MEDEA Play Review

Watching the screening of the National Theatre's (London) production of MEDEA as part of the NCPA-NT Live collaboration, two things once again struck me. One, that Greek tragedy is inevitably and deeply cathartic, and two, MEDEA, a play that the great Greek dramatist Euripides wrote in 5th Century BC, is one of the most searing portraits of a powerful woman who seeks revenge (or more likely justice) for the wrong done to her.



In this modern production directed by Carrie Cracknell, the title role is portrayed by Helen McCrory, who is superb. Her Medea conveys in equal measure the blistering agony of her soul and the calculated revenge she plots. In the most terrible outcome of her devastating plan, she does not spare her own children. Medea has been reviled as well as praised. She has been depicted as evil personified and as the supreme woman who is above the injunctions of morality prescribed by society. She has been shown as the oppressor as well as the liberator. She is demented and she is sane too. She is a witch, or she is just an ordinary woman whose fury has been unleashed when her husband takes on another wife. MEDEA has been read in multiple ways and in our modern world too she hovers on ever so silently in the worst imaginations of men who come to fear their women. Her psychology is studied and debated endlessly.

Cracknell's direction and McCrory's performance stress on the most human aspects of this superhuman character from Greek mythology, whose formidable ancestors include Helios, the Sun God. Medea is his granddaughter. The director and her leading lady do not stress on Medea's pathology; rather they show her as a strong-willed but a regular woman who has been outraged by what she perceives to be her husband's deception. There is no melodrama and there is none of the modern psychology that might fascinate or prejudice us. Medea in this instance is just a terribly hurt woman who makes gruesome decisions and sees them to their end. She is grief-stricken but equally committed to her own rationale. And, in the end, she is still just a grieving mother. It's the most moving scene when Helen McCrory's Medea piles the bodies of her two sons across her shoulders and totters with her back towards us into the woods in the backstage where a white light receives her. It's this singular scene that illuminates the core of all Greek mythology, and that is the exploration of what it means to be human even when divine powers are at play.

The chorus, a hallmark of the Greek tragedy, is employed with style but is never overpowering. It fulfills its purpose well and Lucy Guerin's choreography can be loosely described as minimalist-modern. In its function, it also succeeds in evoking the psychoticism, and the breakdown that Medea has possibly succumbed to. The nurse, who is also the narrator of this doomed and woeful tale, is ably played by Michaela Coel. The rest of the cast does well too.

Ben Power's version retains the poetic beauty and wisdom of the original text but packs it into a taut ninety-minute piece sans interval. The production grips from the beginning to the end with no slack in pace or fall in register. That's a commendable achievement. The stage design is split in two levels, effectively showing but never fully revealing the ancillary action such as the celebration of Jason's (Medea's husband) wedding to King Creon's daughter Glauce. The ground level is Medea's territory in which her children play; their presence and their innocence a constant counterpoint to the terror that is shimmering below the surface. There is something noble about Greek tragedy. You always know what's going to happen and yet you must watch. The intention is not to surprise but rather to unravel what we already know in the recesses of our hearts. We can be shown ourselves and this possibility has been realised in this impressive production.

Click here for the trailer of MEDEA

*Deepa Punjani is the Editor of this website.