Drama is tinged with more than a touch of tragedy

The Oresteia ****
Traverse Theatre

GREEK tragedies sound incredibly depressing, on the face of it. However, the word 'tragedy' in ancient Athens didn't carry the same dour meaning as it does in modern day literature, but exactly how The Oresteia, as performed by Sandy Grierson at the Traverse Theatre ended was entirely up to the audience.

In this version, newly devised by Director David WW Johnstone and Grierson from a translation by Robert Potter in 1886 of a text by Aeschylus, the audience became the judges of Orestes himself, who pled his case before them.

The fundamental story of The Oresteia is fairly heavy duty, if your drama generally comes courtesy of Albert Square or Ramsay Street: Clytemnestra has been planning the murder of her husband, Agamemnon because of his sacrifice of their daughter, Iphigenia, during the Trojan war. She had also been having an affair with Aegisthus, Agamemnon's cousin, in his absence. After the fall of Troy, Agamemnon returned home and was ultimately murdered by his wife.

Following a convoluted series of events, Orestes made his way home from exile to kill Aegisthus and, more portentously, his mother, Clytemnestra. The Furies, also known as the Eumenides or the kindly ones, weird creatures of nature, subsequently hunted and tortured Orestes for the murder of his mother. They had ignored Clytemnestras' crime, because to them, crimes against blood bonds were far more important than crimes against marriage bonds.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the audience entered the theatre as Grierson – as Orestes – stood onstage, bent double, awaiting his final judgement. Once seated, the audience heard the ominous music of Davey Anderson signalling the beginning of the trial and the theatre was hushed.

What followed was an unreservedly outstanding emotional plea, not from Grierson in favour of his character, but from Orestes himself, as a spectre of himself from the grave to a modern jury – whether prepared or not – for the complexity of his argument.

Revenge, we are told throughout history, is no excuse for ill actions. But ancient Greece was another time and place and different morals held sway. Not only did Orestes' jury have to judge on the basis of his actions, but also on the basis of a completely different culture.

None of this, however potent, was nearly as obvious or pressing to the near capacity audience as the sheer emotional impact of Griersons' performance, though. He pleaded, not so much for his own life, as for the concept of revenge. Whether as modern jury, or as ancient and powerful creatures, the audience had the task of deciding Orestes fate, based on his evidence and pleas.