EuripidesRezensionen

Machemer & Collier's Medea
Review of the Oxford University Press (OUP) paperback (August 10, 2006) translated by Georgia Ann Machemer and set in verse by Michael Collier from the Ancient Greek original Μήδεια (431 BC).

I went down the Medea rabbit hole after reading Laura Alcoba's Through the Forest (2024), a recent translation of a French language non-fiction novel which also involves maternal filicide and in which an extended story of the Medea mythology is included. So I then picked up Liz Lochhead's 2023 updated Scots adaptation Medea and a basic version in Dover Thrift Editions' Medea (which uses Rex Warner's 1944 translation). I looked for a scholarly translation and Collier/Machemer's version in OUP's Greek Tragedy in New Translations series looked ideal.

The OUP edition provides a very extensive Introduction (29 pages), Text Notes (26 pages) & Glossary (6 pages) in addition to the play translation. All of these provide for excellent background and context for the play's original performance and reception in Ancient Athens. That included the Medea mythology providing a historical basis for the enmity between Corinth (past of the Spartan confederacy) and Athens in the then Peloponnesian War. The shock of various other elements in the play provides a basis for understanding why Euripides came in 3rd (i.e. last) in that year's theatre competition.

See drawing at https://www.whitman.edu/theatre/theatretour/glossary/glossary%20images/deus.ex.m...
A speculative drawing of the use of a crane in the Deus ex machina scenes of Ancient Greek theatre. Image sourced from the Ancient Theatre Archive Glossary at Whitman.edu.

I also went down a further rabbit hole in the investigation of the Deus ex machina appearance of Medea at the conclusion of the play. Normally it would only be Gods lowered from the crane machine in order to provide a last-minute miraculous solution to what would otherwise be an insolvable plot. Medea's appearance in a chariot loaded with dead bodies and pulled by dragons makes it seem more likely that she was instead simply on the roof of the skene (the building at the back of the stage in Ancient Greek theatre).

See illustration at https://i0.wp.com/artofnarrative.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/medea-escaping-1...
An illustrated representation of Medea's appearance at the conclusion of the play. Image sourced from The Art of Narrative.

I'm not done with Medea yet, as Rachel Cusk's adaptation Medea (2015) also looks intriguing, even based on the cover alone.

Trivia and Links
Some of the earlier English language translations of Medea are in the Public Domain. You can read several of the 19th century translations online at Wikisource.

A Basic Medea
Review of the Dover Thrift Editions paperback (2022) of the Dover Publications original (1993) of the John Lane: The Bodley Head hardcover The Medea of Euripides (1944) translated by Rex Warner from the Ancient Greek language original Μήδεια (431 BC).

I read this 1944 translation in parallel with reading Liz Lochhead's adaptation Medea (2023) for the National Theatre of Scotland. I wanted to have a basic comparison in order to see how far Lochhead differed from the original. The Dover Thrift edition was ideal for that purpose, but it provided no background information and only a very few brief footnotes to explain some references in the text.

I'm also planning on reading a more recent translation in a more scholarly edition. The Oxford University Press's Medea (2006) with a translation by Michael Collier and Georgia Ann Machemer looks like an ideal candidate for that.

Trivia and Links
Some of the earlier English language translations of Medea are in the Public Domain. You can read several of the 19th century translations online at Wikisource.

A Fierce Modern Medea (with a Scots inflection)
Review of the Nick Hern Books paperback (2023) adapted from the Ancient Greek original by Euripides (431 BCE).

Medea: flesh of my flesh revenge
Jason: I must have been mad was mad for you
I did not know you
I know you now!
Medea: tigress? fury? harpy? witch? she-wolf?
monster? yes I am
for I have torn out your heart and devoured it
Jason: your pain is just as bad as mine
Medea: wrong for I have your pain to comfort me

I'm quoting the above excerpt to give an example of why this is an adaptation rather than a translation of the Euripides original. A sample of the parallel dialogue in a standard translation (Rex Warner in 1944, reprinted in the Dover Thrift Editions series) reads as:

Jason: You feel the pain yourself. You share in my sorrow.
Medea: Yes, and my grief is gain when you cannot mock it.

Liz Lochhead makes other significant changes to the text, even though most of it still has parallels in the Euripides play. The King of Athens is dropped as a character (along with his scene) and instead Glauke, the princess of Corinth, is brought in to have her own confrontation with Medea. The most interesting change is to have some of the characters perform their dialogue in a Scots-inflected English, signifying that they are natives of Corinth. Medea and Jason speaking in regular English are outsiders who have taken refuge in Corinth after having escaped into exile.

