Robert Icke’s Oedipus at Wyndham’s Theatre: Lots Of Stunning Acting Compensates For Some Questionable Writing

The myth of Oedipus is so central to our psychic world that I was really surprised how many people in the audience for this revival were shocked by the revelation of the protagonist’s incestuous relationship with his wife, who is of course also his mother. When so many people audibly react to the climax of the plot, this might also be a testament to the visceral power of writer and director Robert Icke’s modern-dress adaptation, a West End English-language version of his 2019 Dutch production for Toneelgroep Amsterdam. Central to the current show are two absolutely compelling performances by crowd-pullers Mark Strong and Lesley Manville.

Icke’s drama reimagines Oedipus (Strong) as a contemporary outsider running for election on a populist ticket, a conceit that immediately feels a bit awkward in the UK, where — unlike on the Continent in places such as Italy and France — such people can be influential, but don’t get to be in government. Still, despite an embarrassingly unconvincing video projected on the curtain at the start, when he gives an impromptu Whitehall press conference, the play soon settles down to retell Sophocles’s ancient Greek tragedy. It is election night, the polls predict a landslide win for Oedipus, so his project of cleaning up the state, and restoring health to the body politic, looks ready to become a reality.

Before the results finally confirm his victory, Oedipus quarrels with Creon, his spin-doctor was well as his wife Jocasta’s brother, although this paranoid anger sits uncomfortably with his fresh-faced optimism as he simultaneously hosts a dinner for his family. As well as Jocasta (Manville), their children Antigone, Eteocles and Polyneices are present, plus Oedipus’s mother Merope and Corin the faithful family retainer. This dinner scene works very well, with naturalistic dialogue and a real family dynamic: Antigone is a spoilt brat, and there’s sibling rivalry aplenty. Merope’s frustration with being unable to speak privately with her son sets up a nice dramatic tension.

If Icke rather clumsily, and unnecessarily, underlines Oedipus’s good nature, there are likewise plenty of moments when his writing is much too explicit and explanatory. This way of stage writing feels, to me, like an audition for the Netflix version of this show, which actually is rather clumsy compared to the sheer panache of the streamer’s recent Kaos series, which boasted some hilarious screenwriting. So this Oedipus is a bit too good to be true, which undermines rather than enhances the story’s tragedy: the central problem with contemporary retellings of ancient Greek drama is the loss of any sense of fate, of the necessity, of the inevitable outcomes of human actions. Instead, Icke peppers the story with possibilities of avoiding the tragic finale, which turns tragedy into thriller. On the other hand, there are also some subtle inklings of the climax in casual familiar phrases. An affectionate “babe” anticipates horror.

That said, the show is for the most part a thrilling watch — due mainly to the two central performances. Manville especially excels in depicting Jocasta as a vivacious no-nonsense woman, while Strong’s Oedipus mixes parental charm and public righteousness. Manville’s quiet account of her traumatic experiences with her first husband Laius are a powerful highpoint. Together, these actors have a powerful onstage attraction, which is finally paralyzed by the revelation of the truth, which Oedipus has been committed to uncovering. The moments of incest are intense and disturbing and final sense of moral and mental desolation, are fully and perfectly embodied. Both actors end in silent agony, and both get strong support from June Watson as the irritable Merope, whose revelations have emotional force.

If some episodes, such as Oedipus’s sensitive treatment of his gay son, or even the rewriting of the riddle of the Sphinx, could easily have been cut to reduce the running time of two hours without a break, Icke’s directing is lucid and his use of a large digital clock intensifies the tension of the drama. I could have done without the Christian music at the climax, which once again compromises the essential tragedy of the ancient Greek worldview, and probably causes George Steiner to moan in his grave. Other sound effects are also redundant; similarly, the Chekhovian introduction of a gun. And the final flashback is yet another Netflix calling card — completely unnecessary.

Like Simon Stone’s Phaedra, this reimagining of Greek tragedy is, despite all my caveats, an exciting night in the theatre. So while I am less convinced by the political content of the play — references to the Obama “birther” conspiracy and the use of his Hope poster graphics — it is easy to enjoy the production design. Hildegard Bechtler’s stylish pale campaign room, slowly denuded of furniture, has its own metaphorical charge and provides a neutral environment for all the actors, who include Phia Saban’s Antigone, Jordan Scowen’s Eteocles, James Wilbraham’s Polyneices and Michael Gould’s Creon. If the production’s writing is not faultless, the acting is. Especially the spellbinding efforts of Manville and Strong.

• Oedipus is at Wyndham’s Theatre until 4 January 2025.