A Review of the National Theatre's Electra/Persona

It was a surprise and a delight when my friend offered me a ticket to see Electra/Persona, now playing at the National Theatre's Lyttelton Theatre. I think it is fair to say it is that rare and thrilling experience: a theatrical event that truly delivers on its audacious premise.

As someone who studied ancient Greek, I was acquainted, if not familiar, with Sophocles' Elektra, but I had no knowledge of Bergman’s Persona, so I was intrigued to understand Benedict Andrews' production, as to why it had infused Sophocles' ancient tragedy with Ingmar Bergman's modernist piece. Can I declare my judgement immediately: It is not a simple double bill but a singular, enthralling work of art that lingers long after the final bow.

At its core, the production hinges on a brilliant structural gambit. The first half presents Sophocles' Electra, where the title character, consumed by grief and rage, awaits her brother Orestes to avenge their father's murder at the hands of their mother, Clytemnestra. The second half then shifts to a staging of Bergman's Persona, in which an actress, Elisabeth Vogler, has fallen mysteriously silent mid-performance (of Electra, no less) and is cared for by a talkative nurse, Alma, on some remote island.

The connection between the two is not merely thematic; it is engineered into the very fabric of the production by a stunning coup de théâtre, linking the two narratives into one seamless cycle of grief. Andrews himself notes that "the whole evening is one cycle of grief," a thesis that becomes powerfully clear as the performance unfolds.

The production is anchored by the phenomenal actresses, Cate Blanchett and Nina Hoss, who, in a move of extraordinary ambition, alternate the roles of Electra/Elisabeth and Clytemnestra/Alma on a nightly basis, through the toss of a coin. On the evening reviewed, Hoss took on the ferocious grief of Electra and the complex silence of Elisabeth, while Blanchett delivered a chilling Clytemnestra and a vulnerable Alma. However, the power of the production lies in the fact that on other nights, these roles are reversed, adding a fascinating layer of meta-theatricality to a play already obsessed with masks and identity.

The performances are a masterclass in acting. Hoss's Electra is a raw nerve of seething grief and rage, a woman imprisoned not just by circumstance but by her own consuming emotions. Blanchett’s Clytemnestra is a figure of terrifying, justified authority, a mother who has avenged her daughter's sacrifice. If there is a note of incoherence, the chemistry between the two leads, forged in their acclaimed collaboration on the film Tár, removes it and creates a palpable tension that electrifies the stage, embodying the production's core idea that identity is fluid and that we are all, in some way, performing a role. Andrews' direction encourages this interplay, allowing his leads to "play the logic of the scene" in their own unique way. As Blanchett puts it, there is "a lot of masking and unmasking" in the production, making the evening a profound exploration of the persona as a mask.

Andrews' direction masterfully lets the two texts "seep into one another". The production emphasises their shared psychological territory: in Electra, characters are trapped by destiny and the gods, while in Persona, Bergman explores the modern fluidity of the self. The director seamlessly blends the "feral, muscular violence" of Greek drama with the unsettling, minimalist intimacy of Bergman's film.

This is not a dusty museum piece. In homage to Bergman's cinema, Andrews makes extraordinary use of video design (by Ash J Woodward) and a large screen, recreating iconic shots and exploring the face of Elizabeth/Alma as a "terrain". The production also imports contemporary elements, including a reading from Roy Scranton's Learning to Die in the Anthropocene, firmly rooting these ancient and modernist themes in the present day – even getting the silent Elizabeth to text on a smartphone. The result is theatrical art of the highest quality, a production that is both intellectually rigorous and deeply moving. As one critic put it, it is "theatrical art of the most enthralling quality”.

It is difficult not to conclude that Electra/Persona is an unmissable triumph. It is a production that respects its source material while fearlessly forging something entirely new. It challenges, disturbs, and ultimately rewards with a powerful and unique vision of grief, identity, and the roles we are forced to play. If you can get a ticket, do not hesitate. It is a performance of massive tension which creates total absorption and will never be forgotten.

Electra/Persona runs at the National Theatre's Lyttelton Theatre until October 10th, 2026.

Tim Boatswain

23/08/2026