“Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” says the proverb. And no more appropriate a setting for this saying is there than in this version of Euripides’ Greek tragedy, Medea.
It’s the tale of an abandoned wife, whose warrior husband, Jason, accedes to the King of Corinth’s request to leave Medea and their son and marry his own princess daughter, Glauce, in the hope of giving the King a male grandson with warrior instincts who could take the land to future glory. But Medea is rightfully indignant and sets about plotting her revenge.
Euripides’ play is a well-known tale of scorn, hurt pride and injustice. First performed in 431 BCE, it’s been played endlessly since. But few as original as this genre-defying Japanese reinterpretation set in the 19th century Meiji era that’s currently playing at The Coronet Theatre in London’s Notting Hill Gate.
One intriguing aspect of this version is the consistent expression Medea manages to maintain, revealing little outward change despite internally reaching the heights of anger, envy, rage and the thirst for revenge, as well as victory, despair and heartache at the enormous price she has to pay for her need to get even. And indeed the face of normality is evident in many of the characters in what is a truly culturally diverse semi-operatic experience.
A particularly memorable aspect of this version by director Satoshi Miyagi is the way that each character is portrayed by two actors. One is by females delivering movements on stage that are rooted in the Japanese kabuki tradition (which are actually somewhat reminiscent of actors imitating the stylized movement of marionettes). Meanwhile, their male counterparts upstage speak their lines (in Japanese with English surtitles) to music by Hiroko Tanakawa played by musicians placed behind a thinly veiled curtain.
But the inventiveness doesn't end there. Medea hones in on the traditional subservient role of women, whose only avenue is to resort to archetypes of manipulation, deceit and plotting. And so it goes in the first scene of this play where male diners at a traditional restaurant summon female waitresses for their entertainment, women who are masked and devoid of their own identity, but who clearly resent being placed in this situation. The plot then evolves into a sub-play where, once all the males have chosen their female characters, they proceed to give voice to them, speaking their parts, akin to puppeteers bring life to their puppets.
It’s highly creative, presenting a modern take that borrows from tradition to transform an ancient tale to one set in a more modern but nonetheless male-dominated era where imperial ambition is presented as a drive towards modernisation. But this performance has a feminist twist, because at the end, once Medea has exacted her revenge, leaving many dead and the royal court in disarray, the female characters return to seize control of the men in a reversal of roles. So in some senses, a wider justice is delivered.
And through Miyagi’s vision, Medea becomes a vehicle for critiquing nationalism and colonial violence, the price for which is a tale of enormous tragedy in which there are no real winners. That is, except for the audience, which has the privilege of experiencing such a niche and visually symbolic story that’s as old as time. Judging by the packed auditorium, the other attendees seemed equally enthused.