‘Medea’ review
‘Tragic as the text of the story is, it’s a lovely production and a lovely day for its performance. The gods must be pleased.’
The day is warm, the sun is out, and Polloi Productions’ Medea has taken over Durham Castle’s Fellows’ Garden. Chairs are comfortably placed on the grass, facing a white-tiled outdoor stage that gleams under direct sunlight. A beautifully painted backdrop – courtesy of the set team (Samantha Dotson, Jay Judd, and Eliza Hemphill) – depicts a doorway in a similar white, expanding out on both sides into black-and-red cloth that foretells the play’s tragic proceedings. As I turn to my left, a crafted chariot sits on the edge of the castle walls that surround us, and the black dresses of the chorus flow in the breeze where they wait near the back to enter. Directors Matteo Fronduti and Sophie Green stage their play to immerse, and as I whip my head around to follow the lilting of a flute, played by Philippa Cross as she leads the chorus across dewy greens, it’s clear they’ve succeeded.
Euripides’ Medea is a tragic tale of a woman wronged by her husband, Jason. Leaving her for another woman, he abandons her to exile. Isolated from people, property, and home, she kills their children “to hurt him” – Euripides’ words – in an act of revenge. Portrayed with handmade puppets designed by Emma Clews, the children start the play as lifeless objects. Uncannily silent and unmoving, the choice underscores their lack of agency across the play, rendering them property to be exchanged and discarded by the living, breathing actors.
Easily the standout performer, Ivy Harper embodies the titular character with a thrumming anger that erupts in incremental bursts across the play, delicately balancing quiet anguish and full-bodied rage. Even as her character is banished from the space, she makes full use of the stage area, claiming the land as her own. Her performance is never one-note and endlessly interesting to watch. Clews’ costuming shines especially in Medea’s outfit: a striking layered dress with angular edges in a deep shade of red, paired with a black veil. Smudged dark eyeliner shadows Harper’s eyes, lending a look both witchy and devastated. Jason’s new bride Glauce (Isabel Waller) wears a stark white dress in direct contrast.
Rufus Brierly stands opposite Harper as Jason, put-together in a tailored suit reminiscent of a “nice guy” tech bro, which only highlights the character’s berating misogyny. They play well off each other, particularly as they argue across the courtyard in the final scene. Other standouts include Molly Cowell (Nurse) who begins the play with a gripping energy, and Barney Howell (Aegeus) who delivers his lines with a confidence that draws instinctive trust in the audience. At one point, he kneels to swear upon his gods and as by a stroke of the divine, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and shines upon his crowned head. Sam Nel also makes a sufficiently kingly Creon fractured in his authority – his voice booms over Medea, overcompensating to remedy his insecurities.
The Chorus (Eli Lea, Waller, Olivia Saunders, Natasha Ranawake, Isabelle Owen, Louisa Parsons, Cross, and Zoë Thompson) rounds out the dramatis personae, and pluralises the accusatory “woman” thrown around across the play. Rather than a mindless swarm, they interact well amongst each other, fleshing out the important sense of female solidarity under patriarchal structures. I particularly enjoyed the choice for Medea to embrace one of the members midway through an argument, as if physically drawing strength from their presence.
My critiques are minor: some of the line readings were shaky, and the voice projection throughout could have been louder to avoid the wind and white noise from carrying words away. I also think the space could have been better utilised by the ensemble, although I did enjoy how they occupied the shadows and stepped forward into the light only when it was time to speak.
The sun is still high in the sky when the ensemble takes their bows and the production team deservedly get their flowers. Tragic as the text of the story is, it’s a lovely production and a lovely day for its performance. The gods must be pleased.
By Ashley Zhou.