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lokifanI love reading other people’s reviews/reactions, so I’m going to try writing them more often. I’ll need to work up to books, but I can do theatre :) I saw Medea a little while ago at Soho Place, and it was brilliant. Stylistically, the play felt very similar to how it would’ve been at the time; it was performed in the round, a la ampitheatre, with a bare minimum of props. The declamatory style was, naturally, a radical contrast to anything I’ve seen on stage recently.
I went in knowing nothing more than ‘Medea kills her children as vengeance on her husband’. I didn’t even know that said husband was Jason, but luckily you get the backstory when she’s furiously recounting everything she did for him, how his position and success is 100% down to her. More than that, how she’s put herself into exile in order to help him; she killed her own brother. Which means that when he rejects her, claiming their marriage was invalid, and the king demands she leave with her children, they have nowhere to go.
It’s a very deliberate choice to cast a black actress, versus a white Jason. She’s rejected as a wife by Jason, who says their marriage was an animal mating, not a Greek marriage, in favour of the king’s daughter, who’s described as a “yellow-haired child”. The blondeness of this new wife is the first and for a long time the only thing we know about her. Medea’s home is in what’s now Georgia, rather than Africa, but she’s definitely a racialised character from a place that’s underestimated - Jason says he took her out of a “primitive” place to “civilised” Greece, the fucker. It really works to show why she’s so afraid that her biracial sons won’t be protected if she leaves them with their blond father. Because Jason’s married the king’s daughter, and now, because Medea won’t stop crying and raging and swearing vengeance, the king’s sending her into exile. This incredibly proud woman is forced to beg on her knees for one night to prepare before she leaves with her children.
Judging by my quick Wikipedia check after the play, it’s a very faithful adaptation. Which actually kind of surprised me because it’s so feminist - not that Medea herself is necessarily a feminist icon, lol, but in the sense that it’s about female concerns and problems, that she’s the driver of everything onstage, and most especially in that it’s aimed at a female audience. Medea addresses the chorus and audience, and the chorus addresses the audience, as “women of Corinth.” Medea asks for our understanding and sympathy, as women, in seeing her cast aside by her husband. That element of not just a female central character, but positioning the audience as both judges and women, really surprised me as something that was part of a play by a man from a famously misogynist ancient culture! But it’s there in the original.
She’s also apparently the only kin-slayer in Greek myth who isn’t punished, and who does it in a premeditated way rather than frenzy or madness like Hercules. She isn’t punished by the plot, or the gods, and she ends the play proudly watching Jason wail; she’s taut and tense, like she’s holding off pain, but it’s still a victory.
Speaking of the chorus, this was so clever - they’re in the audience! It’s a brilliant surprise, especially the first time one of the three Chorus actresses starts speaking directly from the audience. And of course it makes it so explicit that they’re surrogates for the audience. It makes it incredibly painful towards the end when they come out of the audience onto the stage, pleading with Medea not to go through with it - one of the most effective bits of ‘audience surrogate’ things I’ve seen.
Another clever bit of casting: one actor played all three of the adult male characters (her husband Jason, the king, and then the visiting king of Athens, whom she asks for help). He’s on stage for most of it, circling the stage in muscular slow motion as he changes costumes - circling his prey? He was incredible, as was the rest of the cast, though obviously it all rested on Sophie Okonedo’s majestic Medea.
The triple-casting obviously forces a comparison between the characters. The one who isn’t cruel or just a bastard is a very camp king of Athens, who she asks for protection. He gives in to her demands for a vow to protect her and her sons, but for a price: she’s a witch, and he wants help with his trouble getting someone pregnant. It feels like part of her eventual rejection of his help is her refusing to succeed via helping men have sons. No more of that.
Because that’s the thing: the king sends her into exile with her sons, with only a day to prepare, and they have nowhere to go. And then the king of Athens gives her protection (though her old nursemaid is the one who forces their meeting - Medea hasn’t been working on it really). In some versions, Medea will be forced to leave her children in a place they won’t be safe, or knows they’re going to die anyway, so she gives them a gentle death. Not in this version - Medea’s very much an anti-hero here. She’s in terrible pain at what she’s doing, but she has the thought early on, and then the play piles up other options for her to ignore. She does have a choice, and she chooses to kill her sons.
She seems to do it most of all for pride. She’s told she mustn’t - that it would be against nature, that even an animal wouldn’t kill its own children. And her response is that she’s not an animal. She says at the end, with Jason sobbing on his knees and covered in their children’s blood, that she’s never been hurt by someone without hurting them back worse. And she’s proud that even when she was helpless, poor and a foreigner with no allies, she could still bring golden Jason to this.
The murders clearly aren’t gentle, either; they happen off-stage but there’s a lot of screaming and some truly chilling heavy thumps.
