Cygnets

Clytemnestra, she who killed her husband Agamemnon, and Helen, she who was the supposed reason for the Trojan War, were sisters, daughters of Leda and Zeus.  Zeus at the time of conception was in the form of a swan – hence ‘cygnets’ - and both sisters were born from eggs.  Eggs, both real and metaphoric, figure significantly in Cygnets – happily found, tragically dropped or smashed in a rage… 

There are many versions of this story, and the three writers acknowledge as their sources Aeschylus, Euripides, Homer, Seneca, Shakespeare, Sophocles, Marlowe and Racine.  Not that the text follows any of them; the writers have taken off from them, embroidered on them, imagined parallels, filled in gaps and have made ironic comment via deliberate anachronisms from the modern world.

The action or the story of the play is composed of sequences from the sisters’ lives, moving between their carefree if restricted pasts and their tragic post-Trojan War present… In any period, Clytemnestra (Rebekah Carton) and Helen (Delta Brooks) are never free.  As royalty – and indeed semi-divine – that are never alone, always subject to men, and always watched by the attendants and servants, under surveillance – and literally - filmed via smart Phone – by a probing journalist (Tom Richards) – or is he a therapist – or simply male authority?  The once childish, mischievous Helen is subject to her husband and then her lover - and then is she nothing but the spoils of war?  More stately, serious Clytemnestra is locked forever in a state of grief – and vengeance - for the murder of her daughter Iphigenia, for her betrayal when Agamemnon returns from Troy with Cassandra….

The Liminal Space company has made the Explosives Factory their own in this well-resourced production.  The playing space is white and blank, enclosed by rich red strips of transparent plastic.  The audience enters to find the subsidiary cast, all in red contemporary dress but motionless, draped on platforms or each other, reminiscent of well-known statuary, and surrounded by more small classical statuary mounted on plinths – and intriguing props that will be used in the show.  The frozen performers will only be activated by royalty – that is, Clytemnestra and Helen – when they are released from the vault of myth and time. 

There are sequences, moments and images of inspired brilliance here.  The sisters rolling about like playful puppies, Helen smashing an egg and smearing herself with its blood, tragic Clytemnestra grieving in a plaintive threnody (Carton sings beautifully), the ever-blank servants, watching always through the red curtains, the male figure as a statue of classical masculine beauty even as the sisters suffer below. 

Some knowledge of the ancient myths and legends would seem to be essential for comprehension here.  But while the overall intention might be clear, there are also elements that no doubt make sense to their creators but are so abstract or metaphorical or, indeed, liminal, that they do not communicate as they might.  The performances of the clearly talented Carton and Brooks are part of this elusiveness – at times touching, funny, piercingly insightful, and at others confusing and trying our patience.  The writers and performers make use of the old texts, but I wonder to what end?  Are the lives of Helen and Clytemnestra vehicles for comment on our world?  Or is that even the idea?  Cygnets at this point seems to be an imaginative experiment that doesn’t cohere and at times forgets the audience.

Michael Brindley