1
Theatrical Background
To understand an ancient play like Electra, we need to know what we can about the theatrical environment that brought it into being. Following the establishment of democracy in 508â507 BC, the city of Athens celebrated theatrical performances at the City Dionysia, a weeklong festival dedicated to the god Dionysus. Held each spring in the open-air theatre on the south slope of the Acropolis (site of the famous Parthenon), the performances attracted large crowds and were open to all who could afford a ticket.1 The festival featured competitions in tragedy (three playwrights entered three tragedies and a satyr-play each), comedy (five playwrights entered one play each), and dithyramb (ten adult male choruses and ten boysâ choruses sang and danced narrative poems dedicated to Dionysus).2 Sometime between 422 and 413 BC, Euripidesâ Electra premiered at the City Dionysia. Although the titles of the two other tragedies and the satyr play Euripides entered that year are unknown, seventeen additional plays of his survive, as well as the names of many more.3
Shielded from the north wind, the theatre of Dionysus took its shape from the curve of the hillside that formed a natural theatron, âa place for seeingâ. From where the audience gathered, a panorama opened up over the southern part of the city of Athens, with Mt. Hymettus and the Ilissos river to the east, the city and lowlands leading down to the Bay of Phaleron to the south (with the peaked island of Aegina rising in the distance in the Saronic Gulf), and the Hill of the Muses and the Pnyx (where the Athenian Assembly met) to the west â all visible from various points in the theatre.
As well as providing distant vistas, the theatre of Dionysus drew the audienceâs attention to the performance area, called the orchĂȘstra. This flattened surface of beaten earth followed the contours of the slope where the audience sat, bounded by the retaining wall built behind and just below the orchĂȘstra to keep it from eroding down the hillside.4 Although a few stone seating blocks from the fifth century have come to light, we know from the comic playwright Aristophanes that some audience members sat on wooden benches. Archaeologists recently have found indications that scaffolding for seats was erected for the festival and removed afterwards. The rest of the audience sat (or stood) on the hillside rising above the temporary seating banks. Even in Euripidesâ day, the theatre of Dionysus had a makeshift quality to it.
Fig. 1 Theatre of Dionysus in Athens, late nineteenth century. Courtesy of Deutsches ArchÀologisches Institut-Athen.
The same applies to the skĂȘnĂȘ façade, a temporary wooden structure that represented the playâs setting â a temple, a palace, or in the case of Electra a poor farmerâs cottage in the country. A central opening in the façade allowed actors to enter and exit the playing area, providing access to the stage building behind the orchĂȘstra, where the actors could change masks and costumes without being seen. When a playwright wished to reveal the body of someone (usually dead) inside, the doorway opened and a wheeled cart (ekkuklĂȘma) rolled out with the corpse on it. Near the end of Electra, Euripides turns the Farmerâs cottage âinside outâ by using the ekkuklĂȘma to reveal the corpses of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus.5
The stage building also could support actors on its roof, an area known as the theologeion (âplace where the gods speakâ) because stage divinities often appeared there. At the end of Electra, Castor and Polydeuces (the semi-divine brothers of Clytemnestra and Helen) arrive on the roof by means of the mĂȘchanĂȘ (âmachineâ), from whence we get the Latin phrase deus ex machina, âgod from the machineâ. A lever-and-fulcrum apparatus located behind the skĂȘnĂȘ raised the actors above the roof and then lowered them onto it, where they spoke from âon highâ.6 Euripidesâ Chorus convey their amazement, even incredulity, at the twin godsâ arrival: âBut look, high, high above the house / some mighty spirits or heavenly gods / are coming our way. This is not the path / that humans walk. Why do they appear / so plainly to our mortal eyes?â (Eur. El. 1233â37).
Human characters who came from far away normally arrived and departed through one of the two parodoi (âside roadsâ, also called eisodoi, âroads inâ), formed by the gap between the ends of the skĂȘnĂȘ façade and the front row of seats. Choruses almost always made their initial entrance through one of the parodoi (giving their entry song the name parodos), indicating that they â like the Chorus of Electra â had to travel some distance to reach the location where the play is set. These side entrances were wide enough to allow horse-drawn carts to drive into the orchĂȘstra, as Clytemnestra does (accompanied by her Trojan slaves) when she visits Electraâs cottage.
