Aeschylus’ Clytemnestra (here played by Kassandra Jackson) is a perfect example of Hall’s Law of Greek Tragedy: “women who don’t get bonked go bonkers”. Incensed by her husband Agamemnon (Tom Mackenzie)’s sacrifice of their daughter to guarantee a favourable wind to Troy, Clytemnestra takes advantage of his long absence to seize control of the city, extending silken threads of power that allow her to avenge her daughter’s death on his return.
The first thing which strikes the audience about this play is its appearance. The director’s brave decision to clad all her actors in masks leaves them somewhere between Greek vase paintings and deranged Disney cartoons; it provides a connection to the history of the play and vividly underlines the personalities of Aeschylus’ characters. Excellent use is made of a Playhouse stage left almost naked but for a large central door and powerful lights to focus our attention on these uncanny characters.
While it may be a truism to say that bright lights of the Playhouse can both illuminate and bring out flaws, it is also true. It is likely that almost all of the actors will have found this one of the greatest challenges of their career. They must perform in a language that is native to none of them, and with the added handicap of masks which force them to act entirely with their bodies. Especial strain is placed upon the chorus, and they sometimes struggled to rise to the challenge. The decision to give Aeschylus’ own metre a back seat, setting the choruses in a style that will be more familiar to attendees of the Oratory than students of the Attic Orators might have brought dignity. In reality it gave effects that were sometimes bathetic (some falsetto sections caused outright laughter) and always lacked the rhythm necessary to keep the dancing members of the chorus in time.
On the other hand, some performances were so enthralling that all such considerations, not to mention supertitles, were ignored in favour of the unfolding spectacle. The Herald (Raymond Blakenthorn)’s physically vivid and tonally varied performance perfectly mingled the bitterness of war with the sweetness of the return. Cassandra (Emma Pearce)’s almost sexual subjugation to Apollo, swinging from the ecstatic to the terrified, inverts the famous line ‘learning through suffering’ to show us a woman who is suffering through what she has learnt. The audience, wrapped in the Aeschylus’ rich irony, empathises completely. Unfortunately Clytemnestra, who should be the central presence of the play, showed significantly less vocal and physical range than other characters. Whether through a desire to underline her constant dissimulation or simply because of the difficulties of projecting through a full mask the audience was left with an impression of very small spider at the centre of a very large web.
Despite this, Agamemnon turns out to be larger than the sum of its parts, and some of these parts are great in themselves. Individual weaknesses are the exceptions in a good performance of a great play that holds its audience spellbound for over two hours. Classicists must see it; for all others it is highly recommended.
