Any consideration of the work of Sarah Kane is inevitably overshadowed by her suicide six years ago, shortly after the premiere of her sixth and final play. Her first, Blasted, prompted a broadside of critical fury not seen in this country since the premiere of Hedda Gabler nearly a century earlier (“A disgusting piece of filth” according to one present). Her second, Phaedra's Love, loosely based on Seneca’s Hippolytus, is no less ‘in-yer-face’ and uncompromising. The play packs in, in a little over an hour, swearing, masturbation, oral sex, incest, mutilation, suicide… and a most questionable use of socks.
As the play opens, Prince Hippolytus is slumped in front of the TV, watching hard-core porn. Reduced by a loathing for the world and all in it to a state of near catatonia, he passes the time eating junk food and having casual sex.
Despite this, however, he proves irresistible to everyone, including his sister and stepmother, Phaedra. His courage, unflinching honesty and refusal to countenance compromise draw women, and men, to him like moths to a flame.
Laurence Penry-Jones, recently seen in The Mandate at the National, all too convincingly captures Hippolytus’ ennui and disgust - but not his charisma. However, Diane Kent as Phaedra, (whose recent credits include Caligula at the Donmar), switches deftly between hauteur, schoolgirlish coquetry and lust.
The design, by Naomi Dawson, is stark and effective, ably assisted by Emma Chapman’s lighting design. The production, directed by Anne Tipton, delivers both mordant humour and brutality, although perhaps doesn’t realise the full savagery of the final scene in which the mob turns its fury on royal Hippolytus.
For a writer who is revered elsewhere in Europe and beyond, it is surprising that her work is so seldom seen in the UK. This co-production by Bristol Old Vic, the Barbican, Bite 05 and the Young Vic offers the first chance to see Phaedra's Love since it premiered at the Gate, London, nearly ten years ago.
- Pete Wood (reviewed at Bristol Old Vic)
