Wake up. Hug your kids. Check your hand to see if the bite marks have faded. Squeeze your kids tight. Cry. Wander around the house--what do you write about one of the worst experiences of your life? Are the teeth marks really gone?
Forgive the scattery review. Shannon Robert led The Clemson Players in such a show as I could only watch by nearly chewing my hand off. Here are my brief notes and what thoughts I can remember from before the hand-gnawing began.
-That set (also by Shannon Robert)! Chilling and forbidding, the classic Greek stone seems beautiful, inevitable. And that bench tucked away over there led to some breathtaking staging.
-Meredith Kidd (Nurse) gave us modern-ers an introduction we could both understand and get worked up about. The Greeks ain't easy, but she made that passion seem normal!
-I love this translation (McLeish and Raphael)--easy to understand, and still muscular. Check to see if they've done any other Greeks.
-Hunter Spangler was such a natural self-assured Jason--I both loved and hated him. Was he telling the truth about his motivation for the new wife? I could almost buy it--seriously. In Greek society, was he doing the right thing? There lies the conundrum of the play.
-Medea, the spurned wife. Lauren French. Tough part for a girl so young, but she sunk her teeth into the rage and grief and shook. Lost a little grounding in the quieter moments, but you could hardly blame her for that, when the rage was so real. Would dearly love to see her tackle this role again in ten or twenty years.
-Tony Pena's lighting--especially on Medea, especially in her torment, wow.
-The Chorus. Perhaps the most foreign element of a Greek play. If the thought of a chorus has kept you away from the Greeks, this is the play to change your mind. These girls were lythe, slithering, stomping, punctuating, pushing--the glue that held the show together. Excellent direction & stage picture. In my mind, these girls are the reason to see this show. And they're the reason I still have any hand left.
Let me tell you about it.
No spoilers here--the very first scene of the play tells you what you need to know: Medea's gonna kill her two little boys. But, being human, you hope and hope it isn't going to happen. It's like a friend I had in high school--big guy, jock--used to watch Anne of Green Gables over and over again because "I keep hoping that this time, Matthew won't die. And he does every time. And I cry."
I'm a big girl. I'm also a theatre person, and I know the story of Medea. I know how know that in Greek tragedies, all the awful stuff happens off stage. But I also have two boys. One of whom is the age of the little ones on stage. When Medea goes ballistic, and runs off stage to...(I can't even write it without struggling to breathe)
There are sounds.
The chorus, wailing.
Children, screaming.
Screaming.
I sink my teeth into my hand--hard as I can. Don't scream. Bite. Don't sob. Bite. Don't sob! Bite! Don't run from the theatre. Don't run on stage to stop it.
In a truly Greek fashion, my eyes are faucets; I never knew so much could pour out of them at once. I have never felt this sort of fear before in my life. I need to run I need to stop Those sounds Those kids BITE.
The chorus writhing in agony. Mourning. Yes. Yes, it's over. They're mourning now. You can cry, just cry. But it's not over. The damned deed is not done. That was just the first child. There is more. The sounds are back, and worse.
The morning after, I have a hard time processing these emotions. I do know: I am angry. I trust theatre to take care of me. I know it will throw me around, give me an emotional journey like no other, but in the end, I trust the people in the theatre to take care of me. Last night was the first time I felt unmoored at a show. I felt betrayed. Okay, so there was actual terror, fine; I don't like it, but I'll go there with you. But to give me hope that it was over? To tell me it was okay, and then to make my heart do that exploding thing again? Yes, I am angry.
Now my "rational" side knows that if ever a show should make us angry, it should be Medea, that if I had another week to think on this review maybe I could come up with some great insight about how Medea should unmoor us and how everyone should go and be unmoored for a moment. This is a part of humanity. Much as we want to claim all goodness and light, this is an ugly part of us and we must own it. But I'm a mommy. And those were kids. I couldn't help, of course, thinking of Sandy Hook and child soldiers and all the other wars waged on children. I couldn't help but feel a need to run out in the streets and hug every kid I could find.
I want to draw this to a tidy conclusion, like the Greeks. Some lesson about the gods, and how you can make your plans but the gods know better. But that doesn't feel right. It certainly doesn't help me, or you, when you're shaken to the core and you don't honestly know why. So no lessons. No conclusions. Just this: take someone with you. Someone you can hug. 'Cause you're both going to need it.
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Euripides' "Medea," translated by Kenneth McLeish and Frederic Raphael. Presented by The Clemson Players and directed by Shannon Robert. Through March 2. Tickets $15, $10 for students.