Created by Heather Marshall of Creative Electric, Medusa breaks open the myth and explores misogyny and hormonal impact – with the action taking place in a club space, rather than a traditional theatre setting. Heather talks writing from personal experience, the importance of accessibility and why disorders like PMDD are so overlooked

Lead image credit: Tiu Makkonen

What can we expect from this interpretation of the Medusa myth that’s different from any other?

Medusa didn’t actually have her own myth in traditional Greek mythology – she only featured in the myths of men. She’s possibly best known as the woman who Perseus beheaded. I wanted to give Medusa her own story: one that felt contemporary, relatable and challenged the perception that she was a monster.

When writing this adaption I wrote about what I knew: being a queer, Scottish, working class woman and the world I exist in – one that is rooted in chosen family, friendships and the escapism you feel on a dancefloor. It was really important to me that the audience were integral to that, and so instead of the traditional theatre setting we’re in a club space, and audiences can choose to dance along, sit and watch or even lay down on beanbags.

The show was written from your personal experience. What made you want to dive into medical misogyny as a theme?

I have Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) and have been trying to find a way to talk about it on stage for many years. Then a friend gave me a present – a gorgeous, green acrylic necklace featuring the head of Medusa, and it all fell into place from there. The more I read about Medusa, the more I related to her.

For the majority of people with PMDD, it occurs after a trauma. In traditional mythology, Medusa was sexually assaulted by Poseidon and then punished by Athena for being assaulted. Her punishment was a head full of snakes. In this adaption the snakes are inside Medusa’s head in the form of PMDD. It’s terrifying for her, especially as she doesn’t understand what’s happening. And that’s exactly how I felt too before I was diagnosed.

I had been going to the doctors for years asking for help with my mental health and constantly being told it was just stress. But stress didn’t feel like a realistic answer. I was experiencing suicidal ideations, violent thoughts and impulsive behaviour. I felt my entire personality change into someone I really didn’t like, and I knew that it couldn’t just be stress-related.

Eventually I posted on Facebook asking if anyone else experienced similar symptoms in the lead-up to their period, and amongst the many dismissive comments telling me to exercise more and work on my diet, came an answer from a girl I barely knew suggesting I had PMDD. I honestly believe that girl saved my life.

From there I read everything I could about PMDD and discovered in those early days, around 12 years ago now, that 60% of doctors had never heard of PMDD and 80% of women were dismissed by doctors when trying to push for a diagnosis. 119 million people worldwide have PMDD – that’s 1 in 20 people, as many people as the combined populations of the United Kingdom and Spain.

Medusa creator, Heather Marshall. Credit: Tiu Makkonen

What resonated with you the most when you were researching Medusa as a story?

Sadly what resonated with me most was that despite ancient Greek mythology being written hundreds of thousands of years ago, it still felt distinctly familiar. Women are still being sexually assaulted by men who feel entitled to their bodies, and when they speak out about it they are shamed. Athena punished Medusa for Poseidon’s actions, shamed her and made her an outcast. And in turn men hunted her, desperate to cut off her head. It was very easy to relate Medusa’s story to my own, to the stories of women I know and women I read about. To the trials by social media we often see today. Or the tabloid stories that manipulate facts until all parties are broken.

Why do you feel disorders like PMDD and endometriosis are so underdiagnosed?

We’ve grown up in a society where menstruation is talked about in hushed tones. Where adverts for pads and tampons use blue liquid because it’s too shocking to use anything close to blood. In fact, period products were only tested with blood for the first time in 2023 – how wild is that? So if it’s seen as taboo to talk about periods in general, then to talk about the conditions that come alongside them – ones that cause extreme distress – certainly isn’t going to happen. Coupled with the fact that only 2.5% of medical research funding goes into women’s reproductive health, then of course conditions like PMDD and endometriosis are going to be underdiagnosed.

The show’s story takes place amid the setting of Athena’s Temple, reimagined as a queer nightclub. How did queer club culture help you explore the show’s central themes?

Generally I’ve found queer spaces to be incredibly welcoming. Often when you’ve experienced hostility or been made to feel unwelcome somewhere, you don’t want anyone else to experience that, and so you’re more open to supporting others. I’ve certainly found that to be the case within the queer community.

However, there’s also a culture of places calling themselves a ‘safe space’ without putting the work in to ensure it genuinely is a space where people – regardless of gender, sexuality, race or culture – can exist safely. And so I wanted to explore that within the piece.

Credit: Tiu Makkonen

Is Scotland’s underground rave culture a space you’ve had positive experiences with?

Absolutely! There’s no hierarchy at a rave – everyone’s there for a good time. I’ve never seen any trouble. It’s not like going to a nightclub where people might drink too much and kick off. People go to raves because they genuinely love to dance. It’s an adventure. You get a text with a location and off you go – it might be an abandoned warehouse or a beach, but you know that wherever you end up, you’ll be amongst friends. I love that there are people of all ages there too – it’s not just young ones. The last free party I went to there was a lady in her late seventies and she outdanced us all!

The adaptation is presented by a predominately queer, disabled and neurodiverse group of creatives. How integral has that been in your illumination of the story?

As a queer, disabled, neurodivergent artist I find that I often have to work harder than my non-disabled, neurotypical peers to get into the rooms I want to be in. So when creating this show it was really important to me that we led with a culture of care: one that made space for brains that work differently. As part of that we have a longer rehearsal process, but with much shorter working days so that people have time to look after themselves. I’ve experienced burnout after working on so many shows, so I was determined to do what I could on this one to ensure that the entire team was as healthy and happy as they could be.

Accessibility has also been a priority when creating the show. Is that a non-negotiable in all the work you create?

100%. Access and inclusion is at the centre of all that I do and I think that comes from not having had what I personally needed when working on projects in the past. Or from seeing my peers struggling. Or honestly, the times when I know I’ve got it wrong myself. So my rule now is that access is the very first line of the budget. If we can’t afford to support someone’s access needs, then the project shouldn’t be happening.

You recently wrapped on a two-year research programme with ITAC and the Lincoln Centre in New York, which explored global disability culture. What has been your greatest takeaway?

Probably that we have more in common than the things that divide us. As disabled people we have the same worries and the same challenges globally, but we use different language to describe it. In Scotland we use the social model of disability and we recognise that it isn’t our condition that disables us, it’s the barriers that society places. However in Singapore the disabled artists we were working with really disliked the term barrier. They felt it was inappropriate.

Language became something we really focused on and it was so interesting. Especially when we asked non-disabled people in the room not to speak so that we could ensure disabled people’s voices were heard. It helped us realise how often people speak for us, implement systems for us and make decisions for us without consulting us. It may be well-meaning, but it doesn’t benefit anyone. We are our own experts – nothing about us without us.

See Medusa at Summerhall Edinburgh from 6th – 8th March