When two tribes go to war, they both know where they stand. But what if a third tribe joined in? That is the confounding scenario of Heinrich von Kleist’s 1808 neo-classical drama. It is a three-way split.
The Greeks have been warring with the Trojans for 10 years, so when the Amazons set upon the Trojans, too, the Greeks assume they have new allies. Not so. The all-female Amazons have vowed to make men their enemies, whatever their stripe. They cannot abide the Greeks either.
Not only that, but Amazon victory on the battlefield involves sexual conquest. When Penthesilea, the Amazon queen, and Achilles, the Greek hero of Troy, square up to each other, their hatred is equalled by their lust. Their love-hate confrontation sends shockwaves through their rival states.
In Eline Arbo’s taut and gripping production for Internationaal Theater Amsterdam, the combination of sex and violence finds an equivalence in grungy electro. Dressed in skimpy unisex black, the cast station themselves at music consoles on Pascal Leboucq’s austere set and tune in to the primal urges of rock’n’roll. They play grumbling anthems of alienation by Ethel Cain, Kavinsky and Joy Division.
The latter’s She’s Lost Control could apply to Penthesilea herself, except Ilke Paddenburg in the title role never lets us think she has entirely surrendered to her emotions. Hers is a fascinating performance, volatile, driven, sometimes regal, sometimes drifting, a fearsome clash of sensuality and aggression. She is like a domesticated cat whose wild instincts will not desert her.
As Achilles, Jesse Mensah also confounds expectations. He has an easy pop-star energy, tender and open, his charisma earned from restraint, holding back the power of which he is surely capable. In this tragic battle of the sexes, he brings an empathy to temper Penthesilea’s ferocity.
The cast share Kleist’s text like a chorus, watching on as this misanthropic conflict runs its course. Arbo, who replaced Ivo van Hove as the company’s artistic director last year, makes their mutual destruction seem both inevitable and preventable, as if good sense could yet interrupt their bloody orgy of misplaced passion.
• At the Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh, until 6 August
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