Showing posts with label Sophocles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sophocles. Show all posts

Friday, January 23, 2026

Into the Light

Marc Castle's new play Into the Light (which I'm directing) opens tonight, so get your tickets while you can!

In addition to writing the play, Marc Castle is starring as Sol, a newly departed soul who arrives in the hereafter only to find that none of the people waiting for him there are the ones he expected. Marc's previous plays have been done at EST, the Neighborhood Playhouse, and La Mama. In another age, he toured as a child actor in the first national company of the musical Camelot. He later wrote about it in his one-man show One Brief Shining Moment.

Acting opposite Marc is Terri Campion, who also wrote My Girl, one of the one-acts going up together with Into the Light. She's perhaps best known for her novel, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow, but she also has a long list of acting credits, including Hetty in Alice Gerstenberg's Overtones at Metropolitan Playhouse and Clytemnestra in Euripides's Iphigenia in Aulis with Greeks & Company.

Ralph Pachoda appears in the play as Jake, an old acquaintance of Sol's. Ralph is a regular at ARTC's weekly developmental workshop, but he also has had a long career as a classical actor. He appeared Off-Broadway as Creon opposite James Earl Jones in Oedipus by Sophocles. He also did a national tour of Lanford Wilson's Talley's Folly with Maryanne Plunkett.

Rounding out the cast is Jeannie Dalton, who plays Sol's mother Goldie. She's a brilliant comic actress who has played everything from Dunyasha in Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard to Raina in Bernard Shaw's Arms and the Man to Puck in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream to Fanny in Eric Overmyer's On the Verge to Elmire in Moliere's Tartuffe

After tonight, we have only three more performances as part of the Two by Four festival playing at HB Studio's 124 Bank Street Theater. We're on again tomorrow, January 24th at 7pm, Sunday the 25th at 3pm, and then our final performance is on Tuesday the 27th at 7pm. I hope to see you there!

Thursday, August 29, 2024

Unmasking Electra

Last night, I attended a virtual talk on Eugene O'Neill's trilogy Mourning Becomes Electra by the mother-daughter team of Carole and Beth Wynstra.

Beth, who is an associate professor at Babson College, noted that her mother Carole, the co-president of the Eugene O'Neill Foundation Board, is a much better parent than the character of Christine in the play. Carole said that's a pretty low bar, being that Christine is an adulterous and murderous fiend.

Masks come up frequently in the play, including in the stage directions. Not only were masks used by actors in ancient Greece, but O'Neill originally intended the play to be performed masked, as was his earlier play The Great God Brown when it premiered in 1926. Later, O'Neill decided to discard the mask idea, and when Mourning Becomes Electra premiered in 1931, it was performed unmasked.

O'Neill based the work on another trilogy, The Oresteia by Aeschylus. However, the story of Electra was also told by other Greek dramatists. Both Wynstras agreed that the version by Sophocles is probably the best. Euripides also wrote a play called Electra, though, which goes a little off the rails in spots. In his version of the story, Electra is forced to marry a peasant, but is later rescued by her brother Orestes and his friend Pylades.

In O'Neill's telling of the story, that doesn't happen, but there's still plenty of room for other varieties of familial dysfunction. As the Mannon family tears itself apart, the action is commented upon by the community. In Greek plays, this would have been done by the chorus. While O'Neill did not introduce a chorus per se, he did provide the character of Seth to provide a choral element, along with several minor characters. Carole noted that the singing of the song "Shenandoah" also adds to the feel of a chorus.

Beth pointed out that the actress who originally played Christine, the Clytemnestra figure in O'Neill's work, also appeared in soap advertisements at the same time as she was featured in the play on Broadway. The actress, Alla Nazimova, seemed to be playing with her own image, both on and off stage, emphasizing her own good looks even as she acknowledged that she was an older woman. Nazimova, by the way, went on to perform other important roles on Broadway, including the Priestess in Bernard Shaw's The Simpleton of the Unexpected Isles.

The Electra-like role of Lavinia was originally played on Broadway by Alice Brady, who later performed in numerous Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. Apparently, she and Nazimova did not get along. (Neither did their characters, as Lavinia plans her own mother's murder.) Carole mentioned that there was also a film made in 1947 with Rosalind Russell as Lavinia.

Next month, the play is scheduled to run at the Eugene O'Neill Festival in Danville, California. Tickets are already sold out, though, so you'll have to settle for the movie, or perhaps reading the play.

Thursday, August 1, 2024

Shelley's Mythic Dramas

I very much enjoyed attending the conference of the British Association of Romantic Studies in Glasgow, but the conference isn't quite over yet. Today and tomorrow, numerous sessions are being held online.

This morning, I zoomed in for a panel chaired by Francesca Saggini and a roundtable put together by Omar Miranda. I was most interested, however, by a paper Pablo San Martín Varela delivered this afternoon as part of a session on Manifestos, Uprisings, Rebellions and Revolutions.

Varela spoke on "The Making and Unmaking of Social Structures in Shelley’s Later Dramas" including Prometheus Unbound, Swellfoot the Tyrant, and Hellas. Unlike P.B. Shelley's frequently performed play The Cenci, these dramas are all based on Greek models, and likely weren't meant for performance.

Prometheus Unbound is inspired in part by Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound, which had a lost sequel by the same name as Shelley's drama. Varela said Shelley's play shows a mind trying to remake the world through imagination and love. By using myth, he argued, Shelley was able to create an alternate way of representing history in which violence did not have to beget more violence.

