Bacchaefull
The intensity of Greek tragedy makes it a tempting but dangerous proposition for theatre companies - the extremity of such plays can seem either affecting or absurd, depending on the skill of the actors and director. The National Theatre of Scotland's production of Euripides' , starring Alan Cummings, received mixed notices last year, with its claiming that the power of the play was undermined by absurdity (although, to be fair, those who liked the play ). I didn't see the production, but even reading the play text suggests that it would be difficult to pull off. It follows the appearance of the god Dionysus in Thebes, at the head of a number of female followers called Bacchae. Living in the mountains, drinking, dancing and having sex in the open, the actions of the Bacchae scandalise the king of Thebes Pentheus, who also happens to be Dionysus' cousin. What follows can be interpreted as the triumph of freedom over tyranny or the revolt of fundamentalism against reason - Bacchae is shocking and ambiguous, and production embellishes the play but preserves its power.
What is different about , written by Debbie Kent, is the foregrounding of the female revellers, giving a sense of their lives before they followed Bacchus. When I first walked into The Old Abattoir, past a shrine to Dionysus, I found myself in a room with a number of women, in sectioned off rectangles, talking about their different lives - a businesswoman, a soldier, a runaway bride, a prostitute, among others. You can wander around at will and listen to their monologues (although Justine the prostitute is likely to engage you in conversation) and for a while I wondered if this was the extent of the play. The one thing that all the women have in common is that they are damaged, and I was initially rather worried that the play was going to focus on women as victims, but thankfully this wasn't the case. Instead the Bacchae become more than a chorus to the main action, they are unhappy people transformed by their entry into this new faith/cult.
At the head of this band of women is , a charismatic figure who appears in a form that is attractive to both men and women and who swings between charm and menace. Thankfully, Benedict Hopper has the presence to carry off the role of a cross-dressing god, without falling prey to its potential absurdity. Instead, this production makes good use of the audience's embarrassment, skilfully moving between the comic and the horrific. At times I wished that some of the cast had stronger singing voices, as sound is such an important element in making the transports of the Bacchae feel convincing, but in general I was impressed. The pleasures and perils of surrendering your will are both conveyed by the gimlet-eyed Euripides, and you don't have to believe in his gods to be recognise his portrait of belief.
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