'Elektra' review — Brie Larson's West End debut hums with rebellious punk energy

Read our review of Elektra, starring Brie Larson and Stockard Channing, now in performances at the Duke of York's Theatre through 12 April.

The Duke of York’s Theatre has enjoyed a run of star-led productions in recent months, from the Tom Holland Romeo and Juliet, to Lily Collins in Barcelona and, now, Academy Award winner Brie Larson (Room, Lessons in Chemistry) as tragic Greek figure Electra (styled here Elektra) in her West End debut.

Much like the Tom Holland production, this Elektra is a stripped back, contemporary take on a classic text, which is perhaps unsurprising given director Daniel Fish’s radical adaptation of Oklahoma! in 2022. His Elektra is filled with several Jamie Lloyd-esque touches such as microphones, an occasionally deafening sound design, bright lights, and lots of serious, furrowed brows.

Running to only 75 minutes, Sophokles’s play opens with Elektra grieving the death of her father Agamemnon, who has been murdered by her mother Clytemnestra (working with her lover Aegistrus) as revenge for the sacrifice of their daughter Iphigenia. Keeping up? As Elektra waits for the return of her younger brother Orestes, she plots how to seek retribution for her father’s murder.

The play’s themes are certainly weighty, but any actual action in Elektra is minimal — and Fish doesn’t hide from this, leaning into experimental performance tactics as Elektra ruminates on her broken family. The production lands somewhere between theatre, performance art, slam poetry and even a comedy roast, as Larson clutches a microphone and mocks Clytemnestra (played by veteran of stage and screen Stockard Channing who, along with the rest of the supporting cast, is underused).

Larson nails certain lines, such as the deadpan delivery of “men love a woman with character”, but her detached, reflective performance style makes it difficult to feel a connection with her character. Her voice is deliberately flat, which often jars, particularly when she is reunited with her brother and her reaction is borderline emotionless.

She is styled as a masculine Elektra, spitting at every mention of her mother’s lover Aegistrus and sporting a buzz-cut, baggy jeans, chunky shoes, and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Bikini Kill” in reference to an underground feminist punk rock band from the 1990s. She is surrounded by a powerful all-female chorus, who are constantly in dialogue with Larson, echoing her words and movements. The production thrums with insurgent, female energy.

Despite these punk references, Elektra does not feel tied to a specific period in its set design. It is an empty stage, except for a revolve of rotating chairs, microphones, and a spray paint machine, which coats the characters in black paint at the click of a button from Larson, as an outward manifestation of sin. At one point, the black paint is sprayed across a white screen at the back of the stage and I couldn’t help wanting more — more paint, more rage, less control.

Tonally, some of the shifts are jarring. Her use of microphones for voice distortion often lands awkwardly and a huge cloud of smoke sweeping across the stage feels more like a special effects distraction, as does much of the shadow play by lighting designer Adam Silverman. I’d also love someone to answer why a blimp was floating above the stage.

This is certainly a production designed to stretch its audience and it won’t be to everyone’s taste, but there is no doubting Larson’s ambition in her debut London stage role.

Book Elektra tickets on LondonTheatre.co.uk

Photo credit: Brie Larson in Elektra. (Photo courtesy of production)