Showing posts with label Herakles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Herakles. Show all posts

Sunday, August 8, 2021

Prometheus Bound

One of the great tragedies of the ancient Greek theatre is Prometheus Bound, which has generally been attributed to the playwright Aeschylus.

At the beginning of the play, the figures of Might and Power carry out the mission given to them by Zeus to bind the immortal Prometheus to a rock. To do this, they need the help of the smith god Hephaestus, who is a bit reluctant to chain up a fellow immortal. 

Since Prometheus does not speak during this first scene, it might originally have been staged with the binding of a massive effigy of Prometheus (since he was a titan, after all). Then, a masked actor might have emerged as the double for the giant effigy, though this is purely guesswork.

When Prometheus does speak, it is to attack Zeus for unjustly punishing him for helping humanity. "Behold what ignominy of causeless wrongs / I suffer from the gods, myself a god," he complains. "See what piercing pains shall goad me / Through long ages myriad-numbered!" Prometheus emphasizes the injustice of his punishment, since his only crime was bringing fire to mankind.

Next comes the parados, the part of the play where the chorus enters, singing and dancing. The chorus in Prometheus Bound is made up of the Oceanides, the daughters of the titan Oceanus. They attempt to bring comfort to Prometheus, singing:

               Fear nothing: for a friendly hand approaches;
               Fleet rivalry of wings
               Oar'd us to this far height, with hard consent
               Wrung from our careful sire.
               The winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heard
               The harsh hammer's note deep deep in ocean caves,
               And throwing virgin shame aside, unshod
               The winged car I mounted.

Prometheus then relates his story to the Oceanides. He used to give counsel to the titans, but after they stopped listening to him, he accepted the friendship of Zeus. It was with Prometheus's advice that Zeus overthrew his father Kronos and imprisoned most of the titans. The final straw came when Zeus decided to destroy mankind and build a whole new race of mortals, hence Prometheus's decision to steal fire and save mankind.

Oceanus then enters and expresses sympathy for Prometheus, but also warns his fellow titan not to anger Zeus, the new boss in town. For his part, Prometheus tells Oceanus that he should watch himself, too, since if Zeus turned on him, the Ocean god could be next. Hearing this, Oceanus takes off, and the chorus sings another hymn.

The next visitor is Io, the Argive princess who had an affair with Zeus and got changed into a cow by Hera as punishment. What's more, Hera sent a gadfly to torment Io so she could never find rest and had to wander almost endlessly. To Prometheus, the fate of Io is just more proof that Zeus is an unjust tyrant who betrays even his most faithful friends.

Hermes is the last visitor Prometheus gets in the play, and the messenger of the gods warns him once more to repent. Prometheus, however, remains defiant, and challenges Zeus, saying:

               Let the harsh-winged hurricane sweep me
               In its whirls, and fling me down
               To black Tartarus: there to lie
               Bound in the iron folds of Fate.
               I will bear: but cannot die.

Though Hermes urges the Oceanides to abandon Prometheus, they pledge to stay with him, and the final lines of the play are given by the bound titan, captive, but still defiant.

However, that's not how the story ends. Prometheus Bound was originally a part of a trilogy that also contained Prometheus Unbound and Prometheus Fire-Bringer. The Prometheus Unbound by Aeschylus should not be confused with the choral drama of the same name by Percy Bysshe Shelley. In Aeschylus's version of the story, it is Herakles who frees Prometheus from his captivity. (Shelley takes the myth in a different direction)

Though the play is now lost, the Roman writer Cicero translated a lengthy passage of Prometheus Unbound into Latin. The passage appears to have Prometheus addressing the chorus, saying:

               Offspring of Titans, allied in blood,
               See me bound to rugged rocks
               And chained to stones,
               Like a ship on the sea, amidst a dreadful din.
               Saturn's son Jupiter nailed me here;
               Jove's power of Mulciber bound me;
               A cruel one, he made his will be done...

Saturn is the Roman name for Kronos, Jupiter is Zeus, and Mulciber is an alternate name for Hephaestus (generally known as Vulcan to the Romans). The passage is interesting, but unfortunately it does not give us much insight into how the rest of the play went.

Even less is known about Prometheus Fire-Bringer, which is generally assumed to be the third play in the trilogy, in spite of the fact that the gift of fire was made before Prometheus Bound even begins. We've only got one line of the play: "Quiet, where need is; and talking to the point." That's not much to go on, especially considering we're not even sure who says it.

So without the rest of the trilogy, all we're left with is one really good play. Instead of agonizing over what is lost, we probably should just value what we still have.

Monday, December 30, 2013

Best Plays of 2013

It's that time of year when people put together their lists of the best plays they've seen over the past 12 months. I've decided to limit myself to performances in New York City that opened in 2013. (Sorry Sleep No More and Heute: Kohlhaas, but you don't qualify.)

So in reverse order, here they are:

#10 KAFKA'S MONKEY
Theatre for a New Audience clearly knew what it was doing when it brought over this one-woman show featuring Kathryn Hunter from The Young Vic in London. Franz Kafka's "A Report to an Academy" came to life like I'd never imagined.

#9 HERAKLES
Aquila Theatre revived this ancient play by Euripides using interviews with actual war veterans in lieu of the choral numbers. Unfortunately, there were only a handful of performances at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in March. Still, those who saw the show will not easily forget it.

