• Medea (NT Live)

7/18/21 (Sun)

Carrie Cracknell’s 2014 production preserved in the invaluable NT Live series. I’m not a big fan of Medea since productions tend to be pretentious, especially with the irritating chorus (Noh does that much better). But I am a fan of Helen McCrory, who was so good in The Deep Blue Sea two years after this (also directed by Cracknell). The showing was in memory of McCrory following her tragic death from cancer at age 53 last year.

This is unsurprisingly an updated production in modern dress on a splendid two-level set with glass backing that shows the wedding party behind the scenes. Touches like TV sets and photo-snapping phones put us in present times, and Medea comes on brushing her teeth in a sleeveless undershirt looking as she’s just been out for a jog. Yet there was all that talk about the gods and fate. I have low tolerance for this sort of thing, so I was wary from the start. Ben Powers’ script seemed to want to make Media a feminist idol who takes no slack from men folk, emphasized by some boring speechifying to that effect. She’s much more interesting as a unique human being in her own right than as a protofeminist.

The play never made much sense to me anyway: before the action begins, we are to understand that she’s betrayed her own father and slaughtered her younger brother to sate the ambitions of her husband Jason (sounds like an interesting play on its own), and that they’ve been exiled as a result to this unknown land. The new country’s immigration laws must be pretty lax to let this couple in, but in any case we know that she’s not quite stable to start with. The NT film was preceded by an interview with a doctor who assures us that seemingly normal women can kill their own children under extreme circumstances, but Medea is clearly not a normal woman. McCrory explains in her own interview that it’s important for an actress not to imply that Medea is simply insane. Really?? While an impulsive murder of her sons would be intellectually understandable in that she wants to cut off Jason’s bloodline, it’s impossible to believe as here that it would be premeditated in such gory detail. Shakespeare had the right approach with Hamlet, exploring the prince’s inner toil, but with Medea, we’re supposed to accept this as presented. The sudden gruesome outburst in Funeral Parade the other night was much more credible in terms of human psychology. We never really see her with the kids, making it tough to know her relationship with them, but the setup here is preposterous.

That’s especially true given Jason’s level-headed explanation to her of his upcoming marriage, however self-serving; he says he needs to do this politically to protect her and the children, which sounds reasonable (assuming of course that he means it). Nothing presented onstage tonight would seem to justify the level of rage needed to carry out her vicious act, though the final image of her dragging the deal children away in body bags was admittedly brilliant. In the original play, the gods sweep her away at the end, indicating that they approve of her actions and perhaps were responsible for it, i.e., we’re all the victims of fate and not in ultimate control of our actions. Not sure I can agree with that, but even that unpalatable message is easier to swallow than the spurned-woman-goes-mad approach here.

On the good side, McCrory was superb in every way in the title role. Despite the feminist leanings of the dialogue, she managed to make Medea feel like a human being to the extent possible within the constraints of the story, savage though that was. She was devastating in the final scene, implying a more tortured mindset than was offered here. Danny Sapani, who was so good in Les Blancs, took an interesting understated approach to Jason that made him a sympathetic character. I was surprised at the end when, confronting Medea after her vicious murder of his sons, he just slinks away without any revenge, a reaction that seems way too timid. But that’s the director’s fault. Others were good enough. The chorus was fine as Greek choruses go, albeit also pushing a we-are-woman-hear-us-roar agenda. Their twitchy jerking movements, presumably intended to suggest some sort of inner turmoil, were an embarrassment. It looked like the choreographer (if that’s what she calls herself) just told the performers to jump and wave their arms around a bit. I recall similar highjinks in the Met’s Porgy and Bess; I really hope this isn’t catching on.

I’ve seen enough Medea productions at this point, always hoping for one to make sense. I think I’m done now. Recommended for the lead performance, music, and great set.