What happens to the innocent when a war is lost? Troy has fallen, the wooden horse has unleashed its deadly cargo, the men lie slaughtered and the Greek army stands triumphant. Yet for the noblewomen of the city, the siege never ends.
The Trojan Women exploits C Nova’s basement space to its utmost. Smoke, noise and torches transform the venue into a prison in which the women cower, awaiting their fate at the hands of their Greek captors. Their reactions range from defiance to resignation, but terror is the dominant emotion. Bleeding and bruised, they are menaced by rape and brutalization.
There is no stage; the audience is invited to sit on the ground amongst the prisoners, making us witnesses rather than mere viewers. The actors make excellent use of the staging, sometimes obscuring themselves behind pillars, sometimes imploring audience members directly. Each time the door opens to admit further devastation, a chill runs through characters and spectators alike.
Unfortunately, the acting is not quite consistent enough to live up to the expectations raised by the staging. All the actors suffer from lapses into over-theatricality. The costumes were effective, but I questioned the decision to have Jordan Robert’s Agamemnon wear his (admittedly intimidating) helmet throughout his scene: it didn’t help a performance which already had too much in common with that of a pantomime villain. The director has dispensed with common artistic devices in favour of immersive naturalism. It works, but sometimes feels at odds with the dramatic, traditional script.
Nonetheless, being surrounded by the women’s anguish is harrowing. This is less a play and more an experience. There’s no plot development to speak of. The production is excellent at wringing pity and horror from the audience; it keeps this up for an hour of relentless misery, ensuring - rather monotonously - that we feel little else. There is no conclusion, only inevitability, and the audience is left shellshocked and applauding in an empty room.