#8 FIX ME JESUS
Helen Sneed's comedy about a Texas woman having a mental breakdown in the dressing room of a Neiman Marcus was surprisingly emotional. The Abingdon Theatre did a great job with this piece, which featured fine performances by Lee Roy Rogers, Polly Lee, and Lori Gardner, among others.

#7 NATASHA, PIERRE AND THE GREAT COMET OF 1812
Not everyone I've talked to has loved this show, but I find Dave Malloy's songs to be enchanting. Plus, that Tolstoy guy really knew how to tell a story! This immersive theatre experience was a triumph for the non-profit Ars Nova, and has moved on uptown with a commercial production near Times Square.

#6 THE MUTILATED
How could anyone possibly perform this outrageous late play by Tennessee Williams? By casting Penny Arcade and Mink Stole, of course. This all-too-brief run at the New Ohio Theatre deserved all of the praise it received, and then some. It's a pity the Christmas-themed show had to close before the holidays.

#5 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
As much as I enjoyed the musicalized version of Love's Labour's Lost this summer, the Public did an even better job with The Comedy of Errors, setting Shakespeare's tale of mis-matched twins in upstate New York. Hamish Linklater and Jesse Tyler Ferguson were hysterical, and Heidi Schreck made a wonderful Adriana.

#4 SAINT JOAN
Bedlam's production of the classic by George Bernard Shaw uses only four actors to tell a magnificent story. This stripped-down, bare-bones version gets to the heart of the story of Joan of Arc, and breaks the audience's heart in the process. Special praise goes to Eric Tucker, who both directs and plays Warwick. It's still running, so get your tickets now!

#3 UNLOCK'D
Sam Carner and Derek Gregor have been working for years on this musical based loosely on Alexander Pope's mock epic poem The Rape of the Lock. Though the material does not seem the most likely candidate for becoming a musical comedy, they pulled it off with panache in Prospect Theatre Company's world premier of the work this summer. Just when you think you know where the play is headed, it goes in a delightful new direction. This show deserves to be done all across the country.

#2 TAMAR OF THE RIVER
Perhaps I'm a little biased, but Marisa Michelson and Joshua H. Cohen gave this town one of the most innovative new musicals it has seen in a long time, beating out even Unlock'd. Kudos to Prospect Theatre Company for producing two of the top plays on this list! I saw Tamar three times, and enjoyed it more with each performance. I know of no immediate plans for a larger production, but some bright producer needs to bring this musical to a larger stage, though hopefully keeping most of the brilliant staging by director Daniel Goldstein.

#1 DIALOGUES DES CARMELITES
This Poulenc opera blew me away when I saw it at the Met in May. They nailed the final scene, where the nuns are guillotined one by one, and all of those voices singing "Salve Regina" go quiet, one after another, until there is only one left, and then.... The world today still faces religious oppression, and far more serious attacks than the "War on Christmas" hyped by Fox News, or the bogus pseudo-attacks on "freedom of religion" that have the American Catholic Bishops constantly crying wolf. This tale of Sister Blanche (not quite a historical figure, but there were plenty of women like her) reminds us that true Christianity calls for self-sacrifice, not constant self-aggrandizement.


So that's my list. Honorable mentions go out to Atlantic Theater Company's The Jammer, La MaMa's Iphigenia at Aulis, Roundabout's The Winslow Boy, and Signature's Cheri.

Monday, December 23, 2013

Omphale

Peter Hacks set his 1971 play Omphale in a remote, mythic time, but the piece examined gender roles in ways that must have hit very close to home for the play's original audience. Hacks used the play to (among other things) critique the tradition-defying social experiments of the communist German Democratic Republic. However, even a staunchly socialist writer like Peter Hacks had to be careful.

After having his first successes in West Germany, Hacks voluntarily moved east in 1955. If he expected to be welcomed by the communist government with open arms, he must have been sorely disappointed. His mildly critical play Worries and Power premiered in 1960, but only after he was forced to make numerous revisions. Even with those changes, the communist party pressured the Deutsches Theater to shutter a revival of the play two years later.

For Omphale, Hacks reached back to the Herakles myth to explore issues in his own society. Adaptations of classics were frequent in the GDR, in part because they allowed East Germany to make the case that its writers were the true heirs to the German literary tradition. Classical adaptations also allowed writers to dodge the authorities. Hacks could write about recent developments in the GDR while pretending to write about someone else's society. In this case, he explored shifting gender roles.

Hacks was not the only East German playwright to respond to the Women's Movement, which swept across both sides of the Iron Curtain in the 1970s. Volker Braun probed men's anxieties over feminism in such works as his 1976 play Tinka. With Europe at peace and many traditional ideologies no longer holding sway, women were taking on men's roles. Similarly, men were exploring new identities other than the stereotypical masculine breadwinner. It is within this context that Hacks wrote Omphale.

In mythology, Zeus sent Herakles for a period of time to be slave to the Lydian Queen Omphale in punishment for an unjust murder, and while he was with her she amused herself by having the hero dress in women's clothing and do weaving and spinning. Though in the original myth Herakles feels degraded by this treatment, Hacks shows the Greek hero reveling in his ability to play the role of a woman.

