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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Leeds chapter.

The Bacchae is perhaps not a typical choice for student theatre, nor are many Ancient Greek Tragedies, but according to director Edie mist, that is exactly why she and her team chose to stage this classic.

Upon entering the Pyramid, the audience is thrust into darkness, only alleviated by an eerie green glow, and the hushed whispers we exchanged played against the persistent low humming that poured out of the speakers. The production team have created a contradictory atmosphere of uneasy relaxation, a haunting reminder of fragility: of mankind, of society, of peace. Lengths of ivy hang down from the ceiling, and across the stage’s backdrop, where a chorus dressed in white, drinking wine, and eating grapes, lounge in repose. The audience appear as intruding on a moment of total tranquillity. It is clear that we have stepped into an other-worldly time and space, though the play echoed themes disturbingly close to our modern-day situation.

Suddenly the hum stops. A deep voice fills the room from overhead, followed by crashes of thunder and flashes of white light. Then a single spotlight, following an impeccably dressed Dionysus (Alice Emery) in a burgundy suit wandering across the stage, offering a poetic tale of woe and neglect. From this we learn the misfortunes of this stylish God; the rejection of Man that must be punished with madness, and sacrificial death.

At its heart, this play is two things: the tale of a tragic family feud, and an exploration of female oppression and the male ego. The first may seem a flippant and fairly comic premise, however it is simply an abbreviation of the second. King Pentheus of Thebes (played by Aaron Collis) is one side of the coin of the male ego, and as he stalks through the audience onto the side of the stage, lurking with a stormy expression and rigid posture, he is seen in conflict with the other face of this coin- the languid, calm and self-satisfied Dionysus. These enemies do not speak yet, as the angelic chorus descend from upstage- first the chorus leaders, (James Outhart, Cayden Pether, and Naman Isaar), then the Maenads (Amalie Murray, Caitlin Hughes, Molly Scott, Celine Obadiah and Elowen Woad). These celebrants move with erratic, enthusiastic abandon: this is no regular ensemble, because a Bacchanalia is not a religious surrender, but rather the celebration of life’s pleasures. It is an act of liberation.

It is once Pentheus accosts his grandfather Kadmos (Felix Fraser) and Tiresias (Lucas Burnett) that the play’s true message becomes apparent. As Pentheus’ venom pours forth against the reckless, sinful lust of the female bacchants, his desire for control and disgust for female self-expression mirrors 21st century discourse over a woman’s body. This scene is an all too familiar portrayal of the damaged and desperate patriarch trying to assert control over his subjects.

Collis’ interpretation of Pentheus, from his hunched, inward body language to his perpetual grimace, and even down to his school-boy attire, perfectly encapsulate the fragility of the male ego. The capture of Dionysus and the ensuing sexual tension and flirtations bring an element of comedy that undermine Pentheus, and highlight the duality of insecure masculinity through the flamboyance of this emotional deity. The submission of the kneeling God, and a circling tyrant-King portray the warped power dynamic both within the play’s socio-political context and our own.

The arrest of Dionysus is interrupted by a whirlwind of events which leave the choral Maenads overshadowed, yet this proves the central tension of the oppression and containment of women, and the necessity of attention paid to men in power, be it God or King.

The visceral climax of the play lies within the Maenads’ crossing of the Cithaeron mountains, their discovery of their king disguised, and the violent struggle that ensues. The focus of the women’s fury is the character Agave, Pentheus’ mother (Amalie Murray), wonderfully acted with an ecstasy and bloodlust whilst treading the line between aggression and passion, euphoria and remorse.

Kadmos (Fraser) was another excellent portrayal of sorrow and rage. In his final speech he demonstrated a fierceness in forcing his daughter to realise her crime. A previously sensible man in earlier scenes, Fraser’s fury in this moment brings together the almost farcical tragedy of a family torn apart by power and petty punishment.

Ultimately, this was a beautifully crafted performance. Mist, her co-producers and directors successfully executed a play that was touching, thoughtful, and witty. The brilliant cast came together to create a frightening picture of greed and pride, whilst making us laugh too. From the soundscape to the choreography, this play never once disturbed the immersion of the audience. Even the transition from the emotional acceptance of Kadmos’ and Agave’s exile to the playful sounds of ‘Cult of Dionysus’ singing us out of the doors felt natural. This was a victory for the reinterpretation of ancient theatre.

Written by Jaya Noonan

My name is Jaya Noonan, I am 21 years old and want to be a journalist. I grew up and went to school in an outer borough of London called Hounslow, and now I'm in my final year of University at Leeds, where I live with three great friends, and study English literature. I have also been able to invest in my passions in writing, through the Gryphon student newspaper, and my love for singing, in the performing arts society. My earliest love was books, and from a very young age lived my life through stories, be that day-dreaming or writing my own. I vividly remember handing in the first short story I ever wrote to my year 6 teacher, who promised she would buy a copy of my first novel, and that small gesture stayed with me, and gave me the confidence to keep going with what I thought was just a hobby. I still want to share stories, but I am most interested in telling those stories of other people, other women, who have not yet been heard. When I'm not writing, I love singing, and re-watching my comfort shows with a chamomile tea or coffee in hand, and about once a year you might catch me going on a run with a musical soundtrack playing in my ears.