Girl On An Altar. Kiln Theatre.

Marina Carr’s impressive new adaptation of the story of Greek mythology’s most vengeful female character is violent, dark, brooding, and magnificent.

25 May 2022

I think it is fair to say that if you are looking for some light-hearted escapism this long bank holiday weekend, you had better avoid the otherwise worthy attractions of Kilburn High Road.

If, on the other hand, you are looking for a brutal and ferocious face-off between a semi-psychotic slice of beefcake and the one of most fiercely unforgiving women in history, the Kiln’s the place to be.

Clytemnestra ‘s story is all over Greek mythology like a rash, and she is probably, after Medea, the most infamous woman in the whole genre. I am guessing Carr’s adeptly written and highly accessible new version of her story mostly draws on Aeschylus, although in this case the Queen hums and haws about taking her revenge for quite a bit longer than in the original.

But, as the vengeance-seeking mother is pretty much universally portrayed in myth as a murderously tough cookie, out to get her own back on amoral and self-serving hubby Agamemnon, I do not think taking liberties with the source material matters much.

King Agamemnon of Argos is facing down a potential rebellion from the “peacock who swings both ways” Achilles. He also needs to teach the pesky Trojans some respect and for that needs a fair wind to take him and his fleet to Troy. So, much to the understandable chagrin of wife Clytemnestra, he sacrifices daughter Iphigenia (the titular ‘Girl on an Altar’), to the gods.

Ten years later a victorious Agamemnon returns home to Argos with Trojan prophetess Cassandra, to find Clytemnestra in the midst of a passionate affair with cousin Aegisthus (played by a highly watchable Daon Broni), with whom she has had another child.

Clytemnestra has spent a decade brooding over her daughter’s murder and plotting revenge. But her husband’s return reignites passions and rekindles enough distant memories of love to tempt her into forgiveness. But can she, or should she, absolve him of his crime? And what will happen if she chooses not to?

Without giving too much away, it is fair to say the moral of the story is clear. Do not sacrifice your daughter to gain fair winds for Troy, because it will not end well, and it does not take a Cassandra to foresee that. This is Greek tragedy, red in tooth and claw, with savagery and gore aplenty.

Eileen Walsh puts in an immensely tactile and expressive lead performance as Clytemnestra. She is the kind of actor who can convey emotions with the flick of an eyebrow or the twitch of a finger, and as an embittered but conflicted revenge-seeker she is mesmerizing to watch.

Buff and tattooed David Walmsley is equally watchable as Agamemnon but is a different kind of actor entirely: charismatic brute force to Walsh’s subtle emotional intimacy. He looks like he would thump you as soon as look at you, and on one occasion I found myself avoiding eye contact with the actor, much as I would with a pissed Millwall fan on a late Saturday night tube. He may not have many strings to his bow, but you certainly know when he is playing a tune.

One jarring performance note was the intimacy scenes, which felt oddly restrained, particular for two main characters with such passionate love / hate feelings for each other and so much at stake. The near-embarrassed fumbling between king and queen raised a few titters in what a fairly sombre audience and I wonder whether an intimacy coordinator really added much on this occasion.

Marina Carr’s writing is great. Pithy and direct when it needs to be, but poetic and evocative too. This is the most tragic of Greek tragedies, and she sensibly eschews the temptation to lighten the mood with obvious humour. It is not, fair to say, a bundle of laughs, although a few creep in.

Tom Piper’s set, all black, marble, and gold, gives the feeling of a story emerging from and receding back into darkness. It is fantastically supported by a palette of green in Isobel Pellow’s costumes, and superbly lit by Amy Mae.

Annabelle Comyn’s direction moves the story along nicely to the only brutal conclusion it can have. Be prepared for a bloody final scene and watch out for splashes in the front row.

I loved it.

Writer Marina Carr

Director Annabelle Comyn

Designer Tom Piper

Cast

Nina Bowers Cassandra

Daon Broni Aegisthus

Jim Findley Tyndareus

Kate Stanley Brennan Cilissa

David Walmsley Agamemnon

Eileen Walsh Clytemnestra

Duration: 2 hours 30 minutes. One interval.

Full Disclosure: I paid full box-office price for the ticket.

Tickets Here

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Evening Standard