Traverse Theatre,
Edinburgh
Three stars
When Oedipus poked his
eyes out in one of the defining moments of classical drama, it wasn't
because he got a bad review. Yet laying bare excerpts from a genuine
critique of their previous show, the really rather splendid Moby
Dick, is exactly how the Spymonkey company precede their
self-reflexive knockabout take on Greek tragedy. Looking to
retro-chic kitsch for pointers towards tackling the most
dysfunctional family in theatrical history, Emma Rice's production,
scripted by Carl Grose with the company, puts on the shimmery gold
spandex and togas for a thrusting romp of a show that falls somewhere
between Horrible Histories and Carry On Up The Thebans.
Jocasta comes on like a
Barbarella out-take made flesh, the Sphinx is an afro-sporting
jive-talking mamma, and assorted James Bond themes creep in and out
like a sniper. All of which should make for the sort of madcap caper
that the late Ken Campbell would surely approve of if it only had
some depth beyond the routines. The nearest Spymonkey's regular
performing quartet get to in this is via assorted confessionals which
pastiche both themselves and the notion of a company that have spent
too many hours in a rehearsal room together, wishing they actually
could poke each other's eyes out.
At it's slickly
realised and energetic best, this co-production with the Royal and
Derngate, Northampton resembles the sort of hammed-up lounge bar
theme nights that were all the rage back in the 1990s, but which now
looks wilfully naff. There are moments, such as during Jocasta's
hanging scene, that threaten to up the ante, but overall this is a
company unrolling an all too familiar bag of tricks.
The Herald, October 15th 2013
ends
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