Since two cross-dressers are always funnier than one, Hack follows the lead of numerous artists by having Omphale dress as Heracles and carry his famous club. This motif goes back to classical times, as can be seen in this Roman mosaic:


By choosing to remain enslaved to Omphale out of love for her, Hacks's Herakles does not fit the stereotype of the powerful man. This is not true slavery, however, as the hero claims he is bound to her only by his own choice. Herakles is so powerful he can renounce power and so manly he can renounce manhood.

Once Herakles completes his conversion to the feminine, the other characters are filled with disgust for him. The exact reason for his transformation is unclear. Herakles gives multiple justifications for his cross-dressing, each of them designed to play up his masculinity. He first explains that since he is doing the queen's duties he must borrow her sex as well as her rank. Next he says he imitates women because of his love for them. Finally, he says that to know a man's pleasure, he must feel a woman's.

All of these excuses allow Herakles to engage in role reversal without giving up any of his manliness. The problem is that no one else in the play is buying it. In their eyes, Herakles ends up less than a man, a typical fear of men resistant to feminism.

Hacks then reveals another great fear of anti-feminists--the masculinized woman. Omphale enters holding Herakles's club and dressed in his lion skin, and the scene that follows is a travesty of a lovers' quarrel, with Omphale taking on the role of a rational man while Herakles exhibits the over-emotional whims of a stereotypically irrational woman. Worst of all, Herakles does not even want to be touched by his lover. The role reversal has sapped the sexuality out of their relationship.

Fortunately, this condition does not last long. As the lovers attempt a tearful reconciliation, they receive news of the monster Lityerses. The prospect of battle seems to return Herakles to his natural manly state, and he goes off to face the monster. Her love threatened, Omphale likewise returns to being feminine. Though she goes in pursuit of Herakles, she does so for womanly motives.

If the play ended here, it could be regarded as a simple rejection of feminist principles. Instead, Hacks goes on to play with the gender identity of his two main characters in a way that is still comic but no longer derogatory. Herakles bravely rushes in like a man to fight Lityerses, but the hero is still dressed as Omphale. Just as brave is Omphale, who rushes in with womanly concern to protect her beloved, all the while still dressed like him. Both characters are enacting gender stereotypes, but they are now enacting positive stereotypes.

Lityerses has never met the pair, and besides that he seems to be a particularly unobservant monster, so he mistakes each one for the other. To a fool like him, it is simply a club that makes the man, and a skirt that makes the woman.

As Herakles proves his manhood by slaying Lityerses, Omphale goes into childbirth. The observers see these separate but equally important acts--bringing forth life and slaying the enemies of humanity--as both being the highest possible bliss. Having learned their lessons, Omphale takes off the lion skin, and Heracles removes his mask of Omphale. Now a mother, Omphale must accept her womanhood. In order to restore sacred and immutable gender roles, Herakles need only take up his club as a sign of man's eternal duty to preserve order through brute strength. However, that is not what he does.

In the final scene, Herakles plants his club into the earth, where it changes into an olive tree. He announces it is a symbol of humanity, which must grow forth from a savage past to a life of peace and fruitfulness reminiscent of a simpler time. In Brechtian fashion, Hacks demonstrates that the world is not eternally fixed, but can and must be changed. Whether those changes extend to gender roles is an open question, but Hacks does not rule out that possibility.


The ending is fundamentally utopian, looking forward to the progress that socialism promises. It remains ambivalent about the progressive goal of women's liberation, but solidly confirms a belief in progress. Like with Hacks's other plays, there is more to Omphale than immediately meets the eye.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Hercules and the Augean Stables

Friedrich Durrenmatt's play Hercules and the Augean Stables started out as a radio play in 1954, was later staged by several amateur groups, and eventually received its official premiere in Zurich in March of 1963. The play nominally takes place in The Heroic Age of Ancient Greece. However, it quickly becomes apparent that Durrenmatt is writing about contemporary Switzerland, not some distant Mediterranean past. The result: pretty darn hysterical.

From the beginning, Durrenmatt makes it clear that the mythical land of Elis is a stand-in for the dramatist's native Switzerland. In the prologue, Hercules's private secretary Polybius announces that the play deals with "man's zeal for cleanliness." This poking fun at Swiss stereotypes continues in the next scene, where Hercules chases the Erymanthian Boar through freezing mountains, which--much like the Alps--are prone to avalanches. In the third scene, Augeas describes the climate of Elis as "temperate--like our morals." This vision of a middle-of-the-road people continues when he describes the country's religion as "moderate Dionysian tempered with orthodox Apollonarian." Even Switzerland's history of relative tolerance for both Protestants and Catholics is fodder for laughs.

Most importantly, however, Augeas is not a king, as he is in the original myth, but merely president of a small republic. This honor falls to him not due to any great ability, but simply because he is the wealthiest of a number of peasant farmers. The original audience probably recognized Augeas as a version of Rudolf Minger, the successful farmer who rose to become President of the Swiss Confederation in the 1930s. Even if audiences today miss this point, however, they will undoubtedly catch that Augeas is precisely the type of moderate politician produced by small democracies like Switzerland. After his lengthy introduction, Augeas uses a bell to call parliament to order and suggests his plan: Hire Hercules to clean the dung-filled stables so the Eleans can have time to tend cattle and to produce cheese and butter. Durrenmatt does everything to associate Elis with Switzerland short of stating that Elean cheese has small round holes.

