The plethora of shows promising a ‘fresh take’ on a much lauded classic has reached fever pitch and it wouldn’t be surprising if a new Adaptation category was inserted into the Fringe guide to house them. How does Syracuse University’s The Trojan Women fare in amongst the Shakespeare, Sophocles, and Stoppard? Not well.
Following in the tradition of Greek tragedy, the Roman Seneca’s most renowned work is laden with death and vengeance, charting the plight of the Trojan women in the wake of their city’s destruction. With source material this rich in dramatic potential, you have to wonder where it all went wrong. There’s a patent respect for the text on display here, but this works against a show that feels like a half-baked academic exercise. Banal motifs straight out of a GCSE Drama textbook are thrown in at every opportunity; discordant ensemble wailing gives way to the drudgery of a rhythmic ‘heartbeat’ effect. By the time you realise they’re using the colour red as a blood metaphor, you’ll start to wonder whether they’re doing it on purpose.
Emotional range is an alien concept to a cast doing their best ‘angry’ or ‘sad’ impression at all times, both of which come across as a sort of irksome whinge. The delivery is so stilted that characters blend into each other, functioning as a drab ensemble that will hardly leave you gushing with empathy. Moreover, the young actor portraying Agamemnon completely lacks gravitas, perpetually shifting his weight from foot to foot, every inch the nervous student desperate for his scene to end. He does, however, alongside others, display an admirable command of verse; we must be thankful for small mercies.
The company’s approach to staging does nothing to elevate this production; an optimist would declare it simple, forgetting that in skilled hands, simplicity is not synonymous with dreary. The stage is bare but for a box in the centre that serves no purpose other than providing a surface for various actors to slam their fists upon incessantly, in a feeble bid to appear intimidating. Curiously, most of the male performers are sporting Mafioso suits, while a couple are in jeans and a hoodie. The reason behind this choice is something the show never bothers to address, but you get the disquieting sense that it’s some ham-fisted attempt at establishing contemporary relevance. It’s doubtful that this tripe would have been relevant in Grecian amphitheatres, let alone today.
