What acts will humans rationalize when they feel as though they’ve been given no other choice? That is the question that Euripides’ ‘Medea’ has been asking for over a thousand years.
As it turns out, the answer ‘Medea’ gives us is: quite a lot.
In Rhodes Dining Hall from November 13-15th, Bryn Mawr College’s Shakespeare Performance Troupe put on ‘Medea’ and asked those very questions that Euripides asked long ago. The result was a performance that was truly haunting, powerful, and captivating.
The play follows Medea, a foreigner on the brink of exile who, after being abandoned by her husband, enacts a plan of vengeance, which includes killing her husband’s future wife and her own children. Written by Euripides in 431 B.C.E., the play feels surprisingly timeless. This production leaned into that timelessness, using a minimal set and costuming that feels distinctly out of time. This left an intentional disconnect between anachronistic costuming and the specific language used to reference gods and goddesses of ancient Greece. At times, the play felt tied down by the language and references to ancient Greece, but it mostly served the purpose to remind the audience of the play’s age and enduring relevance. Every time that a character mentions Zeus, the audience has to reckon with the fact that Medea was written over a thousand years ago, yet still represents human life today.
The characters were able to shine and each character felt as though they could have been from any time or place. Maggie McLaughlin (Bryn Mawr, ‘29) as Jason was as terrible as any husband can be in our time or another, yet McLaughlin made him feel real and empathetic. Kira Severy-Hoven (Bryn Mawr, ‘27) as Aegeus was a dopey, easily manipulated man who brought both levity and life to the play, transforming what otherwise could have been an easily forgotten role to one of the highlights of the production. Lastly, Kate Nakahara (Bryn Mawr, ‘27) as Medea created a protagonist so rich yet empathetic that you couldn’t help but root for her.
Nakahara brought Medea to life, transforming a character who could have been inconsistent or baffling to a fully realized human being. In each scene, Medea shifts from being depressingly pitiful, overly subservient, terrifyingly manipulative, empathetic, and gleefully vengeful. What could seem jarring instead feels natural as Nakahara makes every change, whether subtle or sweeping, feel intentional and genuine. And so, at the end of the play when Medea kills her children and leaves Jason brideless and childless, the audience doesn’t feel for Jason but instead feels for Medea.
In her director’s note, Grace Sawyer (Bryn Mawr, ‘26) reflects on the history of Medea and says she looks “forward to a world in which we cannot make sense of Medea”. The tragedy of Medea isn’t just in the compelling performances and violence, but rather in what a woman is forced to do in the position she is put in by society. This production of Medea forces the audience to sit with this tragedy and observe a cycle of violence and oppression in the hopes that one day it will be unnecessary.
At the end of the play, Medea enters the stage and faces Jason with the blood of their children on her hands, hauntingly gleeful as she succeeds and leaves her husband as helpless and grieved as she was at the beginning of the play. The ending is terrifyingly beautiful and the audience is trapped feeling horrified and delighted at Medea’s actions as the lights go out on Jason’s cries of horror. Walking out of the theatre, I was left with the haunting feeling of horrible delight.