In spite of his humiliation at the idea of a hero being reduced to a glorified janitor, Hercules accepts the job of cleaning the stables simply in order to clear his debts. (Elis, Durrenmatt later informs us, is known for its sound currency, yet another resemblance to a certain other country, and there are frequent allusions in the play to a flourishing banking industry.) Unfortunately, the problems of the modern world are not suited to the brute heroics of an earlier age. Before Hercules can damn up the rivers and wash out the Augean stables, he must get a permit from the Water Board, and before he can do that, he must register with the Ministry of Labor, the Ministry of Works, the Ministry of Finance, and the Ministry of Dung. The battle with bureaucracy turns out to be a more Herculean task than any of the hero's famous twelve labors.

The 1960s saw the awakening of an environmental consciousness in Western society. Hercules and the Augean Stables premiered only a year after the publication of Rachel Carson's groundbreaking book Silent Spring in the United States. A growing concern for the environment is apparent in Durrenmatt's play as well. In the world of the piece, humanity is choking on its own filth. Pollution, in the form of bovine waste, is threatening society with complete collapse, but to wash it all away could "pollute the entire Ionic Sea."

Reflecting the environmental movement of the early 1960s, Durrenmatt echoes calls for a greater respect for nature. In Scene 10, Hercules's mistress Deianira rhapsodizes on the earth, which produces all that man requires. While Augeas's son Phyleus is determined to dominate nature, Deianira's vision is of a harmonious world in which humanity loves the earth, and the earth requites that love with its fruitfulness. No one listens to Deianira, however. The dung becomes an unqualified environmental disaster, submerging the landscape, burying trees, and suffocating a once pristine brook.

Environmental concerns in drama go back at least as far as Ibsen's An Enemy of the People. Like Ibsen, Durrenmatt is less concerned with physical pollution than he is with the moral pollution that is tainting society. Just as Ibsen takes aim at democracy in An Enemy of the People, Durrenmatt uses Hercules and the Augean Stables to attack the inability of democratic governments to deal with any serious crisis. As Augeas's servant Cambyses remarks, "the dung is deepest in the minds of the Eleans. And you can't purify them with river water." Hercules fails to clean out the Augean stables not because he is unable to do so, but because the government will not allow him to do so. As in the public meeting in Act IV of An Enemy of the People where the crowd turns on Dr. Stockmann, the citizens of Elis turn against Hercules in the parliament scene of Durrenmatt's play, placing more and more obstructions in the way of his job.

The bitterest satire comes at the end of the play. After Hercules abandons Elis, Augeas shows his son Phyleus another plan for dealing with the catastrophe. In a private garden, Augeas has been composting small amounts of dung, slowly converting it to soil. Democracy has failed, but like Ibsen's Dr. Stockmann, Augeas is doing what little he can to improve his country. Multiple critics have compared the ending of the play with Voltaire's final chapter of Candide. However, the ending even more closely follows the final scene in An Enemy of the People. Augeas rejects politics as doomed to failure and exhorts his son to prepare the way for enlightenment, just as Stockmann turns his back on the majority to train his sons and a few other young people for the future.

Durrenmatt goes one step further than Ibsen. Stockmann can envision an improved democracy somewhere in the distant future where his descendants can continue the fight for truth. Augeas has no such comfort.  His teenage son ignores his advice and goes off to fight Hercules, an action certain to be fruitless and fatal. Not only does democracy not work now; there is no prospect for it to ever work in the future if the youth of Elis refuses even to try.

The play originally ended with Augeas's hopeful speech, but Durrenmatt decided to add the twist ending of the son's rejection after the opening night performance. In the new ending, the playwright offers a sliver of hope only to pull it away at the last moment, a technique he used the previous year in the bleak conclusion of The Physicists. The optimism of Augeas masks the play's pessimistic nature. The audience can sympathize with the patient farmer-president even as the play proves him to be wrong. While Hercules and the Augean Stables seems like good-natured fun, its critique of democracy actually cuts quite deep.


Tomorrow, I'll be posting my thoughts on another play dealing with the Herakles myth, Omphale by Peter Hacks.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

In Praise of Hacks

Other than Bertolt Brecht, how many East German playwrights can you name? Okay, yes, there's Heiner Muller, but who else?

I've been reading up on Peter Hacks, a German playwright who emigrated east from West Germany in 1955. In the U.S. today, Hacks is probably best known for his children’s fiction, but he also wrote a number of fine plays, including Omphale, a hilarious send-up of the Herakles myth.

Having positioned himself as an orthodox Marxist (even supporting the erection of the Berlin Wall), Hacks should have had plenty of support from the East German state. However, censorship issues dogged him throughout his career. Authorities nixed his 1959 play Worries and Power claiming it did not represent the "authentic" proletariat. This was in spite of the fact Hacks had researched and written the play in close consultation with coal miners. Eventually, the piece was produced, but the official press continued to hound the play, claiming that workers had walked out of the production in droves. This, of course, was a complete lie, as the play had been a hit with miners.
 
After such trouble with Worries and Power, Hacks turned to adaptations of classic works. In his 1970 play Omphale, he retold the story of how Herakles was made into a servant of Omphale, the Queen of Lydia. Herakles must slay the monster Lityerses, whose superpower is bad breath so powerful it even kills plants. However, once he falls in love with the queen, Herakles turns effeminate, dressing in women’s clothing, wearing cosmetics, and anointing himself with perfume. Omphale takes to wearing the lion skin of Herakles and carrying his club. This all causes much confusion for Lityerses, who isn’t sure which of these two he is supposed to fight.
 
