Mike Bartlett’s updating of Euripides turns the vengeful Medea, betrayed by her husband, into a maroon-haired wit in faded leisurewear. It’s set on a middle-class estate, somewhere suburban, and in place of the elegance of ancient Corinth there are Bluetooth headsets, Wii games and neon street lights.
Rachael Stirling is blisteringly good in the title role — rivetingly played 20 years ago by her mother Diana Rigg. Stirling has inherited Rigg’s ability to switch between tiger and kitten. She is quick and sardonic, chafing against other people’s politeness. But her Medea is also desperate and deranged, immersing her hand in a pan of boiling water, flaying the wallpaper in her bedroom, and dripping poison into the ears of all around her.
Bartlett’s version, which he also directs, is at first nicely pointed, filtering Greek tragedy through the language of Alan Ayckbourn. Amelia Lowdell and Lu Corfield are effective as Medea’s put-upon friends, and there’s a clever if slightly cumbersome design by Ruari Murchison.
But the production strays towards an earnest banality. Medea’s husband Jason becomes a cipher in shiny shoes and a suit, and Bartlett’s soap-opera idiom dampens the pathos. A few details jar: for instance, Medea refers to the local tennis club and the Girl Guides — and celebrates her son Tom by recalling the time he came second in the egg and spoon race.
The all-too-real blandness is meant to improve the story’s accessibility. Yet although there’s no denying the fluency of Bartlett’s writing, Euripides’s scale and power are lost. There is little sense of the argument between human and divine forces. The specifics of the modern setting make Medea’s drama seem personal, not universal — and, for all Stirling’s excellence, less weighty than it should be.
Until October 27, then touring (01923 225671, medeaheadlong.com)
