Full disclosure: I’ve never met Ben Duke and I’m not familiar with his previous work except by reputation. After seeing Ruination for Lost Dog, his retelling and reinterpretation of the Medea myth, my instinct is that Duke must be one of the most creative people on the planet, and I may well add him to my fantasy dinner-party list.
The Medea story is one that has fascinated throughout the centuries. It has so much to say about human jealousy, bitterness and resentment, and has probably formed the basis of many a philosophy dissertation. It has been depicted through every form of artistic media, including the famous Broadway staging directed by John Gielgud, several operas (including the sublime one by Charpentier), and a heartrending ballet by Angelin Prelijocaj, Le Songe de Médée, made for the Paris Opera Ballet and featured in the must-see film La Danse. The story has influenced innumerable writers; echoes of it pulsate through many of Shakespeare’s works, and who can watch the wonderful Vincent Price in Theatre of Blood without thinking of Medea?
Duke eschews all previously explored avenues and comes up with a courtroom drama, which takes place in the underworld after all concerned have died. Hades himself acts as prosecuting barrister, with Medea’s defence conducted by Persephone. Via this mechanism we are shown the story from different perspectives, including the role that Medea’s father, Aeetes, played in the formation of her character. In this version Aeetes has tried to prevent Medea from escaping with Jason and the Golden Fleece. As he pursues them over the sea, they kill her brother, who is accompanying them, chopping up his remains and throwing them overboard: Medea knows her father will need to search for the remains in order to bury them, thus facilitating escape for herself and Jason.
There’s a feminist angle, of course. The defence case is that as Medea and Jason killed the brother together, her role in that murder is diluted, and that her children were in fact killed by an angry mob: it’s just unfortunate that no evidence of the existence of such a mob can be found. Eventually the jury (supposedly the audience but thankfully our participation is not required) reach their verdict and the performance is drawn to its close by a gorgeous rendition of George Harrison’s Isn’t it a Pity, sung with passion and pathos by Sheree Dubois.
Cleverly, Duke addresses the un-Christmassy nature of all this by showing clips from the Royal Ballet’s Cinderella, taking place simultaneously on the main stage upstairs. “You could have gone to that but you came to this,” Jean Daniel Broussé’s Hades taunts us.
There’s an eclectic soundtrack ranging from Rachmaninov to Radiohead: it includes luscious arias from Handel, Purcell and Giacomelli sung by counter-tenor Keith Pun, an aural joy.
I would describe this production as a play with danced interludes rather than a dance-centred piece, although the dance element is extremely strong, choreographed by Duke in a robust, athletically muscular way that is distinctly contemporary and highly engaging. The cast of six dancers are all outstanding, and all play the role of the chorus as well as their named characters. Liam Francis (Jason), Miguel Altunaga (Aeetes) and Hannah Shepherd (Medea) are exceptional, and the astounding thing is that they carry the spoken-word text with the immersion and flair of actors of great stature and years of experience. Special plaudits to Francis for facing up to several minutes completely naked (with strategically placed clasped hands) as Medea applies her magical oil that will protect him from the dragon as he claims the Fleece. Persephone and Medea exploit Medea’s part in the success of this as evidence of Jason’s lack of self-awareness; he thinks he’s a big hero but he couldn’t have done it alone. There is plenty of breaking of the fourth wall in the witty script and the dance-actors (especially Broussé) bring out every nuance of it.
I loved it, and the audience gave it a standing ovation. Only one small caveat: it’s about ten minutes too long.
