By David Gordon
Sophocles’ tragedy “Electra,” is no stranger to adaptation. Notable versions include Eugene O’Neill’s “Mourning Becomes Electra,” Richard Strauss’s opera “Elektra,” and Jean-Paul Sartre’s existentialist play “The Flies.” McArthur Genius Grant winner Luis Alfaro’s version, “Electricidad,” is decidedly modern. Directed by Peter Sander, “Electricidad,” in performances at the University’s Black Box Theatre weekends through October 12, is set “right now,” in the Chicano barrio of East Los Angeles.
Jack-of-all-trades Alfaro, playwright, performance artist, counselor to troubled teens, was partially inspired to write his play after hearing the story of a thirteen-year-old girl who killed her mother after hearing that she murdered the girl’s father. The tale of Electra, how she and her brother Orestes conspire to murder their mother Clytemnestra and her lover Aegeisthus (absent in this version) because she murdered their father, King Agamemnon, had come to life.
Cholo (gang) rule is a way of life in this section of town. El Auggie, former Cholo kingpin,is dead on the front lawn, murdered by wife Clemencia after drug addiction took away his power. Daughter Electricidad hasn’t left his side. Her brother, Orestes, is exiled in Las Vegas (they think he’s dead), learning what it takes to become the new Cholo leader. Electricidad is hell-bent on vengeance, despite warnings against it by sister Ifigenia, who recently returned from a convent (they thought she was in jail), and Abuela, clad in Cleopatra eyeliner and ill-fitting stockings (costumes designed by Alexandra Rubin), who hates Clemencia, as well. And then there are the three vecinas, your Hispanic Greek chorus.
For the cast of Peter Sander’s production, all members of the University’s Drama Department, “Electricidad” will serve as a wonderful learning experience. It’s a difficult piece; the dialogue is a seamless blend of English and Spanish; the lives and experiences of the characters are entirely foreign; and, quite frankly, the lack of character development hinders most chances of forming sufficient motivation for a lot of the action. They acquit themselves as best they can, though some have harder times than others.
Never leaving the playing area, Ashley Kotter, in the title role, is tremendously convincing and remarkably natural as she teeters on the brink of a grief-induced psychological breakdown, with never-wavering feelings of hatred for her Mother (played with “no-nonsense” bravado by Casey Killoran) and spot-on mannerisms of the tough-as-nails street woman.
Secondary characters aren’t as developed as they deserve to be, but the actors strive to make the most of them. Watching Chelsea Frati, as Ifi (not in the original story, since her death was the catalyist for Agamemnon’s murder), the confused soul who desperately wants to believe in something and who swaggers around carrying a statue of La Virgen de Guadalupe is a sight to behold. Lily Goodman, in the comic role of Abuela (also not in the original story), has great presence and easily grabs the audience. Nick Pacifico, playing Orestes, has it the hardest. He appropriately conveys how the character is described, “[The] sensitive hermano, with the poet’s corazon,” but cannot overcome the underdevelopment of both his role and its actions.
Sander, along with set designer Lynn Wheat and property mistress Alexandra Rose, have a keen eye for detail, and certain little flourishes, a “Simpsons” sympathy card mixed in with a display of memorial votive candles; a shopping bag full of take-out from El Pollo Loco, stand out in the wall-less playing space. Sander’s staging, a breathless hundred minutes, has its strong points (the burning of El Auggie’s body, among them), though if you’re seated in the wrong place, some parts of the largely “played-to-center” staging are blocked by actors backs. James Hart’s lighting is particularly effective in the scenes when the slithery Rafael Benoit as Nino is tutoring Orestes in how to become a Cholo kingpin, tattoos and all.
A lot of laughs are found in Alfaro’s script, and most of them land, especially references to Oprah, Anytime Minutes, and the legendarily questionable murder of Tupac Shakur. But as a whole, underdeveloped writing hinders the script’s chances at achieving true greatness. Electricidad and Clemencia are the only developed roles in the piece; the only real action that happens on stage is the latter’s murder.
One major theme sticks out, and it’s entirely more relevant today than when the play was written some years ago. With El Auggie out of the picture, Clemencia, not the smartest woman, yet extremely powerful, is next in line for the throne. She can feasibly take over as leader of the pack. Clemencia is a barracuda of a woman; perhaps one could even go as far as to call her a “pit bull with lipstick.” Would they want someone like her to eventually be leader? Get where I’m going with this?