A terrific cast of musicians and dancers is the core of this skilfully
and carefully crafted double bill of Greek myth; one half scales the heights of intense emotion, the other conjures a dream state. First is Phaedra, Benjamin Britten’s last vocal work, written in 1975, with mezzo soprano Christine Rice compelling as the titular princess, all crazed eyes and clear diction as she is blinded by illogical love for stepson Hippolytus.
Across the rising arc of the music, with the excellent Richard Hetherington sharing the stage on piano, Rice is gripping in the role. She pulls us into Phaedra’s misery, her self-pity, her ardent certainty, her hollowness at knowing no good can come of this. It is simply staged by director Deborah Warner, and a sparse set by Antony McDonald transforms from a black to white backdrop, perfectly timed with the sudden soaring of Rice’s voice going from dark cloud to the bright blaze of full sun.
The second half is danced. Minotaur, based around Phaedra’s sister Ariadne, she who helped Theseus navigate the labyrinth, is told by choreographer Kim Brandstrup and a trio of exemplary dancers, Jonathan Goddard, Tommy Franzen and the Royal Ballet’s Isabel Lubach. Like the set – a bed, a streak of blood splattered across the back wall – the choreography is spare in design and decoration, but effective. Brandstrup distills the story to timeless themes: combat, seduction, departure, lament.
These are not deranged battles and wildly passionate affairs, but something more strangely poignant. The seduction, between Lubach and Goddard looks less like personal desire, more like being swung by fate in each other’s direction. When they part, she clutches her legs around him, he sits with an empty-eyed stare. The pall of death hangs in the air, happiness doesn’t get a look in, peace for now is the best one can hope for. Music by Eilon Morris gently shifts gears and styles, perfectly judged.
The work’s revelation happens when Franzen appears at the top of the wall, which is scattered with climbing holds. As Dionysus, watching Ariadne abandoned on Naxos, Franzen descends the wall with feline grace, hanging suspended, legs paddling soundlessly in the air. I would watch a sequel that was a whole show of Franzen scaling walls, just as I would watch this piece all over again, its effect mysteriously mesmerising in its simplicity.
• At the Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh, until 20 August.
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