Iphigenia in Splott | Lyric Hammersmith

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© Jennifer McCord


Yesterday night, when the curtains of the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre closed on Iphigenia in Splott, a lady sat in the row behind me asked her friend "So... what did that have to do with Iphigenia?". I was left quite surprised that this was the first thing on top of her mind after the 75 minutes whirlwind we had just experienced. 

Walking home, I kept thinking about gaps: how is it possible that, at the end of a show, two people having watched the same movements and heard the same script, having shared the same physical space, can be in two opposite mental places? How is it possible that, in the midst of a global pandemic, some people have to renounce seeing loved ones, taking public transport, or going to school or work, while others cannot be bothered to wear a mask, all the while lamenting a lack of personal freedom? How is it possible that, when learning about the cuts to an essential human service such as public healthcare, a part of the population can feel their blood boiling with rage, dismay, and a sense of injustice, while others look away, indifferent, agreeing, or actively rejoicing? What is it that makes us think about accessibility as optional just because we're not the ones having to face barriers? 

Iphigenia in Splott presents its audience with several of these questions: its heroine, Effie, establishes rapport with the audience by attacking us in the comfort of our seats, mocking our lack of participation, and questioning our very presence in the space. She self-describes as someone you wouldn't want your kids to meet in the streets, someone who's angry at herself and the world, but still determined to enjoy whatever she can in life, even if she has to make it bearable by self-medicating. The portrait Effie paints of herself is an explosive mixture of boisterous crassness and proud roughness; a no-bullshit, street-smart girl who has no time or patience for nuances. In the war that her life seems to be, you're either with her or against her. 

It has to be more complicated than this. And it is. As we get to know her more, we see Effie is no better or worse than any of us; she's a human being, holding within herself the tender and the terrible, capable of rudeness and violence but also of great insight and sensitivity. What is it, then, that made her think to be an asshole of such majestic proportions? That pushed her to regard herself as vulgar scum? To accept it as her nature, and convince herself that she should be proud of it and wear it on her sleeve? Could it be that decades, if not centuries, of dehumanisation of the working class, led people like Effie to make themselves hyper-visible in an attempt to take back their narrative? Is Effie a loner and a villain, or is it the system that failed her, attributing to her personal blame for a systemic failure? 

The answer becomes clearer and clearer as Effie's story unravels; the link between Iphigenia in Splott and the original ancient Greek myth of Iphigenia also tightens. The precise, focused set design (Hayley Grindle) works in tandem with the piercing lighting design (Rachel Mortimer) to sustain the stripped-back, yet powerful aesthetic of the show, following the many turns of Effie's experiences and moods with sharp attentiveness. The performance given by Sophie Melville is incredible and never skips a beat, shifting between hope, disdain, incredulity, and sheer fury. Melville's acting is probably the best element of the production - a masterclass in pace, intensity, and commitment. 

The relevance of the show is immense. It's meant to be a call to arms, and it does have the power to inspire a revolution. I can't help having some reservations about the fact that a playtext that explores so many facets of womanhood, and in such excruciating detail, is written by a man. The quality of Gary Owen's writing and the excellence of many of the points it makes, is not up for discussion; I ask myself, though - would this show have had a more profound impact on me if it were written by a woman? And the answer's yes. 

© Greta Rilletti Zaltieri, 2022
Location: Lyric Square, King St, London W6 0QL, UK

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