Medea, National theatre – Or when revenge is anything but sweet

4-hearts

Medea which combines both filicide and fratricide is not for the faint hearted. In this production of Euripides’ play, Helen McCrory is the spurned wife who will go to extreme lengths to avenge herself.

Medea - Helen McCrory (Photo Richard Hubert Smith)

Medea – Helen McCrory (Photo Richard Hubert Smith)

Ben Power’s adaptation is set in today’s Greece and the dialogue is both precise and extremely moving. The play begins with a warning. The children’s nurse recounts Medea’s tragic situation and her fears of what is to come. For the love of Jason, Medea has killed her brother, helped Jason obtain the Golden Fleece, saved his life and fled her homeland for Corinth. She has married her lover and become a mother. Unfortunately, Jason now wants a new, younger wife, Kreusa, the daughter of Kreon (king of Corinth) and has abandoned Medea and his two sons.

McCrory comes on, unadorned, wearing masculine clothes with eyes smudged and messy hair. Here is a woman who no longer cares how she appears. He anger is all-consuming, it even makes her twitch. She is undone but still proud. This might be a Greek tragedy but it speaks to contemporary audiences as it did to Athenians some 2,500 years ago. Medea is one of the most recognised vengeful woman in literature but surely she speaks for many when she laughs at Jason’s excuses for leaving her for a younger model.

McCrory is spectacular in the role. She is loving to her children, warm to her old friend, Aegeus, desperate at her situation, devious with Kreon but above all angry at having given so much to a man who has left her. Medea articulates her grievances to Jason with such commanding intellect that Jason’s excuses crumble before our very eyes.

Directed by Carrie Cracknell, McCrory’s Medea is all energy and charisma and I wish I could say the same about Danny Sapani. His Jason is truly underwhelming. There doesn’t seem to be any chemistry between the two ex-lovers and he lacks so much emotion that even the death of his children doesn’t bring a single tear to his eyes and that is after his bride has just been killed as well. Michaela Coel, as the nurse, is convincing as the worried nanny who tries to protect the children. Dominic Rowan as Aegeus is the only kind man to Medea and their interaction allows us to see another gentler side to Medea. Unfortunately, Martin Turner, as Creon, lacks some royal panache.

The impressively large chorus of twelve women, however, brings an ethereal mood to the play as they try to warn Medea and protect her from herself. The music, by Will Gregory and Alison Goldfrapp, and the accompanying singing from the chorus was beautiful and eerily haunting. I was much less enchanted with the dancing which left me completely perplexed. Just didn’t get it. Maybe someone out there can explain it to me.

The beautiful set, designed by Tom Scutt, depicts a run-down apartment in Greece, opening onto a beautiful and stormy forest. Above is the wedding reception room where Kreusa and Jason will marry. It has the appearance of a slightly tacky modern hotel reception room from the 60s, banister included.

No matter that some of the actors are not at their best, it is McCrory’s play and she is breath-taking to the last. Hers is a tragic tale of breakup and desperation where Medea’s constant and mesmerising dialogue articulates her alternatives, voices her doubts and in the end shows her frighteningly logical madness. Bravo.

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