Americans are voting for their 44th president at the time of writing. It will be over by the time of reading and column inches will have been filled around the world on the inevitability of victory. On Tuesday 4 November a few more hours will decide whether it was inevitable that Obama was going to win or inevitable that America was not ready to elect him. On Wednesday 5 November one of those inevitabilities will collapse forever and become unthinkable. This is neither cynicism nor invective against the fourth estate but the wisdom of hindsight.
Fate has gone out of fashion in a relative world. We like to think we are free to choose our paths rather than being pawns in a game of the Gods’ choosing. True inevitability is terrifying: there can be no hindsight when your destiny is out of your hands. Ralph Fiennes’ excellent performance at the National Theatre, as Sophocles’ Oedipus, completely captures the growing horror of the worst happening and there being absolutely nothing to be done to avert it.
Frank McGuinness’ excellent new version of Oedipus The King runs for 100 minutes without interval. Watching it is like being trapped in a motorway pile-up in slow motion. The tension is unrelenting on a simple set revolving almost imperceptibly, constantly compelling the chorus and characters to shift their positions uneasily.
Jonathan Kent’s production makes masterful use of the chorus: its members throw focus to each other with a vocal and physical precision that ought to be the envy of national team coaches across the disciplines. Monochromatic modern dress costumes combine with clever lighting to lend the piece a contemporary resonance$$s$$ Fiennes’ ill-fated monarch might be a hapless fund manager or investment banker.
Jasper Britton’s Creon provides a useful vocal foil to Fiennes’ wonderfully sonorous, harsh tones and Alan Howard stands out as Teirisias. Clare Higgins is an inspired choice for Jocasta, Oedipus’ wife and mother, and not just because of her excellent performance. She is attractive enough and, more importantly, old enough to lend an extra layer of plausibility to the play’s disturbing premise.
The election’s losing candidate would do well to come over to the South Bank, see the play and take comfort in the idea that at least he gets to make up his own mind about what he does next.
Oedipus is at the National Theatre until 4 January 2009
National Theatre
South Bank
London SE1 9PX
