THEATRE: Hazel Friedman
Those who are unacquainted with Greek tragedy may yet be vaguely familiar with the myth of Medea — the woman who murdered her sons when her husband dumped her to become king. But even audiences who were struck by Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1970 film version — with its bizarre exploration of Freudian themes through Marxist eyes — will be astounded by the range and depth with which Mark Fleishman and Jennie Reznek stretch this legend of sex, betrayal and revenge in their production at Johannesburg’s Market Theatre. The Fleishman-Reznek partnership is more than a marriage of theatre minds. It evokes the image of an umbilical cord constantly feeding back and forth, off one and into the other. And in certain respects one doesn’t really know where Fleishman’s vision begins and Rezneck’s input ends. Yet in Medea, both have brought to the production a differently textured yet synchronised symbolism. Fleishman, the cerebral one, has infused the production with an allegorical resonance, as an exploration of colonist and the colonised `other’. `It is about two cultures that are incomprehensible to each another, about a woman who takes on the dressings of her lover’s world and who, in the process, loses her own history and sense of self,’ he says. `It is also a story of ambition and the price one pays in the process.’ Reznek concurs with this interpretation, but her approach to the play is more intuitive and elemental, perceiving it as a vehicle through which to explore the dynamics of movement and text, body and mime. `By articulating different languages the production attempts to come to terms with the issues of multi-culturalism and multi-lingualism,’ she says. `Yet Medea remains an extremely personal story.’ Their complementary visions have made them a formidable team, and nowhere is their vision better synchronised or more accomplished than in this award-winning production. Based on an obscure Greek classical text by Appolonius of Rhodes which examines the whys of the deed, not simply the hows, Medea offers an eclectic mix of styles, genres, histories and cultural influences. Briefly, the story is about the passion between Medea — princess of a remote, primitive tribe called the Kalkans — and Jason the Greek prince, who, in order to become king, is forced to capture the golden fleece from the tribe. He achieves his quest by seducing Medea and returns to Greece with his foreign bride, who sacrifices her family and heritage for his love. But Greece is hostile to both foreigners and women. And Jason, in order to achieve his royal calling, chooses to send Medea into exile and deprive her of their sons. Set against the sparse backdrop of a beach, the play does not provide a neat linear build-up but evolves, rather, through an organic interplay between narrative, song and movement. Spoken language is not a prerequisite for comprehension; the extraordinary cast of Jazzart dancers — who serve both as as commentators on and accomplices to the betrayal of Medea — speak in the multiple tongues of Tamil, tsotsitaal, kaapse klopse, Zulu, Latin and Greek, as well as in English and Afrikaans. And their movements serve not merely as illustrations of the text or plot but as a separate dramatic language, whose function is as integral to the drama as a Shakespearean soliloquy. At times the production could minimise its frenzied activity for effect, and focus more on understated intensity, particularly in scenes where Medea (played by Bo Peterson) displays her grief and anger at her betrayal by Jason (Jay Pather). The strength of the production, after all, should lie in a quiet, ominous build-up to the cathartic climax. Without this crescendo, the characters are in danger of becoming caricatures, and the movement reduced to a series of frantic rites. But these directorial cracks virtually disappear next to scenes of extraordinary and ingenious subtlety, pathos and — refreshingly — comedy. Of particular note is Jason’s parachute-landing among the Kalkans, la James Bond. Also highly effective — particularly in terms of its site-specific references — is the scene where an African oral poet sings the praises of the Kalkan king to an uncomprehending Jason. Then there are the comic contemporary touches — cellphones and trenchcoats which transform the tribespeople from their innocent nakedness into street-wise urban hoodlums. These and other juxtaposed images aptly reflect the duality between nature and culture, past and present, personal and political. `Working with Alfred Hinckel’s Jazzart company is subsidised theatre at its best,’ enthuses Reznek. `We are creating multiple languages that move comfortably with one another.’ And if the standard of Medea can be used as a yardstick, Fleishman and Reznek are on their way to forging a new dramatic language which will propel the newly relaunched Market Theatre and South African theatre into a more hopeful era. Medea runs at the Market Theatre in Johannesburg until March 2