages to hold the show together for the brief moments she’s on stage. And then, far too soon, she’s gone, and we’re back to watching Brie Larson scream into a microphone like she’s at an underground punk gig that no one wanted to attend.
The bad: Everything else. There is no nuance, no emotional depth, just a constant barrage of gimmicks that drown out what should have been a powerful, harrowing story. If you stripped back all the nonsense and actually let the text breathe, maybe there would have been something worthwhile here. But no. Instead, we got this.
This show is loud, obnoxious, and completely void of the emotional weight that makes Greek tragedy timeless. Instead of depth, it gave us gimmicks. Instead of pain, it gave us posturing. Instead of tragedy, it gave us a desperate attempt to be edgy.
Would I watch it again? No. Am I glad I saw it? Also
no.
Elektra
is at Duke of York’s Theatre until 12th April, and tickets are
available here: https://www.thedukeofyorks.com/elektra
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