Vertigoes Way Down Underground – A Hadestown Review

In a last-minute decision, we managed to secure tickets to a musical that we had both been dying to see—Zara, a day-one fan since the Hadestown workshop days, and Bianca, a newcomer who went in knowing nothing except that everyone she'd talked to had raved—screaming, crying, and shouting about it (in the best possible way). 

We stumbled out of our Uber into the crisp autumn wind, tugging at our sweaters and scarves, giggling as we took photos outside the theatre. Despite the fact it’d only been chilly for roughly two weeks now, we were already wishing Persephone would show face and bring the warmth of spring once more. Alas, we only have six months with her for a reason, so we’ll take it on the chin and deal with the cold of her absence, sighing with relief at the warmth of the theatre’s foyer. We know spring will come again, anyway. 

There was still an hour until the show started, but people had already begun to crowd around the press backdrops, there were lines for the programs, and oh… don’t even talk to us about the themed cocktails at the bar being served by theatre workers with little red carnations on their lapels… we couldn’t resist, and neither could the entire theatre, apparently, because the lines were going all the way to the entry stairs. The venue was absolutely electric.

Having debuted on Broadway only six years ago, the show has already graced the stages of Canada, the West End, South Korea, and stages all across the US, so it was only a matter of time before we got to witness it Down Under. But, the roots of Hadestown run a little deeper. 

With music, lyrics, and book by Anaïs Mitchell, Hadestown began its journey in 2006 with humble performances in Vermont. In 2010, Mitchell released a concept album—unsure whether the stage version would ever truly take off. But after years of Off-Broadway productions, workshops, and short international runs, Hadestown finally found its Broadway home at the Walter Kerr Theatre in April 2019, where it’s remained ever since, racking up an impressive collection of Tony and Grammy Awards, including Best Musical, Best Original Score, and Best Musical Theater Album.

People have previously attempted to describe what the show is about to us, and now us to others, and the explanations are always confusing, because the story is both complex and simple — in short, it’s a huge, interconnected love story. It follows the ancient Greek tale of Orpheus travelling to the underworld to save his love, Eurydice, from the hands of Hades… but told with capitalists, trains, climate change, bards and coal miners, in a mixture of electrifying jazz and folk music. It’s fun, timeless and full of soul.

Rachel Hauk’s masterful scenic design provides a perfect backdrop for the complexities of the show. With the stage’s three hulking flats mirroring the energy of a run-down, old-timey jazz bar, simple and cozy with coats and hats on hooks by the door, and the show’s orchestra playing from their perch on the stairs, the audience is immediately welcomed into the warmth. It feels like home. Paired with Bradley King’s lighting design, the set does an amazing job of housing both the warmth, vitality and joy of the beginnings of the show, and stripping it all back when it counts into nothing but shadows and silhouettes, just the swirling outline of the balcony railings and the sound of Orpheus’ voice in the dark.

House lights were used often, and to a brilliant effect. Combined with the actors pointing and posing questions as if to individual audience members in the crowd, the show cleverly blurred the fourth wall reminding us, that we, the audience, are also part of the story. This invitation into the narrative, the characters dreams, hopes and heartbreaks makes the musical even more immersive and compelling.

However, a stage is nothing without its actors. And, holy shit. Were these actors incredible.

The Australian cast of this show is simply magical. Together, the energy created is difficult to put into words; between the raucous party-like atmosphere of the show’s opener, Road to Hell, full of vibrancy and beautiful, joyful noise, and the isolation and alienating depersonalisation of Act 2’s Chant, the power and versatility of this cast, particularly its Workers ensemble, leaves the jaws of the audience dropped. Literally. We can vouch.

Mrs Hermes, played by Christine Anu, commanded the stage from the moment she stepped foot on it. Just as she took Orpheus under her wing, she takes the audience too, comforting us when things go wrong and pushing us out when we need to leave. Having a Torres Strait Islander woman as the narrator that the audience looks to for guidance and a way forward felt like a gorgeous homage to the millennia of rich Indigenous storytelling and history that has taken place upon the land we live on today. Her Australian accent was familiar and comforting, feeling like a loving aunty giving you a long hug after a hard day.

