kaos

by anna jane begley

Kaos, toxic masculinity and a load of bees

There’s something disconcertingly familiar about Charlie Covell’s Kaos, the eight-part series bringing the messy lives of the Greek gods into the modern day and detailing the stories of humans who are just beginning to question the power the gods hold over them.

Like Bad Boys, The End of the F***ing World (also directed by Covell) and more recently Umbrella Academy, the excitement I felt watching the first episode was immediately followed by the dread of disappointment. Too many series begin with a suckerpunch of fresh ideas and intriguing conceits but can’t quite develop the story beyond its initial idea. Alas by the end of Kaos, I’m not convinced it has bucked the trend.

So to the premise: Zeus (a sleazy yet endearing Jeff Goldbaum, who fits snuggly into this role) controls both the mortal world, represented by 21st century ‘Krete’, and the heavenly, represented by a New Money vomit of a mansion, adorned with Renaissance-style paintings, inflatable flamingos and cream carpets (“Power can give a man many things,” contends Prometheus in the first scene. “Taste isn’t one of them.”)

Zeus is the husband – and brother, we are in classical Greece after all – of Hera (Janet McTeer who is unashamedly my new girl crush) and father to many demi-gods, namely Dionysus who is helping a rockstar mortal called Orpheus save his recently deceased wife Eurydice from the Underworld.

We then have some well-paced subplots involving Minos, the king of Krete, his daughter Ari and the Minotaur; Caneus, who lives in the Underworld and forges a relationship with newby Euridcye; a love affair between Hera and fellow relative Poseidon – oh, and Prometheus, who narrates the story while chained to a rock for rebelling against Zeus in times past. However, these characters are all part of meticulous foreplanning by Prometheus and the Fates to overthrow Zeus and cause ‘chaos’ to the divine order.

This plot is largely driven by a classic(al) case of toxic masculinity. This is most overt in Zeus, but also less palpably in Orpheus with his possessive attitude towards his wife to the extreme extent of ensuring she is trapped in the Underworld after her death so that he can save her and have her to himself. “I’m not myself anymore,” she says before her death. “I’m his. His wife. His muse.”

Then there’s Dionysus who claims to adore humans, but really only when it involves romance or sex. He can be forgiven though, considering his mother was turned into a bee by Hera (“Would you like some honey?”).

Horny, power-hungry and simultaneously cold-blooded yet emotionally astute, Hera is by far the most intriguing character. She keeps the women Zeus has slept with as bees in possibly the most disturbing yet understated power play in the series – which is quite a feat considering we’re talking about unhinged Greek gods.

In this vein, I’d like to introduce the cocktail Bees Knees. Saccharine sweet from honey, and cheek-suckingly sour from lemon, it’s a classy accompaniment to the gloriously tacky series. Simply mix the juice of a lemon with 30ml of honey and put in a short tumbler. Top with crushed ice and soda water, and garnish with a twist of lemon or even a sprig of rosemary. And enjoy the labours of poor Zeus’ mistresses.