Hacks again turned to adaptation with Market Day at Plundersweilern, which completed an unfinished play by Goethe. The original play went through several versions, in some of which Goethe himself appeared onstage in performances. Hacks reworked the piece to give the play-within-a-play a fitting resolution, but he largely sidestepped political issues. Instead, he strove to write a play that was simply sheer fun. Its premiere in 1975 seems to have been relatively free of controversy.
 
In 1980, Hacks undertook an adaptation of another Goethe play, Pandora. In the hands of Hacks, however, it became an environmentalist parable rather than a philosophical musing. Eventually writers like Muller, who produced edgy avant-garde dramas that challenged theatrical forms, eclipsed more traditional writers like Hacks, but his plays might just deserve a second look.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Notes on Greek Drama

The Birth of Athenian Drama

Though theatre historians regularly talk about "Greek drama," all of the extent plays from ancient Greece come from a single city-state, Athens. Indeed, Athens dominated Greek drama, just as it dominated so many other aspects of Greek culture in the fifth century BCE. Even after the defeat of Athens in the Peloponnesian Wars, Athenian culture remained the gold standard. This was also true after the conquest of Greece, first by the Macedonians, and then by the Romans. Even today, our entire global culture frequently looks back to Athens as the model of drama, philosophy, art, and democracy.
All Greek theatre seems to have grown out of the dithyramb, a choral ode sung and danced in honor of Dionysus, the god of wine and fertility who subsequently became the god of drama as well. 

According to ancient sources, the extraordinary man who transformed the dithyramb into a piece of drama was Thespis, who came from the island of Icaria but later seems to have settled in Athens. It was Thespis who turned the dithyramb into a story and stepped out from the chorus to take on the role of one of the characters. While people continued to perform dithyrambs, this modified version became its own art form. The Greek's called it tragedy, which means "goat-ode," so it is possible a goat might have been given to the person who composed the best tragedy.

Dithyrambs, tragedies, and later comedies were all performed at festivals in honor of Dionysus. These included the Rural Dionysia at the beginning of winter, the Lenaia in mid-winter, and most importantly the City Dionysia at the beginning of spring. The Athenian tyrant Pisistratus, who seized power in the sixth century BCE, encouraged the City Dionysia as a means to win popular support. The festival continued to grow after his death and the subsequent return of democracy. Eventually, three full days of the festival were dedicated to the performance of tragedies.

Athenian playwrights not only wrote the words for their plays, they frequently composed music, choreographed dances, and even acted the leading roles. For the City Dionysia, officials would select three playwrights to present performances on each of the three days dedicated to tragedy. Each performance consisted of three tragic plays and a comic satyr play, which poked fun at myths and legends. Originally, all of these plays seem to have been related. As time went on they evolved into four relatively independent works. The playwrights competed against one another for first, second, and third prize, which would be awarded for an entire cycle of four plays. A jury of ten citizens chosen by lot would award the prizes. With victory came prestige, but no great material benefit.

Aeschylus

The first Athenian playwright whose work survives is Aeschylus. It was Aeschylus who introduced a second actor to the stage. Prior to that, the main actor could only make speeches or converse with the chorus. With Aeschylus, for the first time, there were actual scenes, with actors speaking to one another. Aeschylus was also famous as an actor, usually performing the leading role in his own plays. He also introduced lavish spectacles, including choruses wearing exotic costumes.

The oldest surviving drama is The Persians, a tragedy by Aeschylus celebrating the defeat of the Persian Empire by an alliance of Greek city-states. Aeschylus himself fought in that war, as did many in his audience. As a result, most historians view the play's account of the naval battle at Salamis as reasonably accurate. The play features a chorus of exotically dressed Persians hearing about their nation's defeat. It also includes a dramatic moment where the ghost of the emperor's father returns from the grave to condemn his son's decision to invade Greece.

The rest of the Greek tragedies we have are based on myths. Aeschylus wrote The Seven Against Thebes about a fratricidal war between the two sons of Oedipus, Polynices and Eteocles. Another play, The Suppliants, seems to be a throwback to an earlier era of drama, because the chorus functions as the main character. It concerns the daughters of Danaus, known as the Danaids, who flee Egypt after being forced to marry their cousins. The modern playwright Charles Mee later used the same story as the basis for his play Big Love. Aeschylus probably also wrote the play Prometheus Bound, which shows the unjust punishment of the titan Prometheus for bringing fire to mankind.

Most importantly, however, Aeschylus wrote the only surviving trilogy of related tragedies performed at the same festival. The trilogy, known as the Oresteia, consists of the three plays Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, and The Eumenides. Originally, it was performed with the satyr play Proteus, but that play has been lost, with the exception of a few fragments. Together, the plays tell the story of the fall of the House of Atreus, which allegedly ruled the city of Argos during the Trojan War. Queen Clytemnestra murders her husband Agamemnon after he returns victoriously from the war. Her son Orestes comes home to revenge his father's murder and kills Clytemnestra, but then is tormented by the mythical Furies for murdering his mother.

