I went into Woodsworth College’s production of Euripides’ Medea knowing nothing of the Greek drama, and came out satisfied: the story was performed clearly and enjoyably. Although the acting (for the most part) oscillated between heavy breathing and shouting, the plot climax was magnificently achieved, as each player gave a nuanced reaction to the tragedy.
Genuinely impressive was the cast’s ability to bring to life the final scenes, which happen to have the least dialogue. Whether it’s bad translation or the fact that Euripides was just fond of highly portentous, clunky poetry, the script is essentially an awful lot of repetitious blather. That the director chose to whiz through it was a clever decision, because there’s little in it worth lingering on. What hurt the cast the most, however, was the task of having to say so much to express emotions they were abundantly capable of showing without any words at all.
Why so much talk? One assumes it arises from preservation by scholars preoccupied with historical and mythological accuracy. Taken up repeatedly yet superficially are political sacrifices Medea has made for her husband-banishment from Corinth, her husband’s play for political influence in Corinth, and rebuffed offers of asylum. It’s not dry stuff, but it doesn’t illuminate either. It serves mostly to draw attention back to the plot, making it stronger than steel and more than able to sustain the weight of Medea’s final action.
One cannot completely overlook Euripides’ attempts to contemplate emotions. In the second act, the obvious subtext is Medea’s tempered acceptance of fate. One can see how a director and his players might be reluctant to yield for emotion over tested explanatory tracts. However, there was so much potential in this cast to infuse the wordy exchanges with true emotion, yet the rapid-fire pace robbed them of much of that ability.
In particular, the interaction between Medea and her adulterous husband Jason stood out-it had the sparks of something deeper; it was the first time characters seemed to really be responding to one another as opposed to enacting grand enraged outbursts (see most other scenes). And in a play rife with melodrama, the husband-wife confrontation offers a glimpse of genuine, layered pain.
The climax and its preceding scenes were lushly emotional, with the aides huddled together, and the role of the nurse devastatingly well performed-the scenes were so stirring they brought a lump to the throat.
The lighting worked much better than the set, which added little-its classic-Gothic hybrid appearance seemed stolen from a poorly designed bank façade, though it did the job, for what it’s worth.
In the end, sometimes the forsaken characterization was almost worth the hurried movement toward the climax, which makes this Medea one worth seeing.
