Phaedra

It opens in a blizzard of dialogue (thank God for mics) as this obviously prosperous family start the day sniping at one another in their chic Scandi kitchen. Australian theater maker Simon Stone, whose radical reimagining of Lorca’s Yerma was deserved acclaimed, takes a similarly revisionist approach to this classic. The result is just riveting.

Phaedra has been the basis for three masterpieces of Greek, Roman and French theater as well as inspiring a raft of poems, operas, plays and films [even ‘Some Velvet Morning’ by Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra’! - ed]. Here, Stone has taken the kernel of the play, rather than the exact plot, and fashioned something new which presents a captivating modern woman whose feelings get totally out of control at time in her life when she might be assumed to have got it together. The original Phaedra was a queen felled by her passion for a younger man, who happened to be her stepson.

There are two commendable changes: firstly she’s a powerful woman in her own right, a wealthy, witty, champagne socialist politician and Opposition Spokesperson and secondly they’ve dropped the rape accusation subplot, which turned past Phaedras into shameless hussies in the eyes of too many.

Stone directs his richly textured piece with a lightning finesse. It deftly explores the workings of desire and its potential to unleash unlimited damage not just on the individual but on everyone around them. He’s refashioned it as a response to the world we live in now, packing it with modern allusions, just as Racine had done with it in his time.

Janet McTeer’s Phaedra is called Helen. She is married to an Iranian born British diplomat (Paul Chahidi) and lives with her smart-aleck teenage son Declan (great Archie Barnes) and needy daughter Isolde (Canadian screen star Mackenzie Davis), with whom she has the prickliest of relationships. The activist daughter despairs of her mother’s politics, lifestyle and values, but suffers on, as they do have homes in Notting Hill, Suffolk and Biarritz. Isolde is involved with a painfully metrosexual Eric (John McMillan) who the family to prefer to her.

In a glorious ensemble cast Chahidi is a stand-out as the always sardonic but pained husband to the Great Woman in power suits. The script has fun with their height differentials but is also sensitive to the many dimensions of such a marriage.

Instead of a stepson, in this version, she falls for Sofiane, the son of a former lover, Ashraf, who had died in a car crash. He also turns the head of Isolde and, as you can imagine, things don’t end well. He’s played by Assaad Bouab, the charismatic star of Netflix’s Call My Agent, who is also an accomplished classical actor in France. It’s perfect casting and the chemistry between the two just fizzles.

Based in the US for the past 10 years McTeer is simply magisterial. That enviable natural grace is a given, but here she manages to flit between skittish, mysterious and commanding such that you can’t take your eyes off her. She’s been away from the London stage for too long.

Chloe Lamford’s set is astonishing too, a huge revolving cube, partly glass, which envelopes the uber-chic family home as well as the reeds of a Suffolk beach and a snow-covered landscape in Morocco.

The piece has a filmic rhythm to it with sharp cuts and extended fades to black where we hear subtitled audio excerpts of Ashraf’s conversations with his then young son, all aided by Stefan Gregory’s richly arresting sound design.

The first half takes its time and firmly locates us in present with this terribly self-absorbed family, whereas Act 2 notches up a gear and the Greek tragedy kicks in. A riveting restaurant scene, for Helen’s birthday, ramps up the tension to boiling point. Akiya Henry is great here as Omolara, a fellow MP and Helen’s only confidante, who finally bails on her.

The ending, in the snows of Morocco, begins static and mournful until Helen’s bloody denouement where she paces like a caged animal.

This has brio and style and will stay with you long after.

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