Ultimately, Orestes is forgiven and the Furies are transformed into Eumenides, which represent a new spirit of justice. Much of the success of the last play, however, came from the elaborate outfits in which Aeschylus costumed the Furies, as well as the chaotic dances he choreographed for them. According to an anonymous biographer of Aeschylus writing long after the events occurred, at the premiere of The Euminides the Furies were so frightening that a woman in the audience went into labor. Though the anecdote might be an exaggeration, it does show how moved audiences could be by Athenian drama. It also establishes that women were in the audience for tragedies, even though men performed all of the roles (though some scholars still dispute this assertion). 

Sophocles

Aeschylus eventually lost his place as the top tragic poet in Athens to his younger rival Sophocles. While Aeschylus was known to take leading roles in his plays, the soft-spoken Sophocles did not act, instead sometimes playing the lyre onstage. He introduced a number of innovations to tragedy, including painted scenery, and he added a third actor, allowing for more complicated scenes. Sophocles also seems to have fixed the size of the chorus at fifteen, including the choral leader, or koryphaios. Though the chorus grew out of the dithyramb, which had 50 members, Aeschylus had dramatically reduced it in size, possibly using as few as 12 performers.

Though many tragedies relegate scenes of violence to offstage, Sophocles showed explicit violence onstage in his play Ajax, in which the tragic hero falls on his sword in full view of the audience. Though it is unknown how his painted scenery functioned, it could have aided the action, such as providing partial cover for the suicide of Ajax. Other plays of Sophocles also seem to have involved dramatic onstage action. According to one ancient account, Sophocles himself played with a ball onstage in his now lost play Nausicaa. Later dramatic theorists who wanted to hold up Sophocles as a model of restraint and decorum conveniently forgot these facts.

His play Antigone (first performed around 441 BCE) so impressed Athenians it is thought to have helped him win election as one of the city's ten generals. In the nineteenth century, the German philosopher Georg Hegel singled out Antigone as the greatest tragedy of the ancient world, because it so successfully lines up opposing forces that clash onstage. The character of Antigone represents traditionally female values, including home and hearth, the gods of the family, the netherworld, and the importance of the individual. Her uncle Creon, on the other hand, represents traditionally male values, including the security of the state, the public good, practical expedience, and the importance of the group. Sophocles gives both sides their due, even though the audience's sympathy ultimately rests with Antigone.

The other plays by Sophocles that have survived are Oedipus Tyrannus (Oedipus the Tyrant), Electra, The Women of Trachis, Philoctetes, and Oedipus at Colonus. These have all inspired countless retellings over the years. Oedipus Tyrannus became the basis for Jean Cocteau's play The Infernal Machine. Luis Alfaro reset Electra in a barrio in East L.A. with his play Electricidad. The poet Ezra Pound did a modern verse adaptation of The Women of Trachis. Irish poet Seamus Heaney wrote an adaptation of Philoctetes called The Cure at Troy. The most famous modern version of Oedipus at Colonus, the last play Sophocles wrote, was a Broadway production directed by Lee Breuer called Gospel at Colonus, which famously used a gospel choir for the chorus.

We also have about 400 lines of The Trackers, a satyr play by Sophocles about the search for the newborn god Hermes after he had stolen cattle sacred to Apollo. While tragedies and comedies had all sorts of choruses, satyr plays always had a chorus of satyrs. Greek art depicts these mythical creatures as naked men with erect phalluses and long horsetails. They traveled in the company of the fat god Silenus, who always led the chorus. Satyr plays lampooned myths and reveled in low comedy.

Euripides

The playwright Euripides was somewhat younger than Sophocles, though the two died roughly around the same time, in about 406 BCE. Euripides first competed in the City Dionysia in 455 BCE, a year after the death of Aeschylus. Though he was a frequent competitor, his plays won first prize only five times during his career. After his death, however, the plays of Euripides became wildly popular. For this reason, more plays have survived by Euripides than by any other tragic writer of antiquity.

Alcestis appears to be the oldest surviving play by Euripides, but it is not a typical tragedy. When it was first performed in 438 BCE, it took the place of a satyr play, which might help to explain the play's tragicomic tone. Euripides also wrote the one complete satyr play that has survived, Cyclops. The play closely follows the account of the cyclops in Homer's Odyssey, but with lewd comments being made by Silenus and the chorus of satyrs. Another early play, Medea, has proven remarkably popular over time, though when it was first performed Euripides came in only at third place.

In 428 BCE, Euripides captured first prize for a cycle of plays containing Hippolytus, a tale about a vengeful queen who lusts after her stepson. This later became the basis of the neoclassical play Phedre by the French playwright Jean Racine. The play helped to incite critics of Euripides to accuse him of misogyny. This charge was strengthened by rumors his two unhappy marriages suffered from infidelity on both sides. However, Euripides presented highly sympathetic portraits of women taken as captives in war in such plays as Andromache, Hecuba, and The Trojan Women.

In some cases, Euripides seems to be competing directly with his predecessors. His play Electra, for instance, tells the same story as The Libation Bearers, but with far more cynicism. Sophocles might have intended his own Electra as an answer to the way Euripides had handled the story. His plays often contain a break midway through in which the direction of the plot markedly shifts, as is the case with Herakles. They can also indulge in excess to the point that they become melodramatic, a criticism often leveled at his play Orestes.

