Medea

When: Tuesday 22nd July

 

Where: National Theatre

 

Why: Classics innit

 

“They are the sun that lights his world
So I will plunge him into darkness.”

 

Oooh Medea you’re a horror. I love an ancient tragedy, and was basically brought up on them in my teenage years thanks to a school classics teacher’s connections with the Actors of Dionysus – an avant garde theatre group specialising in ancient plays (so much drama, so much scaffolding, so much writhing). This Medea was directed by Carrie Cracknell, who also did the Hattie Morahan version of A Doll’s House which I loved, so really I had no choice but to go.

 

Medea’s two ill-fated (to say the least) sons await the audience as they lie on their tummies in a pool of TV light, and this very normal scene of innocence and relaxation must really stick in the throats of all the parents in the audience anticipating the utter breakdown of this contented state of affairs.

 

Helen Mcrory’s Medea is charged, strong and savage, as she strides through her house like a trapped animal and psychologically unravels over the course of 90 minutes. It’s a fast moving play that seems driven by the very speed of Medea’s thoughts and the whirring of her mind. She is stricken and furious as her actions get her deeper into the hole she’s digging, and when she finds herself in the bleakest possible situation her fury and wits and wild logic lead her to the inevitable grisly conclusion. She needs to harm Jason, who has done her so much wrong, more than she needs to protect herself.   

 

I wasn’t a big fan of Danny Sapani’s portrayal of Jason. In this modern telling of the play, his ruthless businessman-like attitude and patronising presentation of his abandonment as a benefit to them all (“I did it for us, darling”) did work well as a concept, but I was underwhelmed by his reserved performance. One review described him as “curiously under-energised” – his vague wander out of the room where he’s just seen his two dead sons, followed by a bit of a groan and a stumble off the stage, did nothing for me really. I need guts and shrieking to make it worth my while. In a way though it highlighted Medea’s tragedy even more, in that she can’t get over this lame-o suit even though she knows how much he isn’t worth it.

 

The set portrays Medea’s state of being: the real world floats above, out of her reach, as the wedding of Jason and Creusa plays out, and she is hopelessly stuck at home with nothing but wilderness and exile in the forest behind her, ever approaching. The end of the play sees her fully committing to the darkness as she heads out there with the bodies of her sons literally burdening her, as her illusions of the gods’ protection are not fulfilled (no dragon-led chariots in this production, soz Euripides). Her hollow triumph is guttingly portrayed in the bleakest possible way.

 

I’d heard much made of the music and choreography in this version and was genuinely excited to see what would come of it, but to be totally honest I didn’t really notice the music, and found myself having to hold back giggles at the choreography. The Actors of Dionysus (who I love, by the way) prepared me well for ridiculous movement in a classical play (just to re-iterate – SO much writhing), but even so I was taken off guard by the dance moves in this performance. The chorus moved from Fifties housewife style advisors to living portrayals of Medea’s raging thoughts, spikily jerking and pulsing in a disturbing and enveloping troupe. It was impressive, don’t get me wrong, but unfortunately also hilarious. One move was almost a copy of Ricky Gervais’s famous David Brent dance moves, which sent me right over the edge. God I’m so unsophisticated. Similarly, I’d been looking forward to Goldfrapp’s score, which I think did offer a sense of unnerving atmosphere and foreboding within the play, but wasn’t especially memorable.

 

I followed up my visit by attending a talk on the psychology of Medea at the NT a few weeks later, drawn by the presence of forefront classicist Edith Hall (big fan of her irreverent style). The discussion considered concepts of insanity and asked whether Medea was actually ‘mad’. She is exiled, abandoned, a stranger with no support around her, but she also brought a lot of this on herself – she is a master manipulator who has been driven by rage and lust and power her whole life. She has murdered a family member before (her brother, to help Jason). She’s a fascinating character, and apparently in the ancient world represented the ultimate example of what happens when you don’t take care of your women.

 

Great stuff from Helen Mcrory who was close to perfect and provided me with as much screaming and horror as I could possibly want from this brilliant story.

 

Brixpig x