At once bleak, depressing, and dark, Electra is a powerful film that will leave you feeling drained of life. As its brooding lead Irene Papas realizes much too late, bloody redemption, all-encompassing hatred, and ill-gotten revenge sometimes come at a high price – your life. Like a Greek female Count of Monte Cristo, she is locked away at the peak of her young life only to emerge seeking revenge as a grown woman in this classic film based on Euripedes’ play. Directed by Michael Cacoyannis (Zorba the Greek, Stella), it is artistic and moving, its black and white cinematography by Walter Lassally as symbolic and fiercely provocative as any Greek tragedy could ever hope to be.
Electra (Papas) is the young and beautiful daughter of the great warrior and king Agamemnon who rules over the kingdom of Mycenae, but when he is murdered by his Queen and her lover (in the intense first seven-plus minutes of the film, during which silence reigns supreme), Electra is locked away within the walls of her father’s castle while her brother Orestes flees for safety. Years pass and hard times overcome the people of the land until years later Electra is permitted to leave the castle to marry at the Queen’s bequest – a dirty trick played on Electra to marry her off to an old peasant man, and effectively exile her from her rightful place as Princess of Mycanae.
When we finally see Electra emerge from the castle’s prison walls she is much older and has cut off her long gorgeous hair to spite her mother for killing her father. Her hatred is constantly throwing knives from her eyes, and her face is hardened from the torture she has endured at the loss of her family. The film continues as she searches for her brother, and together, they do whatever it takes to seek out final justice, which inevitably leads to death and disillusionment.
While Electra is a strongly acted and well thought out piece of Greek film, nominated for many awards at the time of its 1962 release, it is difficult to sit through without darkening your own soul. Its pace is slow and deliberate, at least 95-percent of the people on screen wear all black and cry constantly, lifetime mourners, for lack of a better phrase. It feels very much like an ancient version of scenes in The Godfather trilogy in which Francis Ford Coppola explores the Sicilian vendetta, except this time it’s a nearly two-hour procession of weeping and swearing revenge among the barren, rocky terrain. Everything is hard and empty and there is no love, or even life anywhere to be seen.
Much of Electra’s spoken reasons for never singing or dancing or even smiling again come across like she’s a spoiled brat who is angry because she must live, “in filth and squalor instead of the palace” and, “not have fancy gowns and jewellery.” She makes these comments in front of peasant people who love her and have lived that way all their lives, which makes Electra look like a major snob as she addresses the kind and generous poor people of her Kingdom who have nothing except their good hearts. This attitude left me feeling cold and empty, no matter how great a film this is technically.
