Medea (1969) - Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini
- Johnathan Mack
- Feb 18, 2021
- 4 min read
Well, it is that time of year once again: Valentine’s day, the season of love where rom-coms reign supreme and filicide is a far distant concept. In celebration of this most romantic occasion, I sat down last week to revisit an ancient tale of a powerful sorceress who exacts terrible, glorious vengeance upon her hapless ex-husband and his soon-to-be bride – not exactly the obvious choice for the holiday…
Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Medea offers a sparse, desolate, and visually striking retelling of Euripides (much) older play. The film also incorporates events of Medea’s life which are beyond the scope of Euripides’ version, notably her involvement in Jason’s theft of the Golden Fleece and the couple’s following journey to Corinth. The film is neatly divided into these two sections with the first act revolving around Medea and Jason’s first interactions and the second act consists of a fairly satisfying adaptation of Euripides’ original play.
Interestingly, the film does not begin by introducing us to Medea, in fact her character is mostly mute for the first 20 minutes of the film – her subtle introduction seems hardly fitting for the explosive character she will become. Instead, we are provided with a motive for Jason’s auspicious adventure to Colchis: The Golden Fleece. Medea takes a backseat for the beginning of the narrative, but we are still presented with her in a way which cements her character. She is a respected and pious woman who is rooted in the traditions of her homeland even before we hear her speak – first and foremost, Medea is a figure of exotic religion, long before she meets Jason.
The opening may conceal Medea from the audience somewhat, however, it is by no means dull. What unfolds is a puzzling and brutal scene of a human sacrifice in Colchis, which is given very little explanation. The entire sequence anticipates the disturbing, abstract, daylight horror of Midsommar (2019). It is a very intricate depiction of the ancient world and the scene succeeds in alienating the audience from the film; it communicates the fact that this is a distant culture which we are not supposed to fully understand. Religion is very obviously at the centre of the imagining of the ancient world and this scene highlights the themes of ritual and mysticism which will play throughout.
Visual storytelling takes primary position throughout the film with the relationships between characters, such as Jason and Medea, being framed by how they physically interact with each other rather than how they communicate verbally. The striking locations add to the narrative too, the Piazza del Duomo of Pisa serves as a wonderfully civilised rendition of ancient Corinth while the settlement carved into the mountainside reflect the barbarous nature of Colchis. The settings reflect on the characters associated with them; The Centaur's civilised prophesying is reflected in his environment, likewise Medea's mysterious mysticism is reflected in hers.
All of this makes for incredibly atmospheric viewing, which highlights the delicate and doomed situation which the actors occupy, but it can make the narrative a little inaccessible. If I hadn’t recently read a translation of Euripides’ play, then the sparse storytelling may well have gone straight over my head (Ray Harryhausen’s jaunty Jason and the Argonauts provided background knowledge too). If you’re unfamiliar with the myth of Medea then something as quick as a Wikipedia search would give enough context for the film, but if you fancy picking up Euripides’ version then more power to you. The film doesn’t provide much guidance for the narrative, the audience is simply taken along for the ride, which can be quite bewildering, but the disorientation does make for an enjoyable experience. You get the sense that something terrible is about to happen at every turn.
The final act is easily the most engaging, perhaps due to the rich material it draws upon, it is a direct adaptation of Euripides’ script. Here we see Medea’s vengeful character in all of its glory. For much of the narrative she is relegated to the position of an enigmatic romantic lead, but here we see Medea carefully enact her revenge on Jason. She has a vision of the future, which she then enacts perfectly. Jason is disarmed of his anger towards her in a single line, “woman is weak and cries easily” – we know this isn’t true, but the hapless Jason is happy to take Medea’s words as gospel. Similarly, Medea exploits the pity of the king of Corinth, which proves to be a fatal mistake on his part. Medea is restrained for much of the film but in these last scenes she really demonstrates why she is so feared, she reclaims her position as a powerful sorceress which we’ve heard Jason, the Centaur and the King express so much concern over.
The film culminates in Medea’s veil of restraint lifting completely with her plan being fully realised and Jason utterly destroyed. Suddenly we see Medea reveal herself as the fearsome character she always has been, Jason and the citizens of Corinth left in awe before her.
I only wish that, like Euripides’ version of the play, we could have witnessed Medea taking off in a floating chariot driven by dragons – It seems the most fitting end for such an unstoppable character.
Medea is currently available on BFI player: https://player.bfi.org.uk/
Euripides' Medea and Other Plays translated by P. Vellacott is available at: https://www.waterstones.com/book/medea-and-other-plays/euripides/philip-vellacott/9780140441291
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