Medea at Soho Place – a powerful Greek tragedy plays out in London’s newest theatre
Address: 4 Soho Pl, Charing Cross Rd, London W1D 3BG. Get directions.
Our verdict
Amy Trigg
Rage. Palpable rage. That is the feeling that dominates this powerful new production of Medea.
In a sharp and rarely seen 1949 adaptation by Robinson Jeffers, Euripides’s Medea is a shocking story that most are familiar with. This new production has just opened at Soho Place on Charing Cross Road - the first new-build West End theatre in 50 years and the culmination of a 12-year project, owned by leading theatre producer Nica Burns and operated by Nimax.
A visit to this glistening new £300 million venue is worth it alone – with its glamorous cruise liner-esque interiors, long sweeping brass bars, soft uplifting and diamante star constellations that glitter overhead, embedded in the ceilings. And most wonderfully – there are plenty of loos.
The 600-seater auditorium is spacious and comfortable but for Medea, it feels incredibly intimate. Almost uncomfortably so, when one considers what is about to unfold (no one wants to be too close to that). Medea tells the story of a woman laid bare by grief and rage, and her terrible quest for revenge against the men who have abandoned her. Is she a villain, or is she a victim?
‘It’s clear that this anger of hers will grow; soon enough her grief like a gathering cloud will be kindled by it and burst into a storm.’
Ben Daniels and Sophie Okonedo
The sense of impending doom under Dominic Cooke's masterful direction is tangible from the outset. The show opens with Jason (Ben Daniels) symbolically dismantling what we presume is his former family’s dining table and chairs, and hurling them off stage to a soundtrack of what I think was Rage Against the Machine....the tone is set.
From then on, it is the classic downhill spiral of Greek tragedy, as Medea's calculated desire for revenge against her unfaithful husband leads her to first murder his new love interest, and eventually, her own children.
Sophie Okonedo’s devastating performance is utterly gripping and immensely powerful. She embodies trauma and moves through a portfolio of intense emotions with ease, sliding from shock, outrage and disbelief to palpable white-hot rage, and then a deep, gut-wrenching sadness about what she has decided she must do. Her eyes flit brightly as she calculates her terrible plan, and she moves with a captivating, almost animalistic quality.
Her Medea is not an irrational spurned lover, instead she is a determined, fiercely proud, deeply wronged, and tactical woman – and certainly not someone you would want pitted against you. It is a truly staggering performance.
The intense and physically imposing Ben Daniels is also magnificent. Smoothly and skilfully, he switches between four characters and barely leaves the stage throughout; scenes unfold as he slowly circles the stage like a prowling panther silently stalking his female prey, neck veins pulsating.
In one scene, Medea reminds Jason of the many sacrifices that she has made (including but not limited to betraying her father, killing her brother, and abandoning her homeland), all for the love of him. Daniels’ infuriatingly arrogant, gaslighting response - to blame Aphrodite for these so-called ‘acts of service’ - is enough to make the audience hiss with anger. His final scene of blood-stained horror and profound grief is hauntingly brilliant.
The women of Corinth (Jo McInnes, Amy Trigg and Penny Layden), cleverly dotted around the audience, effectively build stressful tension, whilst Marion Bailey is magnificent as Medea’s nurse and has the audience completely transfixed as she breathlessly recounts the gory fate of King Creon’s daughter (for whom Jason has left Medea).
Manuel Harlan
Marion Bailey
Vicki Mortimer’s circular, terracotta tiled set is simple yet effective, with a curved staircase leading down to the family home off stage, allowing us to hear the harrowing screams as the children are murdered, without having to watch the horror unfold. It is a truly haunting moment.
This pacy production is 90 minutes with no interval and is gripping in its entirety. The way in which the tension is slowly built is a brilliant sum of parts – Gareth Fry’s sound is devilishly effective and Neil Austin’s clever lighting means that when the play opens, we are sat in bright, warm Grecian sunlight, but there is a slow, steady descent into darkness, both figuratively and literally.
By the end, a powerful storm has well and truly hit; the heavens open and flashes of lighting expose the wide-eyed faces of the audience, all transfixed, horrified, but unable to look away.
Tickets From: £25, playing until 22nd April 2023 (Mon-Sat 7.30pm, Thurs & Sat 2.30pm). Age Recommendation 12+ sohoplace.org/whats-on/medea
