Eurydice @ Jermyn Street Theatre - Review
A successful major reframing of a beloved story. ★★★★
I recieved a free press ticket for this show, all thoughts below are my own.
At Jermyn Street Theatre until 9th November 2024.
Tickets £35.
Rating: ★★★★
Eurydice is one of many Greek women who tends to come second to her lover, Orpheus, the greatest musician the world has ever seen. This is the first time I’ve seen her as a true main character, and it works especially well as Sarah Ruhl’s piece explores death, family, memory and the underworld rather than the expected themes of music or lost love. It’s a compelling reframing which does not simply feel like the same story told in a different voice.
It is a short adaptation of 80 minutes and sticks closely to all the key plot points of the story. There’s a wedding, an accidental death, an attempt to bring our heroine back stimyed by a deal with Hades, the usual. The difference comes in where we linger while rescue is on it’s way, with Eurydice and her father (and some stones) in the Underworld. The primary relationship in this piece is not romantic, it’s parental, with exquisitely tender and emotional scenes dwelling on Eurydice regaining her memory and ultimately herself thanks to the gentle, devoted help of her father. Dickson Tyrrell absolutely shines in this role, playing a convincingly devoted father. At times it does feel rushed, and I was left wanting more of the dynamic.
Unfortunately in comparison, the other men feel one note and flat. A Nasty Interesting Man/The Lord of the Underworld is the worst characterisation, a one-note smug pervert that feels more like a box checking exercise (yep, Hades is there) than anything else. He is neither intense enough to feel like a genuine antagonist nor silly enough to provide much humour.
Orpheus is more interesting, characterised less as a musical genius and more like a loveable dope - he strongly evokes, and I’m aware this is an odd reference, Neil from The Inbetweeners. The relationship between him and Eurydice is nuanced and modern. They argue, he undermines her, but also partakes in grand romantic gestures. It’s unclear throughout if Eurydice really loves him, and the impression is that she does not know either. It is a brave take on an epic love story, but one that just about works with how little it is the focus of the piece.
One element, however, is absolutely flawless: the Stones. Aesthetically a Chorus but not fulfilling their conventional theatrical role, the Stones are a trio of talking stones in outlandish robes who advise Eurydice of the rules in the underworld. The trio (Katy Brittain; Tom Morley; Leyon Stolz-Hunter) have impeccable chemistry and comic timing, and do a huge amount of really effective physical acting with just facial expressions (we do not even see their arms during the play). Casting Director Marc Frankum must be applauded for putting them together, their voices and ways of speaking complement eachother brilliantly.
Aesthetically, this Eurydice is top notch. The staging is creatively modular, with semi-circular benches standing in for all manner of sets and adding fun ways to play with height and status. If anyone can tell me what the white things in the bench next to the water were, I’ll be in your debt! It had me curious all show. The costuming (Emily Stuart) is elegant and understated for the humans, thoroughly modern (Orpheus gets a coral two-piece; Eurydice’s father a cozy cardigan) with small customisations that add an air of fantasy (a mesh over-dress once Eurydice is in the underworld; white stitches in her father’s cardigan). The stones are wholly surreal, all black robes with headpieces that look like medieval tapestry, it’s a fantastic contrast.
Ruhl’s Eurydice is a bold and genuinely transformative reframing, enhanced by beauty and a fantastic leading lady (Eve Ponsonby). It falls down only in that it shamelessly focuses on Eurydice, leaving usually central characters to whither. I usually don’t like to compare shows, but it’s hard to avoid the sensation that is HadesTown: this is better, if you only see one, see Eurydice.
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