Bristol Old Vic Theatre School’s International graduating MA Actors have brought Timberlake Wertenbaker’s The Love Of The Nightingale to Circomedia’s splendid venue in Portland Square. This play is an adaptation of the Ovidian myth that tells how an Athenian princess called Philomene was violently raped and cruelly silenced by the Thracian king, Tereus. While the central theme is clearly concerned with violence against women, Wertenbaker also examines the importance of the freely spoken word in culture.  We see the Athenians as enthusiastic communicators, eagerly seeking truth. Their king encourages the performance of plays in his court, for they ‘show us the uncomfortable folds of the human heart.’ In stark contrast, the Thracians are far more reluctant to ask questions or to express themselves; they are fearful of truth, and no one reveals their true feelings.  Despite these cultural differences the Thracians have helped the Athenians to win a war, and in gratitude the king of Athens gives Tereus his eldest daughter, Procne, and she is taken with him back to Thrace.

As Procne, Acacia Daken shows us the intense loneliness of a dignified and intelligent women forced to live in an alien culture where thoughts and feelings are unshared.  The Thracian women reject her, and her husband is taciturn and remote.  Friendless and isolated, after five years Procne pleads for Tereus to go to Athens to fetch her younger sister, Philomene.  The women warn her against this plan, but they do not say why it is dangerous. Poor Procne, forever condemned to be kept in the dark. Tereus is played by Christopher Mudd as a stern warrior-king whose emotional life is as tightly buttoned-up as his combat jacket.  Mudd succeeds in the somewhat thankless task of conveying Tereus as a man entirely lacking in emotional intelligence, but in the earlier scenes I feel he could convey a greater sense of brooding menace.  Tereus goes to Athens to collect Philomene, but on the return voyage he becomes obsessed with the idea of possessing her, by force if need be. He sees the ship’s captain as a rival, and quickly despatches him with his dagger.

Philomene is the central character in the play, the one that embodies most clearly all the qualities that make for an open, compassionate and honest society. Jessica Leafe is absolutely outstanding as Philomene, deeply moving as she charts her painful journey from the wide-eyed innocence of a happy young girl through to the courageous resolution of a woman desperately determined that her terrible story be told.  After Tereus has violently raped her she turns to her chaperone, Niobe, for comfort. Niobe tells her she should accept her fate and keep quiet.  Old Niobe has seen it all before, and knows only too well what is wrong with society, but she has survived by keeping silent. Christine Fawaz Ganni gives Niobe a convincing air of world-weary air cynicism, but this production gives insufficient attention to the complexities of her character.  Like Procne, she too is an exile, but her important monologue in which she reminisces about the lemon trees of her homeland is rather lost amid cries from the chorus. Philomene rejects Niobe’s advice, making it clear that she will not easily be silenced.  In response, Tereus tears out her tongue. This is portrayed in gory, butcher’s shop detail.  While there is clearly a need to convey the brutality, I suspect that such a literal depiction detracts from the metaphorical power of the event.  It sits uncomfortably with other elements of the production, which are often stylised and representational rather than ‘realistic’.

Tereus and Procne have a young son, Itys, played most winningly by Tessa Carmody.  He enacts battles with his toy soldiers and has a very clear idea of what kind of man he wants to be when he grows up. He seems destined to become the mirror image of his father. However, during the chaos of bacchanalian revels, Philomene is finally reunited with Procne and together they take revenge upon Tereus by killing Itys. Perhaps out of a desire to kerb any misogynist notion of women having a tendency towards cannibalism, Wertenbaker does not follow Ovid in having Itys baked in a pie and served up to Tereus! However, she does end the play as Ovid did, with Tereus pursuing Philomene and Procne, only for all three to be transformed into birds: Tereus a hoopoe, Procne a swallow, and Philomene a nightingale, still singing out fearlessly.

Early in the play we hear that a myth is ‘the oblique image of an unwanted truth, reverberating through time.’  Too true, though I fear that Wertenbaker has too often eschewed obliqueness in favour of a rather heavy-handed didacticism, and there are too many occasions when we are not allowed to work out for ourselves what those unwanted truths might be.  Setting that reservation aside, there is much to enjoy here.  Directors Paul Clarkson and Kim Durham have been rewarded with some excellent performances from their cast of eleven young actors, who take on thirty-five different roles with great energy and skill. At a time when casual sexism is still rife – Dr Who? – this is a timely production.  ★★★☆☆   Mike Whitton   19^th July 2017