In his later tragedies, Euripides often employs a happy ending, as is the case with Iphigenia in Taurus, Ion, and Helen. These plays are sometimes called romances, a genre also identified with the late plays of Shakespeare. To achieve his joyous resolutions, Euripides sometimes had a god appear at the end of the play, possibly being lowered down from a crane in the theatre known as the mechane. His last cycle of plays, which included Iphigenia at Aulis and The Bacchae are noticeably darker. These won him first prize in 405 BCE, but only posthumously, as Euripides died the previous year.

Tragic Structure

Most of the tragedies we have from classical Athens fit the same general structure. They begin with a prologue, in which one person or a handful of characters might set the scene. A parodos follows, in which the chorus enters singing and dancing. This is typically followed by a series of episodes in which the characters confront one another. After each episode comes a stasimon, in which the chorus sings and dances again. After the episodes and stasimons comes the final scene, often known as the catastrophe, followed by an exit of the chorus known as the exodus.

The chorus was typically a homogenous group of people, such as a group of elders, suppliants, or local women. There was generally one choral leader (the koryphaios), and the chorus was sometimes divided into two halves. One half might sing the first part of an ode, known as the strophe (meaning "turn"). The other half would sing a response, called the antistrophe (meaning "counterturn"). There sometimes followed an after-song known as the epode.

In addition to the chorus, tragedies had no more than three actors, though these actors usually played several roles. In some cases, multiple actors might even portray the same character at different parts of the play. In addition to the playwright, the lead actor, known as the protagonist, also competed for a prize, as did each chorus. The secondary actor was known as the deuteragonist, while the third actor was called the tritagonist. There could also be any number of mute characters brought out, but at no point could a playwright have more than three speaking characters onstage, though the chorus and choral leader effectively functioned as characters as well.

In his book on tragedy, The Poetics, the Athenian philosopher Aristotle looked back from the fourth century BCE at the golden age of theatre and identified some of the dramatic techniques that were most effective. He wrote that a tragic hero should be a great personage who commits a misstep or harmartia, which is frequently translated as a tragic flaw. A typical example of harmartia is pride, or hubris. The hero should at some point achieve the insight of recognition, or anagnorisis, in which he or she uncovers a hidden truth. There should also be a reversal, or peripeteia, where a great person is brought low or an unfortunate person is lifted up. Aristotle suggested it is best when anagnorisis and peripeteia happen at the same time.

The purpose of tragedy, according to Aristotle, is catharsis. He described this as an experience of pity and fear that purges the audience of these emotions. Much has been written about the experience of catharsis and how it functions in tragedy, but it is probably easier to experience than to define. Anyone who has experienced awe and wonder at the end of a tragedy has felt catharsis. Whether or not it has any social function, as some theorists suggest, it is an undeniable fact of tragedy, at least when well performed.

Aristotle said that tragedy should have a unity of action, so that the plot was all of one piece. Later commentators added a unity of time and a unity of place. Aristotle does state that poets, so far as is possible, do tend to confine the action of plays to a single revolution of the sun or slightly longer. He never states this as a hard and fast rule, though, and some of the tragedies he discusses exceed this limit. Nowhere does Aristotle state that a tragedy must occur in a single place, as classical tragedies can move across vast distances in a single play.

The Poetics singles out Oedipus Tyrannus as the most perfect tragedy. Aristotle also frequently cites Iphigenia in Tauris as an example of an exception to many of the norms of tragedy. Other plays he discusses include Medea, Antigone, Orestes, Iphigenia in Aulis, The Libation Bearers, Ajax, Prometheus Bound, Philoctetes, Trojan Women, and Electra.

Greek Performance Techniques

In classical Greek theatres, the main action occurred in a circular space where the chorus danced known as the orchestra or "dancing place." In the middle of the orchestra was a stone called the thymele, which could have served as a prop alter, or it might have been a place for the koryphaios to stand. Behind the orchestra was the skene, a temporary building that provided a backstage area. Actors could enter and exit through the skene, and gods could be lowered down from the top of the skene using the mechane. Performers behind the skene could also roll out a cart known as the ekkyklema, which often revealed corpses in tragedies. The skene had small openings called thyromata in which there might be small painted panels known as pinakes.

Spectators sat on a semi-circular slope radiating out from the orchestra. The Greeks built this seating area into a hill, unlike the Romans who built freestanding structures for the audience. At first the Greeks used temporary wooden benches known as ikria, but later they built a permanent semi-circular stone structure called the theatron. A walkway called the diazoma separated upper and lower section of the theatron. The seat of honor directly in front of the orchestra was called the prohedria, and was reserved for priests and other dignitaries. 

Actors typically wore long, sleeved tunics and were masked. Masks were made of lightweight materials such as linen, cork, and wood. They covered the entire head, making the character's head slightly larger than normal. Masks and costumes were especially important in comedy, when they might transform actors into insects, birds, or other animals. Portrait masks could also depict prominent individuals being lampooned.

Attic Comedy

While tragedy was associated with the city, Athenian comedy was originally associated more with the farming region around Athens known as Attica. The oldest surviving Greek comedy, The Acharnians, features a chorus of men from a rural district outside the city and attacks the pro-war policies of Athens that frequently devastated the countryside. Comedy was not added to the City Dionysia until 487 BCE. Comedy seems to have been most associated with the Lenaia festival held in mid-winter. While visitors came from across Greece to the City Dionysia, the Lenaia festival was primarily for locals, so comic playwrights could be relatively free to criticize Athenian politicians.

