Phedre (Helen Mirren) has been left alone to rule the kingdom. Her husband Theseus has disappeared whilst on campaign and is presumed dead. Only her step son Hyppolytus ( Dominic Cooper ) wishes to set out to find his Father or discover what has happened to him. His step mother behaves as if she hates Hyppolytus and so he feels he really ought to leave. Be anywhere other than here. The only thing keeping him here is Aricia ( Ruth Negga ) He doesn't realise that Phedre's loathing of him is just an act, that really she is besottedly in love with him. Just when Phedre has unwisely told Hyppolytus what her feelings for him really are, Theseus returns.
Jean Racine's over heated tragedy, is given additional muscularity by the gritty urgency of Ted Hughes's translation. This is fate on steroids. The first act is a demanding one for whoever is playing its lead role. Phedre is being torn apart by the realisation she's in love with her step son. She rails, she wails, she weeps, she curses the gods, curses her families misfortune, curses her misfortune as a woman, blames her maid servant (Margaret Tyzack) Without an actor with tremendous gifts in vocal and expressive range in this central role, the play can simply become one long and tiresome screech for attention. There's nothing or no one an actor can hide behind. The revered reputation of classic performances of Phedre by Glenda Jackson and Diana Rigg, are then a tough act for anyone to follow.
Unfortunately this production from 2009 as directed by Nicholas Hytner, underlines the limits of Helen Mirren as an actor. Playing cold and aloof queens has apparently become her forte, but Phedre is far from that. Her performance here lacks a lot of the necessary subtlety of emotional light and shade. Phedre, though imperious at times, has also to be a warm person, with whom you can identify. Human, full blooded, simply failing to hold it all together. Above all, falling in love with ones step son, has to be believable.
There is humour, pathos and poetry in the script which she sometimes misses entirely or hurtles over with yet another wailing declamation. It ends up all existing on the same rather exhaustingly fraught level, that I found so jarring I have yet to steel myself to watch beyond the first act. God did I need a break from all that hair tearing and holding of the stomach. Instead of helping you feel for her position, you feel repelled by this emotive barrage. One that strangely reveals her performance as uninhabited and essentially cold at heart.
The staging by Bob Crowley is, I must say, extraordinary. The lighting gives it a sense of Mediterranean sunlight, sky and dramatic shadows. Large slabs of angular stonework, held up by a rocky pillar outcrop far too frequently gripped or leant on by Ms Mirren. An epic stage, for an epic play, lacking a totally epic central performance, unfortunately.
CARROT REVIEW - 4/8
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