Oedipus at The Old Vic
Running 21 Jan – 29 Mar 2025. Tickets are available here.
Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex has endured for over two millennia because it presents one of the most haunting paradoxes in literature: knowledge is the very thing that destroys its seeker.
At the start of the play, the two pivotal moments described by Teiresias’ prophecy have already occurred. Oedipus has slain his father, Laius, at the crossroads and married his mother, Jocasta. Regardless of any new knowledge acquired, the actions within the play are unchangeable. Nothing that takes place in the space of the play can alter Laius’ murder and Oedipus’ marriage. The drama in Oedipus Rex is structured around who knows what and when. The kingship Oedipus believes he holds through his defeat of the Sphinx’s riddle actually belongs to him by succession. This is a drama of usurpation. At every pivotal moment in Oedipus’ journey, his fateful actions are, in fact, reactions.
In this latest staging at the Old Vic, co-directed by Matthew Warchus and choreographer Hofesh Shechter, with a text by Ella Hickson, the tension between fate and self-knowledge is explored through a blend of theatrical and physical storytelling. However, despite bold choices, the production sometimes falters in fully realizing the emotional power of Sophocles’ original.
The most striking innovation is Shechter’s reimagining of the Greek chorus as a dance troupe, replacing spoken commentary with primal movement. The result is a physicalized, almost hypnotic embodiment of Theban suffering. Shechter’s dancers pulse and convulse in synchrony, mirroring the collective anxiety of a city on the brink. The choreography, accompanied by a soundtrack of driving percussion and fevered chants, creates a visceral, immersive effect that rattles the Old Vic’s foundations. There are moments where the dancers feel like a true extension of the text, amplifying the sense of inevitability that defines Oedipus’ downfall. However, at times, the dance sequences extend beyond their narrative utility, lingering into indulgence. What initially feels raw and urgent starts to verge on spectacle for its own sake. While Shechter’s work undeniably brings kinetic energy to the production, it sometimes overshadows rather than deepens the tragedy.
Indira Varma delivers a formidable performance as Jocasta, offering a more assertive and commanding interpretation of the character than traditional productions. She is regal, wry, and pragmatic, resisting the blind faith in prophecy that governs the rest of Thebes. In her interactions with Oedipus, she displays both affection and an increasing desperation to steer him away from the truth. Her performance is especially affecting in the latter half, where the weight of her past choices—her attempted evasion of fate—comes crashing down. This Jocasta does not merely fade into tragedy; she fights against it with intelligence and urgency. Yet, the script’s decision to alter her final moments—opting for ambiguity over Sophoclean finality—diminishes the full force of her arc.
Rami Malek’s Oedipus is more muted. His interpretation leans into the idea of Oedipus as an outsider, an element reinforced by his singular American accent among a British cast. His performance is physically restrained, favoring an eerie stillness over classical bombast. While this choice aligns with a more modern, internalized tragedy, it often results in a lack of emotional crescendo. Oedipus’ realization of his own guilt—the moment of anagnorisis that should be the play’s shattering peak—lacks the raw devastation that could make the audience feel the weight of his downfall. Some of this may stem from miscasting; Malek, in his 40s, feels too old for a role traditionally played by a man in his prime, making his brash confidence in the first half less convincing. Without a more youthful arrogance, his transformation into the broken, self-blinded exile lacks contrast.
The production’s aesthetic choices are bold, setting Thebes in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with dust storms and a burning red sky evoking climate catastrophe. The set, designed by Rae Smith, is visually striking, dominated by a harsh, ever-present sun that looms like an omniscient eye. These elements heighten the play’s atmosphere of inevitable doom, reinforcing the idea that Oedipus’ fate is as inescapable as a dying planet. However, while the visuals are compelling, the thematic execution is uneven. The attempt to blend Greek tragedy with a noir detective narrative—Oedipus as a doomed investigator of his own crime—feels more like a clever concept than a fully realized dramatic structure. At times, the production’s ambition to modernize Oedipus results in a loss of its most potent element: the suffocating simplicity of its fatal logic.
In the end, this Oedipus leaves the audience with striking images, but not necessarily the full weight of tragedy. It is an intelligent and ambitious adaptation, one that raises thought-provoking questions about fate, free will, and the nature of belief. Yet, in the pursuit of making Oedipus contemporary, it loses some of its most primal and devastating power. The riddle of fate remains, but the answer, here, feels slightly out of reach.
