National Theatre of Scotland

REVIEWS OF THE BACCHAE IN NEW YORK

07/07/08

If Euripides is turning in his grave, it is probably because he’s trying to get an even better look at the production.
Broadway Magazine

As portrayed by the ever impish, naturally captivating Alan Cumming, [Dionysus] is a preening pop-star androgyne with a mean streak, the Boy George of yore crossed with Malcolm McDowell of “A Clockwork Orange.”

Dionysus has arrived with his regular squad of backup singers, the Bacchae, or Maenads, dressed in feathered and beaded red evening gowns and singing his praises in stirring R&B pop songs whose seductive music is by Tim Sutton. Dionysus and the Bacchae as the new Diana Ross and the Supremes? It sounds gimmicky and glib, but in truth there are smart equivalents here.

The chorus members in “The Bacchae” play a curious role. They sing in celebration of their god and his wild rites, but they have their reasonable moments, too, scolding the overly ambitious and the speciously wise, and generally exuding the kind of common sense you don’t expect from dance-loving, wine-crazed revelers. What is pop music, after all, but the channeling of the ecstatic urge into a form that puts a limit on its excesses? It works.

John Tiffany’s “Bacchae” shares with [Black Watch] a full-blooded theatricality, a desire to harness all the elements of theater — dance, music, comedy and drama — to cast a potent spell. Lively, funny and rich in invention.
New York Times

Alan Cumming was obviously destined from the cradle to play Dionysus -- in corkscrew curls, girly makeup, and gold lame kilt, no less. Goosing the startling effect of this androgynous spectacle, the thesp makes his entrance handcuffed, bare-assed and hanging upside down like a golden bat. Thus is a quicksilver song-and-dance man transformed into an immortal Greek god for the National Theater of Scotland’s rock-arena interpretation of Euripides’ nasty revenge tragedy, “The Bacchae,” a certain summer crowd-pleaser. . .

Casting the seditious, vulpine-featured Cumming as the hedonistic god of licentious earthly delights was an inspired choice on the part of helmer John Tiffany. Liberating in more than the obvious, sexual sense, the role gives full range to Cumming’s mercurial talents -- as a classical actor, a musical theater star, an athletic performer and a Scotsman who, for once, doesn’t have to stifle his distinctive native accent. At once cunning, seductive and gleefully cruel, the performance is a genuine tour de force.

For all the pyrotechnics of Tiffany’s sound-and-light show, it’s the pure language of Euripides’ poetry and the raw pain of Dionisotti’s electrifying performance that reveal the true power of this ancient tragedy -- and its curiously modern message.
Variety

[The Baccahe] is both a wildly entertaining tragedy and a shockingly grim comedy of sex, violence and rock-and-roll.

David Greig's script (from Ian Ruffell's literal translation) is full of delicious rhymes and puns ("inculcate you to my cult") and manages to make the bizarre plot make sense.

John Tiffany has made this Dionysian argument for losing control in a highly controlled, meticulously precise production. He seduces us, taunts us and terrifies us. Euripides, the great subversive dramatist, would likely be pleased.
Philadelphia Enquirer

Euripides' tragedy, written more than 2,400 years ago, seems scarily relevant in this production of the National Theatre of Scotland . . .

[Alan] Cumming, an actor who has demonstrated his perfection at embodying hedonistic licentiousness in such roles as the M.C. in "Cabaret" and Mack the Knife in "The Threepenny Opera," is wonderfully charismatic as Dionysius . . . this superbly acted production is consistently arresting and, by the time it reaches its conclusion, nearly overwhelming.

Adding to the evening's overall power are several spectacular special effects that will give you the impression that your retinas have been burned and your eyebrows singed.
New York Post

[Director John] Tiffany supplies his glammed-out demigod with a smattering of tricks to gain the world's respect, including a (literally) cheeky entrance from the rafters and a magical spray of flowers that descend onto Semele's grave.

The concept of the Dionysian escapades as a glam-rock-meets-R&B love-in gone sour proves remarkably pungent.
New York Sun