Snakes have curled their way around mythology for millennia. Present in countless creation stories from Egyptian, Greek and Indian to Norse and First Nations cultures (including the Rainbow Serpent), the loaded symbolism of this coiled creature clasping its tail between its fangs – the ouroboros – evokes eternity.
Sometimes the serpent holds the world together. Other times, it’s a constricting chaos agent. Either way, the fireside nature of myths, oft-shared in storytelling sessions spun under the stars, is inherently unending, melding anew with each retelling.
Tackled by everyone from Roman poets Virgil and Ovid to Canadian indie rockers Arcade Fire and Katee Robert’s queered novel, Midnight Ruin, the myth of Eurydice and her Orpheus finds new life in the hands of folk singer-songwriter Anaïs Mitchell. Her eight Tony Award-winning smash-hit musical Hadestown began life as a sung-through community project before she turned it into a concept album, and then a Broadway smash with help from director Rachel Chavkin.
In most Greek tales, Eurydice and her Orpheus are happily married, torn apart by a cruel twist of fate: a viper’s bite (sometimes while pursued by toxic dudebro Aristaeus), not even a malicious god in disguise. As she fades into the Underworld, ruled over by Hades and his niece/abducted wife Persephone (!!!), a desolate Orpheus, son of a musical muse, plays his lyre like her life depends on it. Descending into the abyss and crossing the River Styx, he makes a fateful bargain for her return.
The snake is missing in Mitchell’s retelling. Relocated to a vaguely Depression-era American south, not unlike that depicted in recent hit movie Sinners, we’re welcomed by an always spectacular Christie Anu’s silver-suited and winged-booted Hermes. As the messenger of the Olympians, she has all the goss.
Eurydice (usually Miss Saigon star Abigail Adriano, ably replaced by Eliza Soriano on opening night) is a starving drifter. Chilled to the bone by ever-lengthening winter, she seeks comfort in a saloon bar. Here she meets poor poet Orpheus (Rent lead Noah Mullins), fiddling with his lyre and falsetto lyrics, strumming an unfinished ditty that might yet summon spring.
“See, Orpheus was a poor boy, but he had a gift to give,” Hermes winks to us through the fourth wall. “He could make you see how the world could be, in spite of the way that it is.”
Eurydice is initially resistant – top marks for the word play on lyre/liar in ‘Come Home With Me’ – but soon they find love in a hopeless place. Way too quickly for a two-and-a-half-hour show, but such is the way with these things. Even as their hearts fill with hope, Hermes sounds a note of caution. This is a never-ending story. There’s no breaking ouroboros’ loop.
We’re stuck on the same old tracks.
There’s much mention of a railway line in ‘Road to Hell’, but we never see it. Instead, Hadestown’s action plays out entirely on Rachel Hauk’s excellent stepped amphitheatre-shaped bar set hosting our players and the rollicking live band. Occasionally Hades himself (Adrian Tamburini, Sweeney Todd) deigns to look down on the lovers from a balcony (shouldn’t he be below?) as an ebullient green-dressed Persephone (Elenoa Rokobaro) brings spring’s flowers before being dragged back to Hades and the bottle.
The more brutal aspects of Hades and Persephone’s relationship have been airbrushed out, but there’s no denying the chokehold of coercive control billowing like poison in water. He’s our snake. When Eurydice loses hope in her otherwise musically engaged lover, she opts instead to accept indentured service to Hades to keep her fed and warm, which is an odd way to approach free will in a contemporary retelling.
The Fates – Imani Williams, Jennifer Trijo and Sarah Murr – understand her tragic destiny. All fantastic, sadly, they are a little overlooked as a Greek chorus, in favour of Hermes holding court. Turns out things are even tougher six feet under, where Hadestown shares the factory whistle’s shriek so adroitly deployed in Sweeney Todd. Hades has pressed the dead into mindless automaton work, not unlike the dystopia of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, with a heinous hint of Trump and his ‘Why We Build the Wall’ bully pulpit.
Hadestown never offers Eurydice much to do. Likewise, Orpheus is a bit of a drip, even as he realises the error of his ways and descends to ‘save’ her as the set sunders with a shudder and a fiery blast from lighting designer Bradley King.
And yet, this mythmaking is no fizzer. The muddle melts thanks to Mitchell’s marvellous music. Hadestown is a mood piece soused in bourbon with its honky-tonk soul spilling over, stomping on the bar thanks to David Neumann’s hip-swinging choreography. Mostly sung through, there isn’t much to Mitchell’s book, with the heavy lifting carried by her lilting, mournful lyrics and the sassy, brassy juke bar vibes.
Soriano and Mullins breathe abundant life into the lovers lost and found, with bass-baritone Tamburini bringing the rumble to the Underworld in his sparkling pinstripe suit – Michael Krass’ costumes are divine – with Anu titanic, too.
But it’s Rokobaro who is our true hero. Retreating to her funeral form cannot dim her brilliance as a goddess who wants the best for this world but struggles to balance her light with Hades’ dark. When the story’s dreadful bargain is made, it hurts most because she wants to believe he can be better. And therein lies the real tragedy of Hadestown and a story that echoes down the ages.
Hadestown is showing at Her Majesty's Theatre until July 13. For more information and to book your tickets, head to the website.
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