Written by Alyanna de Leon and Ashe Villena
Photos by Reamur A. David, Anne Camille King, Jules Ballaran, and Ven Vicencio

“Kung walang babae, mas gaganda ang mundo.” (“If there were no women, the world would become better.”)

Callous misogynistic remarks like this provoke the deepest of women’s wrath.

Female rage is all the rage in Tanghalang Ateneo’s (TA) Medea, the Filipino adaptation of the classic Greek myth translated by National Artist for Theater, Rolando Tinio. In a riveting 2-hour production that left no space for dull moments, Medea shatters gender norms of female submission under male domination as it exposes what truly lies at the core of humanity when both sexes reach their breaking point.

The tragedy revolves around Medea, a sorceress, and Yason, a successful seeker of the Golden Fleece, and the betrayal that tears open an irreconcilable rift between husband and wife. Yason sends Medea into a spiral of depression, anger, and vengeance once he flees with their children to marry the princess of Corinth.

Miren Alvarez-Fabregas proves to be a force to be reckoned with through her portrayal of the titular Medea. She seamlessly shifts between intense emotions of despair and desperation as she is cheated on by her husband, forced into exile, and mocked for her justified outrage. Similarly, Yan Yuzon’s breath of life into the character of Yason makes it easy for the audience to be furious with the philandering husband, who touts misogynistic remarks so casually and taunts Medea with sorry excuses for justifications towards his infidelity.

While the two leads are the heart of the production, the supporting cast delivers performances that elevate the narrative’s intensity and depth. Joseph Dela Cruz shines as Egeo in his impassioned account of witnessing the aftermath of Medea’s rage. From a passive side character, he shifts into an active narrator, writhing on the floor and gluing all eyes on him. Meanwhile, Katski Flores as Yaya sustains a stellar performance that supports narrative flow from start to end. Other veteran actors Joel Macaventa (Maestro), Chot Kabigting (Kreon), and Gold Soon and Pickles Leonidas (Koro), complete the immersive experience with their enthralling stage presence with each line.

Female rage is a prominent theme throughout the course of Medea. This term pertains to an unapologetic expression of a woman’s anger, which is exemplified by the ultimate act of filicide committed by Medea towards the end of the play. While far from justifiable, the play serves a step-by-step explanation on why and how the titular character was driven to her harsh decision. It is clear that women are not seen as equals in the society that permeates Medea’s setting.

The idea of female rage is externalized in the fascinating creative choice of Ara Fernando, Medea’s makeup artist, in painting veins only on the female actors. Fernando attributes this to how “‘Pag babae ka at galit na galit ka, diba parang putok na putok ang ugat?” (“If you’re a woman and you’re so angry, don’t your veins look like they’re about to explode?”)

Women, despite any debilitating circumstances, are expected to be good wives and mothers. Medea tears these images apart by enacting murderous revenge, showing what a woman’s agency can turn into when rid of the usual romanticization.

Although the morbid aftermath of wife’s-hatred-over-mother’s-love seems hard to beat, both the literal and literary spotlight of Medea shines ironically on Yason. After losing everything, the previously cavalier husband crumbles into an emotionally charged mess at the feet of his smirking wife. The tragedy masterfully disrupts the seemingly clear-cut narrative of a haughty man at fault for a scorned woman through a dual subversion, where both sexes are stripped to their raw humanity under an unforgiving glare that knows no gender norms.

All pretenses shattered, Medea and Yason point fingers at each other in a childish “he/she started it” exchange that destabilizes what previously seemed like unwavering feelings toward each character. Yason’s tears stir a bit of sympathy for him, softening his previously pathetic image, while the blood on Medea’s hands obscures the line between a dirtied versus dirty woman. The line between victim and villain is blurred, and with Yuzon and Alvarez-Fabregas’ spectacular emotional versatility solidified by tried-and-tested chemistry, the gripping back-and-forth was for eyes that couldn’t seem to tear away as much as it was for hands that couldn’t seem to unclench from the edge of Blackbox Theater’s seats.

The complex culmination of female rage that trickled into male vulnerability extends the discourse from gender to politics. It is not a simple matter of how far feminism can be pushed anymore. How far can we justify wrongs done out of the marginalized snapping rightfully? True to the original, Medea never directly answered this, and it is precisely what makes it such a timeless piece. The play leaves the door to the room for debate and further adaptations open forevermore.

The synopsis of Medea makes it seem like a formulaic feminist celebration of female rage. The full story, however, will catapult you in the midst of a complex labyrinth with heteropatriarchy as the starting point, forking into twisted paths of ethics and politics, until retracing your steps to figure out where it all went wrong seems impossible. This is exactly the point. It is precisely this nuancing to the gender narrative that makes Medea so compelling and worth the time of everyone — men and women alike.

If revenge is a dish best served cold, it can be said that rage is a dish best served under the female gaze. Medea allows viewers to see women protagonists in a different light — a far cry from the demure, romanticized images audiences have grown accustomed to. No matter how hard it is to see things unfold as a result of this rage, Medea forces you to keep looking.

What about you? How far are you willing to go in the name of female rage?

Ally studies Communications Technology Management at the Ateneo de Manila University — a flowery way of saying marketing, where marketing is the accountant parent-approved way of saying she wants to make a living out of telling stories. To avoid completely falling into corporate slavery, she writes essays and articles published on Rappler, Young STAR, The Philippine Daily Inquirer, and The GUIDON. She has concretized her interest in Korean pop culture with a minor in Korean Studies because to her, ambition ceases to exist without some form of obsession.

Ashe Villena is a BS Psychology sophomore at Ateneo de Manila University. Forever a humanities and social sciences girl at heart, she channels her time off the academic (and gala) grind through her affinity with writing — from literature to pop culture and everything in between.

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