Will Mann, Amaya Braganza, J. Antonio Rodriquez and the cast of ‘Hadestown’, Photo by T. Charles Erickson
“It’s a sad song, but we sing it anyway.”
Hermes (Will Mann), a dapper MC in his silver suit—our narrator, explains why: Tragedies, the telling of them, are a distinctly human comfort. Knowing how it must end yet imagining a happy ending for the characters we love is a cathartic sort of transcendence. Hadestown, a touring production presented by Mirvish, is bursting with heady ideas, waxing poetic about our human condition—enduring the real world while striving towards some aspirational ideal.
I’ve been waiting several years to see this show. In the meantime, I’ve listened to the cast album, watched multiple video essays and clips online, but I was not prepared for the emotional impact it would have on me. Clutching the Greek myths of Orpheus and Eurydice, Hades and Persephone, it flings them into a dystopian, industrial wasteland. Creator Anaïs Mitchell (book, music and lyrics) and director Rachel Chavkin have crafted a vibey fusion of New Orleans jazz club and mining town folk concert aesthetics.
Before that familiar opening trombone riff (one of the most understated yet exhilarating musical theatre intros I’ve experienced), the actors take their places amongst the on-stage musicians, acknowledging each other and the audience. Similar to contemporary shows like Hamilton and Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812, which tell their old stories within a meta-theatrical, abstracted space rich in thematic resonance, that fourth wall is malleable here too. And we find ourselves often hooting and hollering as characters work it.
A punkish and jaded vagabond, Eurydice (Amaya Braganza), falls for the naive charms of an idealistic musician, Orpheus (John Krause), and their journey takes them to the underworld—Hadestown—depicted here as a walled-off community where industrial tycoon Hades (Matthew Patrick Quinn) provides a sanctuary from poverty, but at the cost of his people’s freedom. His wife, Persephone (Lana Gordon), has become alienated from him, spending her springtimes above ground, dancing and boozing it up, where—away from the stifling heat and stale air of their fortified home—she gets to feel alive.
Despite our full awareness of their fate, the awful moment when Orpheus, overcome with doubt, turns—condemning Eurydice to the gaping maw of a tunnel back to Hadestown—is profoundly devastating. It was punctuated by an intense gasp from a lady directly behind me. We grow to care about Hades and Persephone too and the duo are a crowd favourite. Quinn’s gravelly bass and domineering presence is intensely charismatic. Gordon is electric in her green dress, swinging her bottles of booze, the sensual embodiment of revelry. The hint of their possible reconciliation offers a whiff of hope. I also have great affection for Mann’s Hermes, a consistently warm and supportive presence as he takes both Orpheus and the audience under his wing.
Rachel Hauck’s grimy scenic design blends New Orleans textures—wrought iron, wood and stucco—with the blackened mortar of a foundry and the rusted inside of an oil drum. Michael Krass’s steam-punk worker outfits for the ensemble help bring this industrial flavour into three dimensions, enhanced by the synchronized stomp and pump motions of David Neumann’s choreography. Cast and creative team are firing on all cylinders with “Wait for Me,” one of the most iconic and thrilling moments from the show, where swinging lamps echo the driving chords that propel Orpheus in his pursuit of Eurydice.
Mitchell’s poetry is both archetypal and contemporary, landing on many culturally relevant ideas and wearing its guileless heart on its sleeve. Amazingly, Hades as a populist leader building a wall against “the enemy” was conceived before—almost portending—the election of Donald Trump. The conflicted relationship between artistry and commerce, the beauty of hope amidst the harsh realities of life, keeping your nose to the grindstone yet dreaming of love—all these notions swirl about this narrative with its echoes of the Great Depression.
The central image—a red carnation held firmly out—has taken root in my head. The pop of colour and delicate texture are a powerful motif, a symbol of “how the world could be, in spite of the way that it is.” And the way the final number, “We Raise Our Cups,” is worked into the curtain call creates an authentic feeling of intimate camaraderie and a stirring bookend. I loved Hadestown, so much. Pssst, I even bought myself some tickets to see it again!
Hadestown
running May 15 to 26, 2024
CAA Ed Mirvish Theatre (244 Victoria St.)
running time: 2 hours 30 mins (including intermission)
Lana Gordon and cast of ‘Hadestown’, Photo by T. Charles Erickson