I actually really love that she’s a true anti-hero, that the fact that she’s sympathetic doesn’t make her any less culpable, that they don’t do a ‘well she’s not that bad actually.’ Showing someone’s suffering and perspective doesn’t have to mean making them actually not bad.
I went in knowing nothing more than ‘Medea kills her children as vengeance on her husband’. I didn’t even know that said husband was Jason, but luckily you get the backstory when she’s furiously recounting everything she did for him, how his position and success is 100% down to her. More than that, how she’s put herself into exile in order to help him; she killed her own brother. Which means that when he rejects her, claiming their marriage was invalid, and the king demands she leave with her children, they have nowhere to go.
It’s a very deliberate choice to cast a black actress, versus a white Jason. She’s rejected as a wife by Jason, who says their marriage was an animal mating, not a Greek marriage, in favour of the king’s daughter, who’s described as a “yellow-haired child”. The blondeness of this new wife is the first and for a long time the only thing we know about her. Medea’s home is in what’s now Georgia, rather than Africa, but she’s definitely a racialised character from a place that’s underestimated - Jason says he took her out of a “primitive” place to “civilised” Greece, the fucker. It really works to show why she’s so afraid that her biracial sons won’t be protected if she leaves them with their blond father. Because Jason’s married the king’s daughter, and now, because Medea won’t stop crying and raging and swearing vengeance, the king’s sending her into exile. This incredibly proud woman is forced to beg on her knees for one night to prepare before she leaves with her children.
Judging by my quick Wikipedia check after the play, it’s a very faithful adaptation. Which actually kind of surprised me because it’s so feminist - not that Medea herself is necessarily a feminist icon, lol, but in the sense that it’s about female concerns and problems, that she’s the driver of everything onstage, and most especially in that it’s aimed at a female audience. Medea addresses the chorus and audience, and the chorus addresses the audience, as “women of Corinth.” Medea asks for our understanding and sympathy, as women, in seeing her cast aside by her husband. That element of not just a female central character, but positioning the audience as both judges and women, really surprised me as something that was part of a play by a man from a famously misogynist ancient culture! But it’s there in the original.
She’s also apparently the only kin-slayer in Greek myth who isn’t punished, and who does it in a premeditated way rather than frenzy or madness like Hercules. She isn’t punished by the plot, or the gods, and she ends the play proudly watching Jason wail; she’s taut and tense, like she’s holding off pain, but it’s still a victory.
Speaking of the chorus, this was so clever - they’re in the audience! It’s a brilliant surprise, especially the first time one of the three Chorus actresses starts speaking directly from the audience. And of course it makes it so explicit that they’re surrogates for the audience. It makes it incredibly painful towards the end when they come out of the audience onto the stage, pleading with Medea not to go through with it - one of the most effective bits of ‘audience surrogate’ things I’ve seen.
Another clever bit of casting: one actor played all three of the adult male characters (her husband Jason, the king, and then the visiting king of Athens, whom she asks for help). He’s on stage for most of it, circling the stage in muscular slow motion as he changes costumes - circling his prey? He was incredible, as was the rest of the cast, though obviously it all rested on Sophie Okonedo’s majestic Medea.
The triple-casting obviously forces a comparison between the characters. The one who isn’t cruel or just a bastard is a very camp king of Athens, who she asks for protection. He gives in to her demands for a vow to protect her and her sons, but for a price: she’s a witch, and he wants help with his trouble getting someone pregnant. It feels like part of her eventual rejection of his help is her refusing to succeed via helping men have sons. No more of that.
Because that’s the thing: the king sends her into exile with her sons, with only a day to prepare, and they have nowhere to go. And then the king of Athens gives her protection (though her old nursemaid is the one who forces their meeting - Medea hasn’t been working on it really). In some versions, Medea will be forced to leave her children in a place they won’t be safe, or knows they’re going to die anyway, so she gives them a gentle death. Not in this version - Medea’s very much an anti-hero here. She’s in terrible pain at what she’s doing, but she has the thought early on, and then the play piles up other options for her to ignore. She does have a choice, and she chooses to kill her sons.
She seems to do it most of all for pride. She’s told she mustn’t - that it would be against nature, that even an animal wouldn’t kill its own children. And her response is that she’s not an animal. She says at the end, with Jason sobbing on his knees and covered in their children’s blood, that she’s never been hurt by someone without hurting them back worse. And she’s proud that even when she was helpless, poor and a foreigner with no allies, she could still bring golden Jason to this.
The murders clearly aren’t gentle, either; they happen off-stage but there’s a lot of screaming and some truly chilling heavy thumps.
I actually really love that she’s a true anti-hero, that the fact that she’s sympathetic doesn’t make her any less culpable, that they don’t do a ‘well she’s not that bad actually.’ Showing someone’s suffering and perspective doesn’t have to mean making them actually not bad.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-25 12:58 pm (UTC)