Lars Von Trier’s Medea takes an especially distressing turn on an Ancient Greek classic. Retaining the well-known plot of the Euripides play, Medea is a foreigner stranded in a strange land who is betrayed by her husband, Jason, as he leaves her and their children to marry the queen of Corinth. She avenges his betrayal by destroying all that he loves, as self-destructive as it may be for her. From the story of a woman betrayed, Von Trier’s reimagined Medea cements itself as a striking adaptation. The screenplay, originally by his mentor, Carl Theodor Dreyer, plays out with some tweaks within a 1988 Danish TV movie. Starring Udo Kier and Kirsten Olesen as the infamous husband and wife duo, Medea evokes a heady blend of emotions in its 75 minutes runtime.
Medea’s simplicity is integral to its dramaturgical success, beginning with some noticeable differences from the original play. Any form of support for the characters that typically belongs in a Greek play is removed from Medea’s world, particularly the role and existence of the Greek gods. None of the characters have godly attributes, especially Medea, who is often represented as a witch borrowing from the divine. The characters are also stripped of any divine intervention or validation of their actions, reflecting on the fallibility of human nature.
Passions are all driving forces, from the selfish greed and lust of Jason, along with the anger, passion, and pain later shared between all of the characters. This is particularly illustrated with Jason and his relationship with Glauce (Ludmilla Glinska). The relationship is arranged by her father, Creon (Henning Jensen), at the price of Medea and her children having to leave Corinth, placing Glauce in a great deal of danger. Jason is quite easily blind to the cost of his betrayal, and while he does take the precaution of exiling her, he seems much more interested in his future wife.
It’s worth mentioning that Glauce is often presented in various states of undress to Jason, reflecting the particularly regressive role that women are placed in during this era. At times, Glauce seems to serve as little more than an object to be gifted to Jason, which is reminiscent of how Medea was treated many years before.
However, Medea’s portrayal is opposite to that of Glauce and originates in her status as a foreigner in Corinth. Her separation from society, especially as she is exiled, allows her to take the role of an active subject. Contrary to other interpretations, Medea does not seem to be as insane as her ‘foreigness’ causes Greek society to treate her, which deviates from madness’s role influencing Medea’s actions, especially the murder of her children. Furthermore, the Greeks, who are usually depicted as a glamorous and advanced civilization, live in squalor. Huts and underground caves are typical dwellings in Medea— Creon first arranges Glauce’s marriage while Jason is kneeling in mud. The areas that are much less restrictive are the less cultivated areas, such as the beach and the hills, and are filmed beautifully.
Filmotomy Podcast 70: Lars von Trier
But even then, there is a gloom that never lifts and a darkness that is pervasive in almost every shot. One of the few exceptions is with Medea and her children by a river, the same exchange where she secures her and her children’s escape with the Aegean king, portrayed by Baard Owe. Considering the circumstances and the future of her children, the scene provides a moment of calm before the metaphorical coming storm. The brothers tumble about and the youngest scrapes his knee; we later see Medea caring for him in a way that seems genuinely maternal and caring. It is clear that she does still care for her children, though this is made quite complicated by her eventual decision to kill them. Much like the original story, there are many reasons for this determination, especially after she uses the children to carry out Glauce’s demise and seal their fate as one worse than her own.
The depiction of Glauce’s death is a fascinating decision on Von Trier’s part. Glauce’s suffering and eventual death via the poison of Medea’s crown are not shown on camera. Medea’s two children travel by horse with Jason to deliver Medea’s crown as a wedding gift for Glauce. While dismounting, one of the brothers accidentally scratches another horse’s flank with the crown. The blood immediately turns black, making the purpose of the ‘gift’ even more clear. Von Trier chooses to depict Glauce’s death via that of a horse, after showing Glauce cutting herself on the crown. The viewer is removed from directly witnessing Glauce’s death, but can instead be horrified by this animalistic representation of it as the horse escapes from the caves, runs out onto the beach, and dies. The choice to have a physical distance from Glauce and to represent it through this medium fits Glauce’s death perfectly— impersonal to a degree, at least compared to infanticide, and with great suffering.
Medea unravels much like a fatal game of chess between the husband and wife, each character a slave to their desires and passions, valid or not, and carrying them through until the very end. Medea’s children’s deaths are inevitable as a part of Medea’s final revenge, though revenge feels like an ill-fitting term because of how much the action seems to hurt her. Furthermore, the actual act of killing her children is slightly taken out of her hands.
Von Trier’s film takes a different and particularly horrifying approach to the deaths of the children. She and the children return to the peaceful plains and fields, traveling towards a cross-shaped tree on top of a hill. The symbolism of the cross is evident— the children are innocent and seemingly unaware of their fates, especially the youngest. However, Medea somewhat diverges from this concept of the original play. Her oldest son helps to kill his younger brother, holding his legs down when he is hung from the tree. In an even more morbid sequence of events, when Medea cannot bring herself to hang her oldest child, he climbs up and places his own head in the noose.
She’s shown to hold him up as long as she humanly can, desperately trying to prevent his death while also being the one who led him to it. It’s a horrifying, heart-wrenching sequence of events that do eventually reach the intended target, Jason. His reaction to his children’s deaths is unimpressive, but not fully surprising. He rides back and forth through the fields around the hill, whose grasses eventually begin to mimic the same oceans that will carry Medea away. It is striking how the children are not buried by their mother or their father in Von Trier’s adaptation, easily reflecting their positions as pawns in a game between their parents.
Interstellar: The Odyssey for the 21st Century
The lack of a divine presence also noticeably returns within the conclusion of Medea. No golden chariot appears for Medea to flee on, instead, Medea is found seated in the back of a wooden boat, waiting for the tide to come in to bring it afloat. This shot is interspersed by those of Jason riding his horse nearly to death across the plains, and even though he is no longer going in any logical direction, increases the anxiety of the wait tremendously. Von Trier’s Medea takes a minimalistic approach to Greek tragedy, creating a unique and moving interpretation of the classic story. While the production is characteristic of the Dogme 95 principles Von Trier would later go on to define, Medea succeeds in combining a fantastic adaptation and nuanced acting to create a striking exercise in adaptation and classics.
