Sophocles' Electra
Reviewed by Michael Toscano
Apr 27, 2005
Over the course of its two-decade
history, MetroStage has built a sturdy reputation for
presenting contemporary plays and musicals and featuring emerging playwrights,
leaving the classics to others. That standing is not likely to change with the company's
current production of Sophocles'
Electra: Despite the ancient Greek pedigree, the compelling,
emotionally satisfying production is very much of this moment.
For MetroStage's
first foray into the works of the ancient Greeks, producing artistic director
Carolyn Griffin chose the streamlined adaptation of Electra that Frank McGuinness created for a
As theater, Electra is
first and foremost the Olympics of acting; the leading role a challenge that
many actors may relish but that only the best can meet. MetroStage's
production seems to have had its genesis in the availability and the desire of
Jennifer Mendenhall for the part. The Helen Hayes Award winner notes in her
program bio that she is "ferociously happy" to return to MetroStage to portray Electra; that ferocity is evident
onstage as she attacks the plum role with gusto, not quite chewing the scenery
but certainly gumming it a bit. There's a lot for her to sink her teeth into:
Electra rages against her mistreatment in her familial home, waiting for the
return of her brother Orestes (Ted Feldman) to avenge the death of her father
at the hands of Aegisthus (Brian Hemmingsen),
who has since wed Electra's widowed mother Clytemnestra (Maura McGinn). The obsessed Electra runs the full gamut of
emotions from rage to grief, with occasional moments of doubt and despair as
well as a few flourishes of triumph.
Director Michael Russotto has choreographed significant movement for
Mendenhall. Wearing the ragged remnants of military clothing, her face grimy,
she's frequently striding up and down the front steps of the Greek-temple-like
home or leaping over the piles of junk cluttering the metal-and-barbed-wire
fence that circles the estate. An electronic ankle bracelet monitors her every
move, and when she ventures too near the gate in the fence, it slams shut to
the accompaniment of ear-splitting alarms and flashing red lights. (Though the
gate confines Electra, it eventually plays a major role in her liberation,
thanks to a deft bit of staging by Russotto.)
Throughout, Mendenhall avoids the constant state of near hysteria that all too
often marks performances of this role and exhausts an audience.
The only overacting in the
production comes whenever mention is made of Clytemnestra, sending Mendenhall's
Electra into paroxysms. This becomes understandable when Clytemnestra finally
makes her appearance. McGinn's manipulative widow
presents a startling contrast to her emotionally frazzled daughter: tall,
regal, and coolly imperious in manner, she's a lovely vision in a bright
turquoise top and white Capri pants (in contrast to the dark, muted colors worn
by the rest of the cast), with a knife snugly attached to her designer belt.
The scenes between Electra and Clytemnestra are the heart of this production --
more illuminating than Electra's reunion with Orestes -- and McGinn's striking performance makes her character's
downfall stunning.
Feldman turns in a strong, nuanced
performance as Orestes, and Rana Kay offers an
intriguing characterization of Chrysothemis: She
plays her as an ingénue with an unexpected spine of steel, thereby adding
dimension to the role. The chorus has been reduced to three women representing
youth, middle age, and old age. James Kronzer's set
contrasts the bright, clean estate with the grimy world that is encroaching
upon it. The metal fence topped with barbed wire bespeaks omnipresent violence,
while the debris surrounding the house signifies the crumbling of the dynasty
within.