See photo at https://supercool-nts.transforms.svdcdn.com/production/Productions/Archive/Medea...
Medea confronts Jason while the Chorus looks on. Image sourced from the National Theatre of Scotland.

This was a fierce and modern Medea which is still all the more horrifying for the revenge and maternal filicide murder plot at its heart. Lochhead's Medea is not portrayed as a supernatural sorceress though, but rather as a human being with advanced skills in poisoning. There is no deus ex machina chariot in the sky for her at the end.

I read Liz Lochhead's Medea after reading the retelling of the Medea mythology in Laura Alcoba's Through the Forest (2024). The Lochhead struck me as likely to be the most radical contemporary retelling. When I searched Goodreads, it seemed as if there is a Medea zeitgeist in the offing. There are two recent novelizations: Eilish Quin's Medea (February 13, 2024) and Rosie Hewlett's Medea (March 21, 2024). In Toronto, the Canadian Opera Company will perform Cherubini's opera in May 2024. Who am I to ignore the signs 🤔? Thus, a Medea deep-dive begins.
See the promo photo for the COC production here: https://cdn.agilitycms.com/canadian-opera-company-v2/images/productions/WebAsset...

Other Reviews
Reviews of the National Theatre of Scotland's theatrical performances of Liz Lochhead's Medea can be read at The Guardian and at The Edinburgh Reporter.

Trivia and Links
You can see the trailer for the National Theatre of Scotland theatrical performances at YouTube here.

Tendo por base um antigo mito grego, a Medeia de Euripides (480-406 a.C.) narra a vigança da altiva Medeia contra Jasão, depois que este - após ter conquistado o Velo de Ouro com sua ajuda - a rejeita para desposar a filha do rei de Corinto.

Suddenly seized by a desire to re-read this play by Euripides written in 431BC. But had to wait till I found it in an op shop. I found the Penguin Classics translation by Philip Vellacott. Such a savage story that gives me considerable pause for thought. Easy to see how Medea is currently embraced as a heroine but she has a long history of killing. The play becomes more nuanced if we see her as a barbarous murderer capable of anything. In many ways what I like about it (the play) is the lack of redemption or even justice. Although, she considers killing her sons part of her quest for justice. There is a moment where she wavers. Somehow, I'd like to zoom in on that as the pivotal moment. Much to think about here. No wonder it's still talked about nearly 2,500 years later. Think I'll read about Jason next or (if I can find it) Rachel Cusk's version. There's The Golden Fleece by Robert Graves.

De sumo, cito lo dicho por el sirviente en la traducción de Antonio Melero Bellido:

No es ésta la primera vez en que constato que la fortuna humana es como una sombra y no temo afirmar que aquellos que parecen sabios y profundos pensadores incurren en las más solemnes tonterías. No hay mortal que sea feliz. La fortuna, en su fluir constante, hace, unas veces, más afortunados a unos y, otras, a otros, pero feliz, nadie lo es.

De aquí deducimos la profunda sensibilidad poética de Eurípides, al dejar que el sirviente al volver de haber presenciado la trágica muerte de Corintio y Creúsa, se debata por las penurias de los hombres, al no entender cómo a veces nos debatimos en trivialidades y vivencias llenas de vanidad, que por inútiles, no son capaces (en su opinión) de hacernos describir como seres que alguna vez, pudieron siquiera ser felices.

Lo trágico de esta idea, puede ser incluso más potente que el llanto desconsolado de los hijos de Medea al ser asesinados por su madre, mientras el coro impotente, no puede hacer nada. La sororidad quedó rota, pero qué importa. Los niños, inocentes, mueren sin tener culpa de ser hijos de. Sin embargo, la humanidad, los hombres, esta especie de mamíferos alzados en osadía al papel de dioses según el tiempo y las acciones de las que incurrimos, no podemos sino sentirnos avergonzados y desesperanzados aún más por lo que expone el sirviente, dejando claro, que cualquier razón que pueda dar sentido a nuestra existencia es un claro alivio a la estupidez de preguntas que otros seres nunca van a tener que hacerse. Y podemos pensar, ¿ser feliz? ¿para qué preguntarnos por eso?, es preciso vivir, pero la problemática se advierte ante el desconocimiento absoluto ante lo descontrolado del porvenir. Es por ello, que no sería justo cercar esta posibilidad con ideas estúpidas, pues nadie debería ser tan osado de procurarse juez de su destino, que ante la vastedad poética de Eurípides, nos encierra en un anticlímax donde la injusticia se nutre de un acto cruel salvado por la fantasía y la magia, esto es, aquello que no podemos controlar, desdichados por las muchas tragedias que vivimos a lo largo de nuestras conscientes vidas insertos en este mundo.

