Not having a background in Classics, I stepped into Dido’s Bar not knowing what to expect. The play is based on Virgil’s Aeneid - a sprawling twelve-book cycling following Aeneas (Lahcen Razzougui), a Trojan forced to flee his homeland. In this retelling, writer Hattie Naylor hones in on the moment Aeneas has just arrived in Carthage (he will eventually settle in Italy), and moves the action to the modern-day, finding resonance in more current refugee crises.
Staged at the Ovada, a tall, airy gallery with white-bricked walls, the audience is made to feel they are simply patrons of the two establishments featured - the actors flit between tables, and the stage, (continually occupied by a polished live band led by Ben Sutcliffe) is only used for the many in-story musical numbers, all dialogue taking place on the busy bar floor. .
The lighting work is truly transporting, bathing Ovada in a hazy golden glow, and then striking down with rich, bejewelled reds and blues. It feels like you’re there in this bar, with these characters. This is further aided by the delicate and wide-ranging music, composed by Marouf Majidi and Riku Kantola, and the impressive musicality of the whole cast.
The titular Dido (Lola May) is also a refugee and the manager of a small but beloved bar. Taking pity on Aeneas, she helps get the necessary paperwork to secure the right to remain. In turn, he draws in patrons with his gorgeous songs addressing all he has been through. Before long the feelings between them swing beyond just kinship into something far more romantic.
But there’s trouble in paradise, as the fates of these hopeful souls are not entirely their own. The two bars - and general narration of the play - are overseen by sister goddesses, opposites Venus (Priscille Grace) and Juno (Georgina White). Impressively, the actors imbue their divine characters with an imperious lacquer that makes it clear their only true peer - and rival - is each other.
Grace’s Venus is portrayed as effervescently flirtatious and benevolent… so long as her spotlight isn’t threatened. White’s Juno, by contrast, has a chilly, modelesque charisma, openly calculating. Both enjoy creating chaos in the mortals’ lives. It’s a testament to the writing that viewing the play, my understanding of which sister to root for flip-flopped until finally, I realised both were morally grey.
The second act takes us to another establishment, Bar Latinus, and acquaints us further with the true villain of the piece, entitled and arrogant own Turnus (a stand-out performance from Tuukka Leppanen). Rather than playing him as a moustache-twirling Machiavelli, Leppanen instead highlights the chummy banality of evil, perfectly lovely just so long as he gets everything he wants. This makes the ending all the more chilling, as the conflicts gain velocity and erupt into a vicious act of violence.
There’s cruelty to this world, with its chaotic and indifferent Gods, endless wars, and deep inequalities. Creator/Director Joesaphine Burton draws clear parallels between the awful inescapability of fate, and the gruelling, Kafkaesque process migrants and refugees are subjected to in the UK. Characters must swallow their suffering to try to conform, and it seems impossible at times for their lives to escape precarity. Destiny, ironically, makes life meaningless. But the characters, despite having an understanding that things are preordained, strive anyway for what they want, and in their efforts find beauty and love - and meaning.
An epic-yet-intimate night of theatre.