To be completely honest, I find it tough to get into Ancient Greek plays. For every eye-catching (or should that be eye-gouging) Oedipus, there are too many shows which meander, drift and drag their way through enormous character lists and content fit for therapy. But, thankfully, the visually stunning and captivating new adaptation of The Oresteia, originally by Aeschylus but reimagined by Simon Stone, is a spectacular, gripping masterpiece at London’s Bridge Theatre.
Stone’s task is, on paper, an unenviable one. The original by Aeschylus is split into three distinct plays, all performed under one umbrella title, and with such an enormous sphere of content, the production could quite easily run away with itself. Indeed, first previews of the work edged towards the 4 hours 30 minutes mark, and while the final version still goes past three hours, it is a production which retains its energy, grit and vivacity, thanks to the exceptional efforts of the show’s cast and creative teams, all working in tandem here to create something quite extraordinary.
In this new version, the piece revolves (quite literally, through Nick Schlieper’s magnificently vast rotating set) around Christopher’s (David Morrissey) wealthy family, whose rebellious activist daughter Jenny (Alyth Ross) looks set to destroy the family’s tech business with cries of warmongering and capitalising upon death. Indeed, while the Greek names and setting have been lost, this new version is amusingly set in leafy Sevenoaks, the fire of the Greek tragedy, with a sense of dread, death and destruction permeating the piece, assisted by Stone’s clever interweaving of timelines, foreshadowing the family’s collapse through troubled son Augie’s (Tom Glynn-Carney) descent into mania.
Christopher’s family is one rich in indulgence, and so is this production, with an embarrassment of riches in its stellar casting. Morrissey is superb as the troubled patriarch, just about holding his family in one piece but wracked with guilt about his own financial affairs. Meanwhile, outspoken wife Montie (Mary-Louise Parker) flirts and flits, bubbling with a fury and desire for revenge that fully unfolds in the play’s thrilling third act, an explosion of tension that provides very little catharsis as the disaster implodes.
Meanwhile, Christopher’s other daughter, Jenny’s twin, Alice, is captured remarkably by Rosie Sheehy, who threatens to steal the show with her acerbic wit and biting frustration, which is totally absorbing. Indeed, where this version succeeds so enormously is through the voices it gives to its female characters, with Sheehy’s Alice being an absolute force here. Glynn-Carney, too, is remarkable as Augie, with his psychological decline and despair raw and visceral, which builds to a terrific climax that is enhanced by Schlieper’s glass-enclosed set.
It is also bolstered by its ensemble cast. Lloyd Hutchinson provides boisterous, profane wit as outspoken cockney uncle Melville, while Rakhee Thakrar shines as Chandra, desperate to unpack what exactly went on in this lavish, haunted home. Archie Madekwe’s Lorenzo is a neat inclusion as the cousin cast aside, with his amusing belittling of pathetic father Jerome (John Macmillan) a nice subplot that both alleviates and grows the play’s tension.
Yet the most impressive aspect of this show, as well as its incredible cast, is the superb design. Schlieper’s enormous design of Christopher’s home spins on an expansive revolve that provides, under Stone’s direction, audiences with a voyeuristic experience of the piece. Some dents to sightlines are inevitable, but it is impossible not to be engrossed by this family trapped in its house and the horrors in there. Scene changes are remarkably slick, with things scattered and swept up instantaneously, in a production which should drag, but convincingly does not.
What comes together here, then, is a remarkable feat of theatre, and one that should not be missed. A long piece which does not luxuriate or indulge, but instead boldly, violently and devastatingly explores the collapse of one dreadfully hubristic family. A triumph.
