When should you set Antigone? Apparently not in the time of Antigone. The greatest classics these days seem to be aimed at the stupidest ticket-holders. And these hapless wretches can’t possibly be expected to understand anything outside their immediate experience.
Polly Findlay’s version of Sophocles’ tragedy doesn’t even get modernity right. Her slightly out-of-date set design includes antique reel-to-reel tape machines and hefty old photocopiers the size of freezers. She’s taken Thebes and transplanted it to the studio of Crimewatch UK in about 1994. Very odd. The usual justification for these fast-forwardings is that they add relevance. They also close down curiosity and exempt directors from conducting the sort of research which, one imagines, they’d be eager to perform. But no, rather than finding out what ancient Thebans wore and how they conducted themselves, Findlay dumps the show in an open-plan glass office and lets the incongruities flourish.
Creon is surrounded by jackbooted heavies who call him ‘Lord Creon’ even though he’s dressed as a chief executive. He refers to himself as ‘the king’ despite looking every inch the president. And the punishment he hands down to Antigone, ‘wall her up in a cave’, appears to violate Article 77 of the Human Rights Act, namely ‘the right not to be walled up in a cave’.
The script manages to overcome the stale prejudices of the production. Christopher Eccleston, as Creon, has found a role that suits his strained and humourless temperament very well. And Jodie Whittaker has landed the part all women dream of. I’m not entirely sure why. There’s not much to Antigone beyond piety and defiance. But Whittaker pleads and aches with all the plangent soulfulness the part requires.
More time-travelling at the Donmar.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in