Chris Eldon Lee reviews the RSC’s ‘Hecuba’, which is at The Swan in Stratford until October 17th.
Last night’s Hecuba was always likely to be heavy going. Greek tragedies generally are. But Miranda Carr’s re-imagining of the story is witty and gossipy enough to entertain, without unduly undermining the uncompromising horror of it all.
In a hugely reflective, uncluttered space, Hecuba, wife of the defeated king of Troy, sits alone on her throne surrounded – she tells us – by her butchered boys.
Her tale is largely told, not shown; but the story telling is directly to us in present English (with the occasional lapse into Anglo Saxon and GI colloquialisms) and arrives right between the eyes. The narration is multi-layered. One character on stage will tell us what another character on stage has just said – with only a throw away ‘he said’ to clarify. It’s a maverick style but it works a treat, keeps you on your toes, and gives the evening an Epic air.
There is no escaping the violation Hecuba feels. She and her surviving daughters are being evacuated in symbolically black ships by Agamemnon’s triumphant army – together with anyone else worth raping. The future looks bleak and so does the play. There are numerous laughs – but they feel hollow and unhappy.
The pairing of Derbhle Crotty and Ray Feardon is pretty near perfect. Her Hecuba is a world-weary dishevelled woman, stripped of her motherhood and clinging to a cliff face. Yet somehow she is simultaneously despairing and desirable.
His Agamemnon is black, bold, bare-chested and well groomed. There is something of a young Cassius Clay about him….a hypnotic mix of ferocity and fooling about. Together they create a well-primed powder keg. Their big moments are real showstoppers.
Agamemnon is put upon to sacrifice her daughter Polyxena to The Gods to conjure a wind for his restless sailors. He knows the barbarism he will feel because he’s had to do it before, using his own daughter. The hugely compelling, badly botched death scene is made immeasurably stronger by Hecuba’s determination to look into her child’s eyes throughout – which transforms Amy McAllister’s slight, Scottish schoolgirl into a towering tragedian. The Swan fell silent as she gasped and gasped. With no props and no ketchup, this was agonising theatre.
The play goes quiet for a while – but the most challenging idea of all is still to come. In her helpless grief, Hecuba takes her daughter’s slaughterer as her lover. I doubt East Enders would contemplate that scenario. Again the impact raises hairs and hackles.
Director Erica Whyman treads her swaying tightrope with complete confidence. The play is perfectly poised between revenge and remorse, historical panorama and personal detail.
Nadia Albina is given freedom to be saucy and cynical as the soothsaying Cassandra who knows they’re all going to die because “I’ve already seen it”. And Luca Saraceni-Gunner, the small boy playing Hecuba’s last son, is heart-warmingly pious and pragmatic as he teaches Agamemnon a thing or two about Kingsmanship.
Writer Marina Carr has taken liberties with the blame game, but her Bronze Age ballad could well have been yesterday’s news. I certainly discerned parallels with the woman of Berlin as the Russians arrived. And the stories of the daughters of Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan are queuing up to be told. So this is a tellingly timely production.