Review: BACCHAE, National Theatre

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The National Theatre’s Bacchae is a reminder that Greek tragedy doesn’t have to be solemn or dusty. This new version by Nima Taleghani, directed by Indhu Rubasingham, finds as much comedy as horror in Euripides’ play, and the combination makes the darker moments land with a jolt. You laugh, you relax, and then the floor gives way.

Clare Perkins opens the evening as Vida, talking directly to the audience with an easy, teasing confidence. It’s a brilliant way in – you feel looked after, even while she’s warning you not to get too comfortable. Ukweli Roach’s Dionysos has charisma to burn – part preacher, part pop star – though occasionally the showmanship threatens to flatten the menace, while James McArdle’s Pentheus struts with all the self-importance of a man who doesn’t realise how doomed he is.

It’s the women, though, who cut through – their Bacchic frenzy feels properly dangerous, their energy ricocheting off Robert Jones’ rotating set like sparks.

The design is half the story. Platforms twist, lights slash through fog, and Oliver Fenwick’s beams turn the stage into something halfway between a nightclub and a sacrificial altar. Kate Prince’s choreography keeps the chorus moving as if they’re possessed by basslines rather than gods, and it works alongside DJ Walde’s score that thumps in your chest, not just your ears.

It’s not flawless. The slang and modern touches are fun but sometimes feel a bit too knowing, and there are patches where the energy dips as the play explains itself, but the swings between humour and terror work beautifully, and the jokes make the horror crueller, just as the horror makes the jokes sharper. By the time Agave walks on with her grisly prize, you can hear the audience stop breathing, perhaps because the show has spent so long lulling us with jokes and swagger before it drops the hammer. Those jolts, the ones that pull the rug from under your feet, are what this production does best.

In this play, the women’s voices dominate, not as background noise but as the heart of the tragedy, their frenzy both exhilarating and terrifying. The show doesn’t smooth out the contradictions, it revels in them – comedy and horror, swagger and grief, myth and modernity all colliding on the same stage. This is a Bacchae that’s fierce, funny, and frightening, often all at once.

**** Four stars

Reviewed by: Lisamarie Lamb

Bacchae plays in the National’s Olivier theatre until 1 November, with further info here.