Electra My Love (1974) The world’s finest historical, political dance movie (Review)

Whether Slovak, Hungarian or South East Asian, a country’s cinematic output requires a degree of cultural and historical context; add (the) former Czechoslovakia, and you have the cross-section that makes up the DNA of Second Run’s remit. Nuances naturally occur, but the consistencies in these nations are modern histories demarcated by violent government dictatorships or the occupation of the Soviet state. Learning of history hidden behind media bias is fascinating; all the same, variation is necessary, and that is where titles like Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Mysterious Object at Noon or new release, Electra My Love by Hungarian director Miklos Jancso, become vital to the label’s brand.

Electra, My Love tells the story of Electra and her people’s oppression at the hand of Aegisthus, a tyrant who, fifteen years earlier, murdered her father, Agamemnon, in a power grab. Consumed by the urge to kill Aegisthus and those who prop up his regime; later, Electra’s Brother, Orestes, returns to instigate an eventual coup – ridding the people of this tyrant. Under Jancso’s direction, however, gone are the trappings of Greek mythology save for the costumes – instead, he opts to relocate events to a near-vacant field in the Hungarian countryside. Jancso has taken this Greek tale and made it into quite the odd duckling.

1970s cinema birthed a class of revolutionary filmmakers. This spirit was at its most potent and self-evident in ex-soviet Europe states. Directors, actors and people who suffered under the yolk of oppressive regimes where expressing political ideas saw their work banned or led to exile – literally or self-imposed as the sole means to escape long-term political imprisonment. Such revolutionary behaviour was nothing new to Jancso, earlier films such as Red Psalm (the Confrontation) eloquently aroused outrage in the general populace. In 1974’s Electra My Love, he took a step further with a film comparable to Fellini’s political picture of Roman myth and greed reimagined through near-dystopian surrealism – Satyricon (1969).

Fellini & Jancso take an earthy and unreal approach to myth, but that is where their shared DNA ends. Electra My Love could be compared to many seemingly alien films, whether Italian surrealism, Czech new wave, performance art and dance film. Jancso approaches long take – discussed in the fascinating documentary, the evolution of the long take – in a way that falls closer to the oeuvre of Roy Anderson than the dramatic, modern notion of long-take cinematography. Another touchstone of János Kende’s camera courts is Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark. Whether talking about Kende or Anderson, the result is the same: the camera is merely present as events unfold around it. Electra My Love is a challenging prospect in so many ways that instead of trying to pigeonhole it or compare it to the works of others – it is easier to say it as it is: this is an unclassifiable film.

From the camera flowing down the beautiful wingspan of a peacock to the 74 minutes that follow, the film consists of 12 uninterrupted camera movements. Jancso is dealing with a cast of hundreds, managing the core cast who move the narrative forward and a grander supporting cast who flow through with a coordination of a murmuration of birds or a school of fish at his beck and call. The spectacle is stunning when you stop watching and let all the moving parts flowing in beautiful unison wash over you. This unassuming film puts all of dance cinema to shame. It boggles to consider the mechanics of the shoot back in 1974 when the technology available was much less advanced.

If the pure spectacle of these pieces and camera movements wasn’t enough, there is the all-pervading subtext. The arrangements of bodies, both static and flowing, have been choreographed to evoke the despotism of leaders a world away from the muck and mire of Hungary’s reality. Electra tiptoeing her way around countless bodies is something to observe – these people, who, only moments before, were contorting to the rigours of chaos. Curiously, the spontaneity and lack of traditional editing make these connotations all the more prevalent. If there is one word that could conveniently summarise this film, it would be surrealism. A surrealism that shares fourth-wall-breaking anarchy with Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Electra escapes the labours of insanity that her country has become, along with her triumphant Brother, the pair board a helicopter that stops to pick them up – in the middle of what is metaphorically Ancient Greece.

The vital message that the director is painting here is that through myth and legend, such strife and violence is destined to return time and time again throughout history. A bleak message forged in a film that will alienate more people than it will delight, but no matter where you fall in that Venn diagram Eureka My Love lays down, this is a must-see for the cinematically curious. If there is any takeaway from Second Run’s latest release – the horrors of history hit harder when the director takes huge creative swings and, if there’s one way to describe Miklos Jancso’s career, it’s that phrase – huge creative swings.

Thanks for reading our review of Electra My Love

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