The House of Atreus becomes a house of horrors in Nick Payne’s condensed ‘Electra’. There are moments of primal fear, but Carrie Cracknell’s production is largely torpid and over-wrought.
Cracknell aims for Sophocles by flashes of lightning: over 90 minutes we see Cath Whitefield’s Electra compulsively scrubbing at bloodstained tiles or tearing up floorboards, haunted by her younger self.
It’s atmospheric, claustrophobic and sickly: underscored by a tribal pulse, it has the thrill of a movie trailer but it’s all scars and no connective tissue; all scares, no suspense.
Payne’s 'Electra' is not complex, but 'Electra' pure and raw. Blood and earth recur in his rhythmic text. To harness its power, however, the director needs to push against the writing. Instead, Cracknell’s cast just emote. You’re unlikely to see better eyebrow-and-nostril acting all year – with one credible exception, Alex Price’s activist Orestes.