★★★★

“beautifully atmospheric”

Nine anonymous women slowly walk onto the stage, one by one, each with a sack cloth over their head and their headshot photo hanging around their neck. They move slowly, but precisely. In total silence. Some sort of symbolism is immediately established. A crone-like figure shuffles into position in the corner and watches. Suddenly a rabble of boisterous men burst onto the scene, dressed like judges in black gowns. We are in a restaurant. Or is it a brothel? The women are being picked out by the men as they remove their veils. We realise that they are being cast in an impromptu rendition of a play – Euripides’ “Medea”. It is an uncomfortable casting process. The women are mute and compliant while the men relish the prospect like shady, backstreet clients.

“Medea” is then played out in full as a play-within-a-play. Directed by Satoshi Miyagi, it is faithful to the original, two-thousand-year-old story. Without changing a word, however, Miyagi has ingeniously given it fresh meaning by placing it in late nineteenth century Japan. More specifically the Meiji period – often referred to as the Meiji Restoration. A period of rapid progress and modernisation but also a return to imperialism and colonialism. It was still a patriarchal society that reinforced male authority while stunting women’s rights and limiting their education. ‘The world despises intelligent women’ we are told. In this context, the brutal tale of a woman’s revenge takes on a shocking resonance, particularly during Miyagi’s climactic moments which acts as a cool but furious, and bloodstained epilogue to Euripides’ original conclusion.

The piece seems to run in slow motion, yet the pace never drags. We have the ‘speakers’ and the ‘movers’. The dominant males speak the roles in Japanese while surtitles are projected onto the back wall. Emotive and dramatic, their words belie the stillness of the performers. Interestingly, the translated captions contain far fewer words than are spoken, as though the essence is all we need and the actress’ skills in mime and movement are more than enough to tell the story. A bit of a problematic story in this day and age. Medea’s cold desire for revenge against her unfaithful husband, Jason, doesn’t sit well. Who is going to sympathise with a mother who murders her children to harm their father? In Miyagi’s version, Medea has only one son – but this doesn’t dampen the effect. It’s hard to further the feminist cause with such a parable, but Miyagi pulls focus away from Medea’s individual actions and we begin to perceive the injustices and humiliations that shaped her and her behaviour. Yes, it is a myth, but the historical setting gives an unfortunate authenticity that tries to explain the character’s intentions, but still cannot disguise the ugly truth.

The show is nevertheless beautifully atmospheric. Hiroko Tanakawa’s percussive score rises and dips in perfect time to the dialogue, played live by the women of the company, giving additional voice to their silenced emotions. Koji Osako’s lighting shifts from shadows to blood-red shrouds that evoke the moods and settings on Junpei Kiz’s simple set. A towering bookcase dominates – used to dramatic effect in the closing moments of the play.

The cultural comments that are being underlined are not always clear, particularly to a Western audience. It is definitely worth giving yourself a quick crash course on Japan’s Meiji Era. But even without, this is a thrilling rendition of the ancient Greek tragedy. The sixteen cast members give precisely orchestrated, yet fluid, performances. The surtitles are often unnecessary; such is the expertise of these performers in allowing the story to evolve visually and musically. It can be disturbing. It isn’t easy. But Miyagi’s interpretation is powerful, while also being rather beautiful to look at. A rare feat to accomplish.

EINKVAN

Coronet Theatre

★★★★★

“Fosse’s sparse poetic script strips life down to its essentials, matching the images on the screens”

Einkvan is a rare opportunity to see the work of Nobel prize winning playwright Jon Fosse in London. It’s also a chance to see it at the Coronet Theatre in Notting Hill in the original Norwegian (or Nynorsk) complete with the talented cast and crew from Det Norske Teatret, who gave the world premiere of this play in Oslo in 2024. For the Coronet production, voiceovers are given in Nynorsk, with English subtexts appearing simultaneously on screen. And you’ll find plenty to focus on in a play that is both oddly isolating for the viewer, and intensely personal. “Einkvan” means Everyman in Norwegian, so there’s no escape from self reflection, as we follow the story of two aging parents trying desperately to maintain contact with a son who doesn’t want anything to do with them.

Throughout Einkvan, the focus is on the actors’ faces on the screens. These faces are unnaturally enlarged. We see every haunted gaze, every wrinkle, every tear. Director Kjersti Horn concentrates on these unnatural closeups, first of one actor, divided into two screens, then two actors, and most unnervingly, when one actor melts from his screen into the other, joining his companion. Water plays an important part in the images and in the words as well, whether it is the water that submerges the actors at times, to the father’s wistful memories of fishing with his boy. Fosse’s sparse poetic script strips life down to its essentials, matching the images on the screens. It’s an illuminating, as well as uncomfortable journey for all present in the theatre—an exploration to discover what really matters when life seems to offer nothing but loneliness. For the parents, it’s a distressing experience of never quite meeting their adult child, or connecting with him any more. For the child, it’s all about escaping those oppressive family ties, but escaping to what? Ultimately, Fosse seems to suggest that human bonds are not as important as one’s art, whether it’s drama or painting. Art is real, in a way that people can’t be. But depending on one’s age, or family circumstances, or even one’s art, each audience member’s journey throughout Einkvan is going to be a bit different. And, as mentioned before, all these close ups, in language, and image, are intensely personal.

The Coronet’s stage has been raised up to the level of the balcony for this production, and the space is dominated by an immense cube. Divided into two halves, the lower half of the cube is closed in by opaque curtains, lit from within and without. (Lighting design by Oscar Udbye). Throughout the performance, we see the dim outline of an actor moving back and forth. Above the curtains, are two large screens. The audience sit directly in front, and close to this oppressive, yet brilliantly conceived, set. (Set and costume design by Sven Haraldsson). The playing time is about right for a piece that drifts, rather than moves through the action. Given the intensity of the whole experience, Fosse and Horn have an acute sense of just how much the audience can bear.

After the show is over, and the actors appear on stage to great applause, there is one more surprise. If the audience was lulled into thinking that Einkvan was an evening in the cinema rather than the theatre, the appearance of the two younger actors completely soaked from their immersion in the on screen bathtub, eliminates that illusion. What we observed on the screens was a real time videotaping (directed by Mads Sjøgård Pettersen) of the action going on behind the opaque curtains. It’s a lovely reminder that live theatre is always taking place in the present. In film, what seems to be taking place in the present, has actually taken place in the past. It’s a fitting metaphor for Einkvan, where the actors and the audience explore the limits of memories, only to find that the present cannot save us from the fear of being alone in the world. And that this sense of loneliness only intensifies as one moves through life.

If you are up for such an experience, I heartily recommend Det Norske Teatret’s production of Jon Fosse’s Einkvan. Bring a friend. You will have much to discuss after the show in the Coronet Theatre’s lovely bar, and much to think about as you make your way home. It’s a show that will continue to haunt you, in your own company, or with others.

MEDEA

The Coronet Theatre

★★★★

“beautifully atmospheric”

MEDEA

The Coronet Theatre

Reviewed on 18th June 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Takuma Uchida

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

MEDEA

MEDEA

MEDEA

EINKVAN

Coronet Theatre

★★★★★

“Fosse’s sparse poetic script strips life down to its essentials, matching the images on the screens”

EINKVAN

Coronet Theatre

Reviewed on 8th May 2025

by Dominica Plummer

Photography by Tristram Kenton

Previously reviewed at this venue:

EINKVAN

EINKVAN

EINKVAN

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