|
Review
by Lisa Drostova for East Bay
Express
Gory
Medea
Shotgun’s production
mesmerizes
BY LISA DROSTOVA
In a mythology known for bloodiness,
the Greek story of Medea stands
out. Medea was a princess of Colchis,
unwise enough to fall in love with
Jason on his quest for the Golden
Fleece. She helped him outwit her
father's tests and then fled with
him to Corinth. After she bore him
two sons, Jason left her for Creusa,
the daughter of Corinth's king,
Creon. Medea punished Jason by killing
his young lover, the king, and then
her own two children. While there
are many variations on the ending
-- in some, Medea is far less vengeful
-- Euripides chose the most dramatic.
Now the Shotgun Players bring Medea
to agonized, powerful life at the
UC Theatre in a mesmerizing, colorful
adaptation by Robinson Jeffers.
By focusing on the ferocious princess
of Colchis, Euripides sheds light
on the role of women in ancient
Greek society. In a city-state where
wives are essentially chattel, expected
to accept their lot with equanimity,
Medea blazes like a torch. She snarls
to the chorus after it suggests
she let go of her anger, "I
am not a Greek woman," and
then likens the wives to dogs who
lick the hand that strikes them.
Euripides wrote the play for a competition,
and, not surprisingly, it did not
do well, but it certainly speaks
to modern audiences. Particularly
anyone who ever, say, put her partner
through school, raised the kids,
and then found herself dumped for
someone younger (Medea says of Creusa,
"that young breastless girl").
Yes, Medea is relentless and bloodthirsty,
but we can see where she's coming
from, and there is a certain nervous,
guilty excitement in our connection
to her as she wreaks her vengeance.
Gliding silkily from raging sorceress
to heartbroken mother to seductive
"Who, me?" innocent, Beth
Donohue as Medea is an actress at
the top of her game. Bolstered by
live organ accompaniment, slinking,
sulking, and storming around Mellie
Katakalos' dramatically lit round
stage in the UC Theatre, Donohue
gives us an unforgettable, take-no-prisoners
Medea. Make no mistake, this is
Donohue's show -- she blows away
everyone else on stage. Before she
even makes her first entrance, there
is the Voice howling in pain from
behind closed doors, and that intensity
never lets up, even after the last
curtain call as she closes those
doors behind her. There are some
men in this play, but they seem
pale and paltry beside Medea, like
kindling.
Indeed, none of the men who encountered
Medea seemed to truly understand
her power or her temper. Foolish
Jason was happy to use her skills
to achieve his own goals, then conveniently
forgot how lethal she was -- to
his own detriment. King Creon got
it -- as is made clear when he attempted
to banish her, rightly understanding
that she was a threat for as long
as she remained in his city. He
wasn't fast enough, though, and
by allowing her a day to prepare
for her departure, the king gave
Medea just the time she needed to
ensure his destruction. Even King
Ageus of Athens miscalculated: Medea
fled to Athens after the murders,
where she eventually married Ageus
and then tried to get him to poison
their son. Her scheming revealed,
Medea once again took flight, this
time to Asia. Perhaps it would be
more accurate to say that these
men were blinded by their desires
-- Jason for power, Ageus for an
heir -- to the eventual price Medea
would exact.
Director Russell Blackwood does
a fine job of integrating the Felliniesque
chorus of blue-lipped Greek women
(Nina Auslander, Kenya Briggs, and
Bekka Fink) into the story. Much
as in Shotgun's production last
year of Iphigenia at Aulis, these
players are real characters -- in
this case, scandal-seeking neighbors
who come to gawk at Medea's misfortune.
To their despair, they witness more
than they bargained for. The chorus
harmonizes well; while the solo
performances are not as strong,
Fink stands out for her range and
a nice gravely, forbidding effect.
The design is lush, especially
the hothouse-flowered chorus, Medea's
garb, and the near-constant uplighting,
which forms evocative shadows on
the cast and a snake-festooned set
and ceiling. The overall effect
is not inconsistent with the spirit
of Attic theater -- epic, vigorous,
and saturated.
-------------------------
eastbayexpress.com | originally
published: May 15, 2002
Original article on the web at
http://www.eastbayexpress.com/issues/2002-05-15/theater2.html/1/index.cfml
|