Quizá, por eso, la Medea de Eurípides sea tan actual y tan poderosa en su constante lucha por el control de algo que en vez de convertirnos en dioses, nos convierte, muy a nuestro pesar en monstruos. Por lo que pensar en el superhombre de Nietzsche se pueda hacer tan ridículo como trágico, como en aquella película de Hitchcock, donde una soga convino en hacer muy poco favor a un inocente que fue asesinado por simples ideas creadas por nosotros, una (en Medea) la dignidad y la otra, el creernos mejores que nuestra propia naturaleza.

I thought this might be difficult and inaccessible but this version by Don Taylor was an easy read. I really enjoyed this and look forward to Melbourne University’s 10 Great Books lecture on the play.

Goodness, this is blood drenched. And I'm not sure I follow the logic behind it.

Just part of my ongoing self education.

Most of this collection made sense to me. "The Medea" is the best known of the four plays in this collection, and while I clearly knew what was going on in that play--As well as in "Hippolytus" and for the most part in "Alcestis"--"The Heracleidae" was so confusing, long-winded and ultimately baffling that I actually put this collection aside for a few weeks before I could resume it. In spite of that--Overall I continue to be impressed with the modernity of Euripides' writing ("..... Euripides marks the beginning of modern psychological tragedy"--David Greene (on page 160 of this text). It's amazing that 2,400 years after these plays were written--The very human issues brought to the fore by the playwright still resonate. Still--As an autodidactic academic--I'm not an expert in this genre. So after completing this book, I re-read the general introduction to this compilation by Richmond Lattimore (who translated "Alcestis"), as well the respective introductions by the three other translators--Rex Warner, Ralph Gladstone and David Greene. I was also inspired to read the Wikipedia Synopsis / Motivations of "Alcestis", as well as Wikipedia background information on "The Heracleidae", to help me to better understand those plays--If only superficially. In closing--I also recommend the film "Phaedra" that I saw a couple of years ago (starring Melina Mercouri and Anthony Perkins)--That picture being an excellent adaptation of "Hippolytus".

After reading the introduction to this series, I expected something much more fractured than what I encountered on the page; however, I found Euripides' style in this work to be very coherent. After reading Aeschylus, I noticed the aesthetic jump that Euripides had taken via the psychological subtext inherent in his characters. Whereas reading Aeschylus felt flat (although I enjoyed "Agamemnon"); there was too much exposition in Aeschylus; too much that did not expedite the forward motion of his plays. Whereas with Euripides, one is transported directly into the action that is happening in the present moment of the play, by means of the narrative, as well as the dialogue. Also noteworthy is Euripides' technique of having the characters exchange one-liners in dialogue. Although I immediately connected to all of the dramas in this edition, "The Bacchae" is a standout. It's a dark, crazy, absurd and even funny play; the highlight being the "Celebrity Death Match" between Pentheus and Dionysus. As grim as scenario of "The Bacchae" is, it often reads like a comedy (the scene with Pentheus "in drag" after having been hypnotized by Dionysus is hysterical). Euripides was ahead of his time, avant-garde; therefore of the great and / or known Greek playwrights, he was the one who garnered the fewest prizes. I'm looking forward to reading "Hippolytus" in Euripides I of this series.

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Full disclosure: I had to skim a good portion of the dialogue in each of these plays in order to not give up out of boredom. I think that a focus on monologues and having very little action was the style back in ancient Greece, but it does not translate well to modern America (my attention span is nil! entertain me!). The strongest feelings I had when reading these plays was when I stepped back and considered on my own what the characters were going through; I did not find the dialogue to be all that moving.

TROIANE (***)

Le Troiane sono le antesignane portavoci di una filosofia di vita che potrebbe essere compendiata nel celebre motto: Fata volentem ducunt, nolentem trahunt ("Il destino accompagna chi lo accetta, trascina chi lo rifiuta"), ... (xii)

Posidone:
E' uno stolto l'uomo che distrugge citta':
se condanna alla desolazione templi e tombe, rifugio dei morti,
non scampa per molto alla sua stessa rovina. (13)

ERACLE (*****)

L'uomo nuovo che Euripide mette in scena e' portavoce di un altrettanto nuovo codice di comportamento: quello di chi non rifiuta il fardello della responsabilita' per gli atti che commette e supera la vergogna che da questi scaturisce non con il suicidio, ma con la sopportazione della vergogna stessa; protagonista diventa l'uomo consapevole della propria debolezza e della propria totale soggezione e passivita' rispetto alla sorte, che non rifiuta l'aiuto del prossimo, ma anzi scopre nella sua amicizia e nella sua solidarieta' l'unica fonte di conforto. (xxix)

