EDInterval

A sheet of plastic stretches across a metal frame, blue light glowing behind it, slicing in two the space of the stage. Gutter Theatre’s Eurydice begins as it intends, establishing boundaries between this world and the next; between reality and fantasy; and between love and loss. Using Sarah Ruhl’s adaptation of the Orpheus myth, the production attempts to move the tragic spotlight to Eurydice’s plight, and present the underworld as more of a source of freedom than the prison that is the structure of the binding world above. The early scenes between Orpheus and Eurydice cast a blooming romance in pink light and soft music, love played as infatuation and obsession. Eurydice’s father arrives from beyond that blue frame, the stage around him falling into darkness as long inspection lamps pick him out. The unsettling entrance and John Beattie’s restraint provide a useful contrast to the heightened world of the lovers - the underworld, distant and unknown before Eurydice has crossed into it. But once she does, the space starts to loosen from that first impression. The Stones appear in torn suits and chains, a kind of broken corporation around Hades, whose authority comes with the absurdity of a boss presiding over yes men and no men, played by Jimmy Kavanagh with a desperation to control. The Stones’ ensemble work is impressively disciplined and disturbing, quickly giving the dark underworld that initially seemed unknowable routines and something like a social order. It becomes a caricature of the normality above. That shift gives the players more room to work the conceit forward. In the underworld, Shaun Hamilton’s Orpheus brings an intensity that the earlier scenes only hint at from across the void. Orpheus’ love is now played across a much greater distance and amplitude, allowing us to participate in the music between them even when she cannot. Erin Jederon-Hogg’s Eurydice, by contrast, lacks that discipline, but is more effective in her final resistance to Hades’ attempt to dominate. Music carries some of that contrast well, from the droning soundscapes to the record stopping and the final click that remains when Eurydice is separated from Orpheus and his music. Given how much the production uses music to establish the world above, it is frustrating that much of the electronic soundscape is confined to transitions rather than given more scenic space. Some of the visual effects are less convincing: a fish hook hanging over the stage for much of the play before finding its practical purpose, and Eurydice’s father’s construction of her shelter, her world. The latter is generously played. The lighting maintains a recognisable palette, yet the underworld itself can sometimes feel oddly bare. This production is at its best when those contrasts are allowed to develop. The underworld, dark and unknowable, fills with rules, voices and routines until it feels ordinary beside the dreamlike world Eurydice has left behind. Orpheus becomes more compelling once love has to cross that distance, but Eurydice's own transformation is less assured.