Tell me girlfriend, if you recognise yourself in this story. You leave your country and family behind for love, for him. You sacrifice, maybe not quite your brother, chopped up and thrown into the sea, but your career for sure – so that he can focus on his. Then soon after it takes off, he wants to become a father. Therefore, your professional progress continues to be on hold as you take care of the young ones. Because now that his career is on the rise, it is not like he can really dedicate that much time to parenting. And when his position is secure, the children a tad bit older and it feels like finally it is your time… he leaves you for a younger model. But not only you, your kids too. You are for ever reminding him of birthdays, school performances, promises made and broken. You end up covering for him so your children are not exposed to the fact that now as daddy has a new baby, he is even less likely to be there for them.

Whilst this might not be my story, I have listened to it told many times enough, in one guise or another. So when Medea murders her children, I do not see this as actual infanticide. I see a mother killing her children’s innocence, no longer willing to come up with excuses for the never-present father, no longer having the energy to make up for his failure to truly be a parent. I leave the theatre filled with Medea’s wrath and disappointment.

And to think I almost did not go to see this play. Weary after all the poor adaptations I had gone to of late. For this again is not ‘the original’ Euripides, but and adaptation by America poet Robinson Jeffers. I will be honest, I know the myth but I have not seen nor read the original, so I cannot comment on how this version compares – but it is powerful and it is relevant. And it makes perfect sense. It is also not long. 90 minutes, no break. So it takes your breath away with its intensity and hard-hitting dialogue. And that ever so subtle reference to being an outsider when you move to another country; and cultures looking down at those they consider to be ‘inferior’ because they are not, well, Western. In Suella Braverman’s Britain, those quiet tones toll like Big Ben.

I am having a hard time to decide, if I had to choose a favourite, would I choose visceral Sophie Okonedo – Medea or Ben Daniels – tutor, Jason, Creon and Aegeus – pacing around the stage with the most perfect control of his body. Fortunately, I do not have to choose and instead I can just enjoy the electrifying performance between them. Nobody miked up, no glass wall between us. I can see their spit, I can just about smell their sweat. I feel like I am almost on stage. Finally, I am at the theatre.

https://www.timeout.com/london/theatre/medea-review

https://www.cityam.com/medea-soho-place-review-sophie-okonedos-devastating-portrait-of-trauma/

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2023/feb/18/medea-review-sohoplace-london