The only comic plays to survive from the golden age of Athens are by Aristophanes. In addition to The Acharnians, he wrote a number of other plays criticizing Athenian politics and politicians, especially the demagogue Cleon, the chief object of satire in the play The Knights. Aristophanes also made fun of philosophers, putting Socrates on stage in The Clouds. His play The Wasps pokes fun of older men who liked to sit on juries. The heroes of The Birds are so fed up with Athenians doing nothing but argue over laws, they convince the birds to build a new kingdom in the sky.

Like tragedies, these comedies begin with a prologue followed by a parados in which the chorus comes onstage singing and dancing. The protagonist in an Aristophanes play typically has an outrageous plan, sometimes called the "happy idea." In Lysistrata, for instance, the title character wants the women of Athens and Sparta to stop sleeping with men until their husbands agree to end the war between their two cities. Though there was generally only one chorus, Aristophanes sometimes makes use of two. Lysistrata contains both a female and a male chorus who are ultimately reconciled at the end.

Aristophanes frequently made fun of Euripides and often quoted the tragic writer's more overwrought lines for comedic effect. In his play The Frogs, performed at the Lenaia the year after Euripides died, the god Dionysus himself goes down to the underworld to bring the playwright back to life. While there, he finds there is a dispute going on between Euripides and Aeschylus as to who is the better writer. Dionysus judges between the two, and decides to take Aeschylus back to life instead. The play manages to combine slapstick with a rather serious attempt at literary criticism.

One of the hallmarks of comedy during the period, sometimes referred to as "Old Comedy," was the ability to blend together incredibly bawdy jokes about sex, excrement, and drunkenness with lofty ideas concerning politics, art, and philosophy. The play The Parliament of Women portrays a group of women who seize political power in Athens and create a collectivist state in which everything is owned jointly. Extending this to sexual relations, they declare that young and beautiful people can have as much sex as they want, so long as they sleep with the old and ugly first. Halfway through a comedy, the chorus would typically come forward and address the audience directly in the parabasis, asking them to support the playwright. However, Aristophanes dropped this device in some of his later plays, including The Parliament of Women.

These later plays move toward a transitional form called "Middle Comedy" which was less political and focused on fictional characters rather than lampooning public figures. The chorus became less important in Middle Comedy and had virtually no effect on the plot. The only surviving example of Middle Comedy is Plutus by Aristophanes. In the play, the god of wealth walks the earth, but because he is blind he cannot tell good people from bad ones. Eventually, Middle Comedy would give way to the so-called "New Comedy" of Menander, the chief comic writer of Hellenistic Greece.

The Hellenistic Stage

Alexander the Great transformed the ancient world when he led the armies of Greece, which had been united under his Macedonian father Philip, to conquer the sprawling Persian Empire and even invade India in 327 BCE. Though Alexander's empire fell apart shortly after his death a few years later, Greek culture, known as Hellenic, was spread across the Mediterranean, and at the same time it was profoundly influenced by other cultures, particularly those from the east. Historians refer to the period after Alexander as Hellenistic, since it kept many of the traditions of classical Greece while also melding them together with other traditions.

During the Hellenistic period, theatre changed dramatically. The orchestra, which seems to have been circular before, became semi-circular, or sometimes in the shape of a polygon. While the chorus continued to dance in the orchestra, the main actors moved to an elevated area called the logeion behind the orchestra but in front of the skene. Both the skene and logeion came to be built out of stone, not just wood. Theatres also employed trap doors during this period, from which characters could ascend from the netherworld.

The stature of the actor increased, both metaphorically and physically. As festivals frequently revived older plays rather than presenting new ones, commentators focused on the craft of the actor rather than just that of the poet. Hellenistic actors wore thick-soled platform shoes called kothornoi, at least for tragedies. They augmented their already large masks with a headpiece, or onkos, making themselves appear even taller. To fill out the body, they would employ chest and stomach pads.

In comedy, the chorus declined in importance and the interest shifted from supernatural events to improbable but still realistic situations. This was the New Comedy of Menander, who flourished at the end of the fourth century BCE. Only one more or less complete play by Menander survives. This is Dyskolos, sometimes translated as The Grouch. The play relies on quick changes among the actors, who numbered four in comedy, as opposed to the traditional three in tragedy.


Fragments of other plays by Menander also survive. One, The Girl From Samos, is substantially complete, though it is missing more than a hundred lines. It is notable, however, in that a surviving mosaic from Roman times illustrates a scene from the play. Roman writers frequently adapted Menander's plays into Latin, so the situational comedy he developed had a long-lasting influence. Even modern-day sitcoms can trace their origin back to the New Comedy of Menander.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Herakles

I just saw Aquila Theatre's production of Herakles at BAM. The production features video footage of actual combat veterans telling their stories. One of them, Brian Delate, also appears as Theseus at the end of the play.

According to Aquila Theatre founder Peter Meineck, the company came up with questions based on the choral interludes of Euripides. It then asked the vets those questions, edited down their responses, and showed them in lieu of choral passages.

The production also makes good (and sparing) use of masks, and has creepy children channeling gods. It's a short run, but if you have a chance to see it, go!