Because the audience could see a character approaching from the distance, either that character or someone onstage would announce the arrival with lines that âcoveredâ the entrance. This helps account for the Old Manâs self-description as he makes his way into the orchĂȘstra through an eisodos:
Where, where is the young princess, my dear mistress
and child of Agamemnon, whom I reared so long ago?
What a steep approach she has to her house, difficult for this tired,
bent old man to walk up, putting one foot in front of the other.
Still, for the sake of my friends I must drag myself along,
stooped over, weak-kneed, wavering, but still walking.
Oh daughter, now I see you coming from the houseâŠ
El. 487â93
During his long entrance, the Old Man provides the audience with important information: decades before, he raised the young Agamemnon; he knows Agamemnonâs daughter Electra well; her cottage lies on a steep hill, hard to reach for someone old and frail like himself; he remains devoted to the family, in spite of the effort it costs him.
The size of the open-air theatre, the public nature of the festival, and the scale of the tragic myths help account for conventions of ancient Greek performance. To provide some perspective, actors and audiences in fifth-century Athens would not have known what to make of Ibsenâs Hedda Gabler. Written for an actress in the title role, the play imagines an audience that looked through the âfourth wallâ into a private room, where characters used everyday conversation and behaviour to reveal (or hide) the truth of their inner lives. By contrast, Euripides wrote for male performers (both actors and Chorus members), all of whom wore masks that fully covered their face and hair.7 How could a masked male performer credibly portray a complex heroine like Electra? How could he bring her character to life, if the spectators could not see his facial expressions, the glint in his eye, the smile and snarl of his mouth, his flaring nostrils and furrowed brows?
Far from hindering the tragic actor, the mask helped project his character-persona out to a large audience. Familiarity with the text, facility with language, control over rhythm and inflection, vocal projection, mastery of movement and gesture mattered more for the actor than âidentificationâ with the imaginary inner life of the character he was playing. To be sure, tragedy seethes with emotions, but in the ancient theatre these feelings were âexternalizedâ. Whatever an actor wished to convey needed to find a scale that matched the theatre and the âlarger than lifeâ nature of the dramatized myths.8 Tragedians composed their plays with these criteria in mind.
At the opening of Electra, the Farmer comes out of his cottage to give the background of the story (El. 1â53).9 With no one else onstage, to whom is the Farmer speaking? If he were voicing aloud his private thoughts, would he continue talking for fifty lines without interruption? Orestes delivers what amounts to a second prologue (El. 82â106), explaining his cautious return from exile. He cannot be sharing the information for the benefit of his companion Pylades; the pair has been travelling together for days.
We need to understand that âGreek drama was not simply played before an audience (whose existence is tacitly ignored in modern realistic drama), but to an audience which was directly addressed so often that its presence was taken for granted by the actors throughout the performanceâ.10 All the speeches in Electra demand an outward, front-footed, audience-orientated acting style, in which the truth (or what passes for it) depends on its public disclosure. This applies to long speeches like the two prologues, and also to dialogue between two characters, which often takes the form of rapid alternating lines called stichomythia. Unspoken feelings, sotto voce asides, and muted inner monologues would have made no impact on an audience at the theatre of Dionysus.11
By enabling the performer to play different ages and genders, masks help explain the so-called âthree-actor ruleâ that operated at the City Dionysia. The city of Athens provided each playwright with three actors who performed all the (non-choral) speaking roles, and in 449 BC the festival instituted a prize for the best actor. In Electra, the protagonist (âfirst competitorâ) played Electra, the second actor played Orestes, and the third actor took on the remaining roles â the Farmer, the old Tutor, the Messenger, Clytemnestra, and Castor â changing his mask, costume, vocal register, and physical demeanour with speed and dexterity.12
A tragic convention even more challenging for modern audiences is the Chorus. Like all Greek tragedies, Electra alternates scenes of spoken verse with lyric sections sung and danced by a fifteen-member ensemble.13 In Euripidesâ play, this group represents girlfriends of Electra who come to invite her to a festival in Argos. Their motivation quickly drops away, however, for the Chorus performs a far more important function. Combining movement, music, and sung (or chanted) poetry, they gather various mythic strands of the story, singing of the Trojan War, the shield of Achilles, the murder of Agamemnon, and the changing fortunes of the house of Atreus. The Chorus recreate significant events that at f...