Anfitrione
... la cosa piu' saggia,
in battaglia, e' uccidere i nemici
e salvare la vita, senza dipendere dalla sorte. (115)

Coro
Se gli dei avessero senno e sapienza
nei confronti degli uomini,
darebbero una doppia giovinezza
a chi rechi in se' il chiaro sigillo
della virtu', perche' dopo la morte,
torni di nuovo alla luce del sole
nella seconda corsa;
solamente una vita,
invece, meriterebbe chi e' vile. (147)

It is rather hard to believe that these plays were written over 2,400 years ago. They are easy to read and comprehend and are, in fact, very absorbing and captivating. I guess that is why they are still read a couple thousand years after they were written! The plays are all tragedies and pertain to the Trojan War and it's aftermath, which took place hundreds of years prior to the plays being written (if the war actually did occur). They all feature strong and forceful yet tragic female characters. To me, they are far more interesting and compelling than the male characters. It is interesting to note that many of the Greek tragedies have such strong female characters, since they were written by men, for a male only audience (women were not allowed to watch them), and acted in by males only. I have noticed that in the past few years there has been several new novels written that are based on Greek Mythology, and most of them seem to feature female leading characters. They are more engrossing, and let's face it, Achilles was an obnoxious jerk.

I liked all three of the plays in this collection, I did not really prefer one over the other, enjoying each in it's turn. And if you are thinking about popping the DVD of the movie "Troy" into your player, sit down and read some Euripides instead. He is far more entertaining and believable...

My tepid rating of this play is due in part to the translation by Theodore Buckley (this is the most commonly available one in the public domain) & partly due to Euripides' writing. I read this as part of the Kindle omnibus, "The Tragedies Of Euripides Volume I" and also listened along to the Librivox recording.

While the plot of this play includes a considerable amount of bloody action, it almost all takes place off stage. This is basically a "talking" play -- the various characters tell each other about the action rather than portray it. Because of this, the late Victorian style of Buckley's translation has a large impact on the effect of the play on the reader. I found that in some passages, I was drifting off even as murder and revenge were being discussed.

I would recommend anyone considering this play to seek out a more modern translation. The plot itself is quite interesting, dealing with fate & punishment, revenge & murder.

To be frank, I found this play in print to be less than my memory of seeing this on stage. In particular, Medea's murder of her two sons didn't come through as believable.… Of course, all plays suffer from this to some extent, and it may have been that this translation by Frederic Prokosch dampened some of the drama. I did find this translation quite easy to read though.

can't believe the alexandrian librarians robbed us of more god-given satyr plays

Medea es fácilmente una feminista radical. Se enamora de Jasón a tal grado de traicionar su patria, su padre y mataer a su hermano, luego lo ayuda a conseguir el vellocino de oro con su magia y sabiduría, para que después termine éste pagåndole con la traición, casåndose con la hija de Creonte. En venganza, Medea envía a sus hijos con regalos envenenados que matan a la nueva mujer de Jasón y a Creonte, su padre: el venenos abrasador hacía caer a tirones su piel y escapar la sangre de sus cuerpos. Pero, ademås, asesina a sus propios hijos para terminar de castigar a Jasón su traición.

Extractros:

p. 92: "Podría extenderme mucho respondiendo a tus palabras, si el padre Zeus no supiera los beneficios que recibiste de mí y el pago que tú me diste. Tú no debías, despu´s de haber deshonrado mi lecho, llevar una vida agradable, riéndote de mí; ni la princesa, ni tampoco el que te procuró el matrimonio, Creonte, debían haberme expulsado impunemente de esta tierra. Y ahora, si te place, llámame leona y Escila que habita el suelo tirrénico. A tu corazón, como debía, he devuelto el golpe."

p. 92: "Sábelo bien: el dolor me libera, si no te sirve de alegría."

L Silvestri me anotojó.

I bought this book and read it just before seeing the play in London last week (starring the amazing Sophie Okonedo). Reading it and then seeing it made it absolutely clear to me why a play written almost 2,500 years ago is still being performed — and still shocking audiences. This is the ultimate revenge fantasy, a play about women and men, about racism and immigration, about power and corruption. The violence, which takes place largely off-stage, is horrific. This play will give you nightmares. Highly recommended.

*4.5*

I was able to see this play in all its Rudall translation glory at the Getty Villa last night, and it was one of the most intriguing stories I'd seen in a long time.

While not technically reading, I'm glad I saw this performed. I think it gave it such life and I was much more invested than I think I would have been just reading it. In school we're often taught how the Greeks performed and had a whole culture of popular plays, and it didn't hit me until I was watching it that I could totally see it. The play was written beautifully, it was intriguing, it was dramatic and funny and sad all at the same time. I actually cried at the end– this was entertainment.

