The Bacchae review: A production of wine, rhyme and a good Time
When I told my flatmates that I was heading to London specifically to watch the National Theatre’s adaptation of Euripides’ Greek tragedy The Bacchae, they looked at me like I was crazy. Upon entrance, I prepared myself to face close to two hours of bloodied, manic violence, concluded by one of the central characters being torn, quite literally, limb from limb by his own mother. Brutal, I know. After studying the play in a module last year, and hearing about the National Theatre’s £10 student tickets, I decided to give it a go… unsure if I would end up traumatised or entertained.
Although I took interest in the original plays conceptions of androgyny, sexuality and liminality, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as mainstream. However, in my experience, Nima Taleghani’s rewriting of The Bacchae, highlights the play’s striking continued relevance, whilst also making it a surprisingly ferocious and witty watch for a regular Thursday night.
They are out of time in a way that references modern feminist movements but also harks back to their past in Ancient Greece
Taleghani’s Bacchae, led by Vida (Clare Perkins), is first unleashed through a hip hop groove, with rhythm and rhyme essential from the very start. The members of the all-female Bacchae dominate the stage, providing the majority of the comedic moments throughout. The play cleverly manoeuvres past Euripides’ throng of crazed, wine-drunk women, which would originally have undermined their comedic effect with its inherent misogyny. Instead, we are presented with a varied group of women – all individualised and introduced by name at the start. Witty one liners, intermixed with complex social commentary, are accentuated by their post-apocalyptic costumes and hip-hop song and dance. They are out of time in a way that references modern feminist movements but also harks back to their past in Ancient Greece. Although an Ancient Greek traditionalist may favour a truthful textual depiction, I found Taleghani’s rewrite to capture, and make relevant, the inherent politicism in the original, giving the audience a theatrical experience more truthful to the original in its navigation of politics.
Dionysus, the “god of wine, rhyme and a good time”, (unsurprisingly) dazzles throughout the production, causing chaos in a way that is essentially very human. Ukweli Roach’s Dionysus is a sweet-talker and a wordsmith, a true man of language shining in a sequined gold tracksuit. He finds depth throughout the play, brought down by the chip on his shoulder in an act compelled by mortal, rather than godly, instincts. Taleghani’s script forgoes Dionysus’ androgyny instead focusing on his position as a refugee intent on uncovering the secrets of, and avenging, his ancestors.
[James McArdle] maintains the integrity of Pentheus’ character, the caricature of the right-wing politician whilst also providing snippets of opportunity for character complexity
His later scenes with Pentheus, played brilliantly by James McArdle, are particularly poignant. Taleghani and Rubasingham’s refusal to portray their relationship as solely comedic and manipulated was a standout of the production. Their moments together, although undeniably funny, are complex and smattered with personal significance and consequence. Where Dionysus questions how he would potentially fit into the Theban state as an outsider, Pentheus discovers who he would be external to the intense regulations of Theban law. In a particular beautiful moment on the set, golden light shines through a giant wardrobe at the top of the stage, refracting off the sequined, shiny dresses inside it. Pentheus (James McArdle) silently dresses himself in one of these gowns, oscillating between confidence and self doubt in the following scenes, playing the autocratic dictator in a way that cleverly comments on gender and masculinity. He maintains the integrity of Pentheus’ character, the caricature of the right-wing politician (think references to a certain orange American president) whilst also providing snippets of opportunity for character complexity.
Taleghani and Rubasingham collaboratively reveal how the morals and ideas behind Euripides’ play are timeless
The use of set in general flaunted the capabilities of the National’s Olivier Theatre. Throughout the play, the set, made of three large platforms, rotated and fluctuated to resemble the primary locations of the wild mountain and the structured government buildings. By modernising elements of the play, such as the breathtaking set and the use of rhyme and rap in the script, Taleghani and Rubasingham collaboratively reveal how the morals and ideas behind Euripides’ play are timeless. But, more importantly, they make a Greek tragedy greatly entertaining for those who would never think to see The Bacchae.
(Spoilers ahead) I found the overall production punchy, comedic and original. However, the ending fell slightly short of the rest. Following the tragic and dark climax of the play, where Agave (Pentheus’ mother played by Sharon Small) realises she has murdered her own son, it appeared as though the dramatic effect of the climax was partially sacrificed for the sake of brevity. It was here that the simmering emotional tension became lacklustre, differing from the razor-sharp blend of emotion and comedy in the preceding scenes. However, in a production that unfurls the potential of transforming Greek Theatre, the National Theatre’s The Bacchae proves that sometimes we need to look to the present to redefine the past. This is mirrored by the National Theatre’s concessions on student tickets, and due to this I sat among an audience that was diverse when compared to the regular audiences of big London theatres. Taleghani’s pulsing rewrite demonstrates potential of the National Theatre when reinvention and innovation for a younger audience is prioritised. Therefore, if you find yourself in London’s South Bank before November 1st, I recommend going to see The Bacchae… don’t be put off by all the brutal Greek tragedy: you are in safe hands with Taleghani and Rubasingham’s thrilling, visceral yet extremely imaginative rewrite.
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