Theatre review: The Bacchae
When the opening scene of a play has been described as many times as that of the new production of The Bacchae, when you finally see it it can't help but be a bit of an anticlimax. Oh well, I'll just make it worse by describing it once more: As the lights go up Alan Cumming as Dionysus is suspended upside-down by his feet, with his back to the audience, and lowered onto the stage. He's wearing a gold lame kilt which has fallen victim to the laws of gravity so yes, the first thing you see in this production is Cumming's bare arse. It pretty much sets the tone for what's to come.
In Euripides' final tragedy, Dionysus is the most recent of the Olympian gods to be born and is travelling the world acquiring worshippers. He now arrives in Thebes, the home of his late mother Semele, and is recognised for who he is by all except the young king (and Dionysus' cousin) Pentheus. In revenge for this slight Dionysus convinces Pentheus to disguise himself as a woman so he can spy on the women of Thebes in their drunken, debauched dances in honour of the new god. This is of course a trick - when the Bacchae realise a man has intruded on their mysteries, they rip him limb from limb, his mother Agave delivering the fatal blow. Once she realises what she's done, Agave has doomed the whole royal house of Thebes - punishment for them not believing Semele when she said she'd been impregnated by Zeus.
Several reviews have said this is the part Alan Cumming was born to play, and it's easy to see why. What Dionysus craves most is recognition, to be noticed and worshipped, and that's not far from the public image Cumming presents. In John Tiffany's production for the National Theatre of Scotland, the god is a rock star, the chorus of Bacchae his gospel choir of backing singers. Everything about the production is over-the-top, the first half played largely for laughs as Dionysus is a seductive, genderless presence. The plain white set is filled with colour as the god and his worshippers fill it, and sparingly used special effects provide the sense of wonder. Overall it's a pretty raucous production.
The suprising effect of this campery is felt in the bloodthirsty final half-hour: With some of the bloodier tragedies, however much effort is made the whole thing can appear ridiculous, and you sometimes get huge laughs at all the deaths. As a lot of the plot revolves around a decapitated head, this could easily turn into farce even if (as in this case) the prop is very well-made. But even with a lot of 6th-formers in the audience, there was barely a chuckle as the grand-guignol scenes, including Pentheus' body parts in a rubbish bag oozing blood, took place.
Tony Curran is very good as Pentheus, his comedy scenes as he dresses in a ballgown and tiara being the first sign of the nastiness behind Dionysus' smile, knowing as we do that this humiliation is just the setup for murdering him in the most horrific way possible. Paola Dionisoti is also excellent as the initially high, then devastated Agave, but the acting honours in the final sequence belong to Ewan Hooper as her father Cadmus, seeing what his daughter has done, and how his last male heir has gone, dooming his family to losing the throne of Thebes.
Traditional this isn't by any means, and is bound to be a love-hate experience but it's definitely hard to ignore, and as a spectacle and a piece of theatre it's definitely one not to miss.
The Bacchae by Euripides, in a version by David Greig, is booking until the 22nd of September at the Lyric Hammersmith.
In Euripides' final tragedy, Dionysus is the most recent of the Olympian gods to be born and is travelling the world acquiring worshippers. He now arrives in Thebes, the home of his late mother Semele, and is recognised for who he is by all except the young king (and Dionysus' cousin) Pentheus. In revenge for this slight Dionysus convinces Pentheus to disguise himself as a woman so he can spy on the women of Thebes in their drunken, debauched dances in honour of the new god. This is of course a trick - when the Bacchae realise a man has intruded on their mysteries, they rip him limb from limb, his mother Agave delivering the fatal blow. Once she realises what she's done, Agave has doomed the whole royal house of Thebes - punishment for them not believing Semele when she said she'd been impregnated by Zeus.
Several reviews have said this is the part Alan Cumming was born to play, and it's easy to see why. What Dionysus craves most is recognition, to be noticed and worshipped, and that's not far from the public image Cumming presents. In John Tiffany's production for the National Theatre of Scotland, the god is a rock star, the chorus of Bacchae his gospel choir of backing singers. Everything about the production is over-the-top, the first half played largely for laughs as Dionysus is a seductive, genderless presence. The plain white set is filled with colour as the god and his worshippers fill it, and sparingly used special effects provide the sense of wonder. Overall it's a pretty raucous production.
The suprising effect of this campery is felt in the bloodthirsty final half-hour: With some of the bloodier tragedies, however much effort is made the whole thing can appear ridiculous, and you sometimes get huge laughs at all the deaths. As a lot of the plot revolves around a decapitated head, this could easily turn into farce even if (as in this case) the prop is very well-made. But even with a lot of 6th-formers in the audience, there was barely a chuckle as the grand-guignol scenes, including Pentheus' body parts in a rubbish bag oozing blood, took place.
Tony Curran is very good as Pentheus, his comedy scenes as he dresses in a ballgown and tiara being the first sign of the nastiness behind Dionysus' smile, knowing as we do that this humiliation is just the setup for murdering him in the most horrific way possible. Paola Dionisoti is also excellent as the initially high, then devastated Agave, but the acting honours in the final sequence belong to Ewan Hooper as her father Cadmus, seeing what his daughter has done, and how his last male heir has gone, dooming his family to losing the throne of Thebes.
Traditional this isn't by any means, and is bound to be a love-hate experience but it's definitely hard to ignore, and as a spectacle and a piece of theatre it's definitely one not to miss.
The Bacchae by Euripides, in a version by David Greig, is booking until the 22nd of September at the Lyric Hammersmith.