On the surface Iphigenia in Aulis is a side story of the Trojan War, focusing on individuals touched by the drama of Helen's capture. Deeper than that is a domestic embitterment of Iphigenia's parents, and even deeper still is a battle of either living for yourself or for your collective community– the classic conundrum of using your heart or your mind. The options are weighed equally, both scrutinized and debated and felt, and yet all is for null. By the end, fate holds the final decision.

The themes were poignant and heavy, and I think coming from an American perspective of individuality I appreciated them for making me think critically. The pains of each person are totally believable and make you torn for who to root for, or if you can even root for anyone with the injustices and reality they live in. In the end, it was beautifully simple and yet incredibly thought-provoking.

The only thing that made this less than 5 stars was that the monologues could get a bit tedious at times. Achilles' monologue after talking to Clytemnestra for the first time just kept repeating everything we already had just seen. But beyond that, I loved it and would see again in a heartbeat. It's making me want to pick up the rest of his plays and all the other dead Greek dudes, and that's saying something.

Review of Michael R. Halleran's translation of Euripides' Hippolytus (Focus Classical Library, 2001.) - Halleran's translation is very readable, and he provides brief, but good and helpful notes. This is a revised version of his 1995 translation (Aris and Philips), which also included the Greek text. This newer edition is directed to a wider readership and features a very useful Introduction where Euripides' earlier, now lost, version of Hippolytus (sometimes called 'Hippolytus Veiled') is also discussed - a topic that is (partly) picked up in his very interesting interpretative essay that concludes this book. The Introduction focuses on the play in the time and context it was written and first performed; the original staging of tragedy in general, as well as Hippolytus in myth and cult. The well-written concluding essay deals more in-depth with plot and structure, including major themes like speech, silence and deception; reputation, shame and honour; sōphrosynē; passion, reason and ignorance. – The combination of the translation, introduction and final essay in this edition makes it a very good choice both for the general reader as well as for those with some prior knowledge of Greek tragedy.




This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Tragedija u šest činova o surovoj osveti brata i sestre, Oresta i Elektre koji ubijaju svoju majku i njenog ljubavnika Klitemanestru i Egista, zbog ubistva njihovog oca Agamemnona nakon povratka iz Trojanskog rata. Mesto radnje je seosko imanje i seoska koliba vlasništvo nekog prostog seljaka za koga je Elektra prisilno udata kako ne bi izrodila plemeniti porod koji bi mogao tražiti osvetu.

Šesti čin je prilično surov (scena ubistva majke). Elektri i Orestu osveta ne donosi ništa dobro jer se njih dvoje tek što su se našli moraju ponovo rastati, Elektra će se udati za Orestovog prijatelja ali će je večito izjedati kajanje, dok Orest beži pomućenog uma progonjen od Furija.

Euripid je bio jedan od prvih realista, što su mu njegovi savremenici preacivali zbog otklona od ustaljenog tradicionalnog prikaza u dotadašnjim tragedijama. Bio je poznat po tome što je čoveka prikazivao onakvim kakvim jeste, a ne kakav bi trebalo da bude.

Probably the most badass woman in all of mythology.

This is rather though provoking. Medea has history here, we come in at the end of her story, this is set in just a few hours. But it would make little to no sense without understanding how she came to be in Corinth and why Jason, her husband in all but the legal sense, feels that he can up and marry someone else. Medea, unsurprisingly, doesn't see it that way. The play is dominated by her, with her presence on stage for the majority of the play. She faces Jason, Creon (the king of Corinth) and Aegeus (King of Athens) and manages to shock the first 2 severely.
When the play opens, Jason's marriage to Creon's daughter (who, I think, goes unnamed throughout, which is interesting) has been planned and Creon banishes Medea, for fear that she may do him or his daughter harm. He allows her one day to leave - and calls himself a fool for allowing her the time - how right he is proven.
I struggle to see how the chorus fit in here, if they were ladies of Corinth, would they really have stood by when Medea expands on her plot against the bride and her father? It feels unlikely, so I'm uncertain of who they are. In the play they serve as a foil to the action, taking the news and digesting it as we do the same, casting it into a different light or reviewing it.
Medea leaves the stage under her own agency, relying on her lineage as the daughter of the son of the Sun, but she does so under her own agency. She leaves Corinth in a very different state than it was a few hours earlier. I can;t say that I understand her, or her actions, but she does feel real, which is a thing when this was written 2.5 thousand years ago.
I wonder what this is like staged...