Anna Burnside reviews a production that’s ‘strong’ but ‘shocking’ in moments.
Have you even been to the Edinburgh International Festival if you don’t see an experimental Belgian theatre collective’s interpretation of an ancient Greek poem?
It would be easy to mock FC Bergman’s wordless depiction of the transition from an agrarian lifestyle to an industrial one, by way of violence, nudity and jet-propelled pineapples. As the cast sprawl naked around a piston pumping steam engine, Works and Days comes dangerously close to being the type of show that gives high culture a bad name.
Three of the show’s creators are also performers, which goes some way to explaining some of the more indulgent moments. But these are fleeting. There’s much that’s strong, even shocking. A live hen joins the cast at the start, then appears to be smashed to death in a bloody bag.
Next, the front of the stage is ploughed up. Actually ploughed—we can hear the wood splintering.
There is death, destruction and elementary house building. An elephant made of rags gives birth. One particularly evocative scene sees the oldest cast member, showered with fine rain at the front of the stage, struggle with a sack of dust. Her dank frustration makes it to the back of the upper circle.
The music, based on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, has moved so far from the source as to be unrecognisable. But it adds texture and builds a world that is both familiar and, with its fruit-driven finale, on the edge of bonkers.
Which is exactly where performances that push the envelope should be.
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Work and Days performed as part of the Edinburgh International Festival 2025 season. Its run has ended.
Photo by Kurt Van der Elst.
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