Sophocles is difficult. Unlike Euripides, whose dramas seem so modern, so sarcastic, Sophocles' plays rely on complex philosophical explorations more than action. You can have your catharsis, but you've got to work for it. If you approach the National Theatre of Greece's production of Sophocles' Electra at City Center with the patient attention needed for other classical forms, such as ballet, opera, or symphony, you will find much to revere. Those expecting Euripidean fireworks might be less happy — as were many of the audience members who left in droves the night I attended when a light change made the exodus more decent.
They may have been expecting fireworks because the production marks the U.S. debut of German director Peter Stein. Part of what made Stein's work seem radical when he debuted in 1967, however, was his departure from "director's theatre," along with his democratic approach to theatre organization. Those traits are visible in this Electra: The stage text version of the play (Modern Greek translation by Minos Volanakis with English supertitles) was created by the company at the director's house, and the ensemble work of the chorus of young women, a collection of individuals and also a unit, is precise.
In Sophocles' version of the myth, Electra (a strong physical presence in Stefania Goulioti), the daughter of Agamemnon, murdered by his wife, Clytemnestra (mincing Karyofyllia Karabeti), when he returned from Troy, waits after many years for the return of her exiled brother, Orestes (Apostolis Totsikas), and longs to avenge her father. Only the weak, like her sister Chrysothemis (winsome Kora Karvouni), or the evil, like murderous Mom and her lover, effeminate Aegisthus (Lazaros Georgakopoulos), strongly question Electra's righteousness, although she's clearly obsessed. At times the play feels more a meditation on anger and justice than a drama: A long scene involves the description of a death that the whole audience already knows never happened — Orestes has asked his tutor (Yannis Fertis) to misinform the palace. The length of the scene, and its subsequent reversal, emphasizes attitude, not plot.
The starkness of the setting, two stone basins and a palace wall made of metal blocks (set design and costumes by Dionissis Fotopoulos) is alleviated by the glorious music (by Alessando Nidi) — an onstage musician plays a reed instrument and drums; the chorus sings in pure, almost medieval harmonies. Their incantations turn to a dancing hymn to revenge by this worthwhile production's bloody end.
Presented by the National Theatre of Greece
at New York City Center, 130 W. 55th St, NYC.
Oct. 10-14. Wed.-Fri., 8 p.m., Sat., 2 and 8 p.m., Sun. 3 p.m.
(212) 581-1212 or www.nycitycenter.org.