Every time Noah Mullins’ Orpheus and Abigail Adriano’s Eurydice interact on stage, an angel gets their wings. This pair complement each other so well in their characters’ hard lines and soft edges, lighting up the stage with their tenderness and longing. While Orpheus’ relentless falsetto runs the risk of getting ear-piercing, Mullins treats everything with so much naivete and so much heart, making them a joy to watch and to listen to. All I’ve Ever Known is particularly magical with their dynamic—the heart and the head, the poet and the realist; Mullins and Adriano capture an energy so sweet and so full of yearning it makes our hearts ache thinking about it. 

Now, onto the Fates. Where do we even start? First of all, the Fates, representing the characters’ doubts and fears, are the true villains of the show, so jot that down. With their flowing dresses, haunting stares and harmonies so tight and so clean they could cut—and also simultaneous instrument playing, in case they weren’t busy enough—the Fates are strange, eerie, powerful, and perfect. Their frightful trio somehow appear and disappear on and off stage in the blink of an eye.

The night we went, the swings honestly commanded the show – Hades, Persephone, two of the Fates, and a couple of the workers were all understudies, but boy, did they deliver. Hades being a young, dashing swing (Devon Braithwaite if you’re seeing this, hit us up xx) was so terrifying and predatory. Lines like “take it from an old man” didn’t land with the same gravitas, given Braithwaite’s youth—but his smooth, calculated menace more than compensated. It felt less like Jeff Bezos, more like Jordan Belfort: a slick, manipulative upstart. A sleaze in a suit. The kind of underhanded leader who doesn’t just exploit systems, he charms his way through them. His deep, growling voice was the masterful icing on the cake, sending shivers down our spines after every note he uttered (don’t even talk to us about his cackles. Truly stirring).

But, you can’t talk about Hadestown without breaking down the musical’s most brilliant aspect—its music. The Guardian once said Hadestown has “one of the richest scores in recent musical history” and… they’ve absolutely hit the nail on the head. Anaïs Mitchell’s lyrics are so clever, and so much more politically charged than we’d expected, especially in conjunction with the visual production.

Hadestown is bone-chillingly relevant in our current sociopolitical climate. From the labouring workers in Chant (Reprise) pleading for unity and connection within an isolating capitalist workforce, questioning “What’s the use of his backbone / if he never stands upright? / If he turns his back on everyone / that he could’ve stood beside,” to the Fates’ haunting echoes on how hope and action feels futile when forces refuse to listen, singing “Why waste your precious breath? / Nothing changes anyhow” in Nothing Changes, the show is packed full of commentary and reflection. 

A particularly terrifying and accurate moment came near the end of Act 1 with Hades’ rallying cry to the audience in Why We Build the Wall. The distinct choice to go immediately from impeccably choreographed movement that swept the stage with prop work and incredibly creative lighting in Wait for Me to simple, harsh lighting with the cast standing still as they vacantly stared into the audience was extremely powerful. Hades just stood tall with a microphone that echoes, and echoes, and echoes, saying “we build the wall to keep us free.” 

For a show conceived in 2006, Mitchell had no idea how relevant this would become. Her lyricism is a perfect articulation of the undercurrent of fear and anger that hums beneath being a citizen in our current global political landscape, without the show feeling too preachy and on-the-nose. Instead, it is a comfort to hear these anxieties put into ballad as a reminder that we are not alone in our fear.

In an interview with Hanover Theatre and Conservatory, Mitchell described the show as being “a story about hard times,” but also “about the necessity of continuing to try even in the face of what feels, at times, futile. It’s also, in a sense, at its climax, a story about the necessity of believing in each other and in our togetherness, even when we feel alone.” From tiny stages in 2007 Vermont to half-way across the world nearly a decade later, Hadestown reminds people that it is through connection with community, action becomes possible, and, even in the darkest winter with no sign of sunlight, spring will come again. 

You, too, can violently sob in front of a thousand people, now for only $55! Theatre Royal Sydney has graciously offered UTS students heavily discounted tickets on their shows from now until they close on 26th April, if you book via this link. Everybody say thank you Theatre Royal!