Swellfoot the Tyrant is a literal way of translating Oedipus Tyrannus, but Shelley's burlesque has more in common with the Old Comedy of Aristophanes than with any tragedy by Sophocles. He wrote the play in the wake of the Queen Caroline affair in Britain, and it largely reflects contemporary politics. Varela noted that the chorus of swine in the play turns into a chorus of horned bulls when they become no longer just passive representatives of the masses.

I've previously written about Shelley's Hellas, which is a reworking of another Aeschylus play, The Persians. It portrays the uprising of Greek patriots against the Ottoman Empire, but just as Aeschylus told his story of freedom from the oppressor's point of view, Hellas focuses on the Ottoman Emperor Mahmud II. Shelley opposed violence for any reason, and Varela noted that the play depicts rebels as resorting to the same violent means as their oppressors.

The online portion of the conference continues tomorrow. I'm hoping to catch a session on Rewriting Narratives of the East.

Wednesday, September 27, 2023

Ajax

I returned tonight from seeing Theater of War's presentation of the ancient Greek tragedy Ajax by Sophocles live in Four Freedom's Park on Roosevelt Island.

The character of Ajax was well known in the classical world, and was mentioned in comedies as well as tragedies. For instance, in the Roman comedy The Captives by Plautus, the wily slave Tyndarus says of someone he accuses of acting crazy, "Dress him up in the proper costume and he'd be mad Ajax to the life."

The insanity of Ajax was a key incident in the Trojan War. After the armor of his friend (and cousin) Achilles was given to his enemy Odysseus instead of him, Ajax decided to kill the Greek generals who had made the decision based upon speech-making rather than prowess in battle. When he got to the generals' tent, however, the goddess Athena made him blind with rage.

Athena led Ajax to a herd of sheep and cattle, and then made him turn his anger onto innocent beasts rather than men. According to Sophocles's play, in a translation by Ian Johnston:

          He launched his attack against those animals
          and kept on chopping down and slaughtering
          the ones with horns by slicing through their spines,
          until they made a circle all around him.

When Ajax emerges from his madness and realizes what he has done, he is overcome with grief over the fact that he has disgraced himself. Actor Bill Camp played Ajax in the reading, generating an enormous amount of sympathy.

Equally moving was Amy Ryan, who played Tecmessa, the "war bride" Ajax captured in the siege of Troy, and who later bore him a son. Have lived and slept with Ajax for nine years, she cannot help but sympathize with him when he is brought so low that he contemplates suicide.

Though Ajax promises to bury his sword, he buries only the hilt, leaving the blade pointed up so he can fall upon it. In killing himself, he hopes to avoid dishonor, but causes tremendous grief to his half-brother Teucer, who was played by Ato Blankson-Wood. Teucer and Ajax share the same father, but Teucer's mother was enslaved in war like Tecmessa. He naturally protects Ajax and Tecmessa's young son, insisting that he shall be given his father's famous shield.

One of the remarkable moments in the play is when Ajax's mortal enemy Odysseus stands up to the generals and tells them that the warrior deserves an honorable burial in spite of everything he has done. As Odysseus, Jesse Eisenberg expressed regret over the death of his fallen rival and even offered to help bury him. Teucer declines this offer out of consideration for his brother, but still thanks Odysseus for the gesture.

Theater of War employed actual combat veterans for the chorus, with Eduardo Jany and Latoya Lucas portraying the sailors who traveled to Troy with Ajax. The fact that many of our nation's own combat veterans suffer from mental health issues, episodes of violence, and even thoughts of suicide was not lost on members of the audience.

The character of Tecmessa also provided an analogy for the family members of veterans, who have to deal with the repercussions of trauma experienced by their spouses and loved ones. The event was live-streamed, and if a recording was made, you might be able to watch it in the future.

Sunday, December 19, 2021

Atalanta in Calydon

The Victorian poet Algernon Charles Swinburne is probably best known for his 1866 book Poems and Ballads, but the year before that he published a rather curious verse drama called Atalanta in Calydon.

Just as Swinburne's hero Percy Shelley had written Prometheus Unbound inspired by a lost play by Aeschylus, Atalanta in Calydon takes as its jumping-off point a lost play by Euripides, Meleager. At the beginning of his own drama, Swinburne quotes a Greek fragment from Meleager, roughly translated as: "Do good to them while they live, for every man when he is dead is earth and shade, and nothingness comes to nothing."

Atalanta in Calydon tries to mimic Greek tragedy in form as well as content. Greek dramas typically began with a prologue prior to the entrance of the chorus. In some cases, like Antigone by Sophocles, this prologue was a dialogue between two characters, but Euripides frequently had a single actor relating the prologue, often portraying a character who might never again appear in the play. This is what Swinburne does, having a "Chief Huntsman" recite a hymn to Artemis at the beginning of the play.

The huntress goddess is also honored by the chorus, which sings a classical parados while entering. Their opening lines are frequently anthologized:

     When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,
         The mother of months in meadow or plain
     Fills the shadows and windy places
         With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;
     And the brown bright nightingale amorous
     Is half assuaged for Itylus,
     For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,
         The tongueless vigil and all the pain.

The fact that the chorus is singing about Philomela and Procne hardly bodes well. To avenge the rape of her sister Philomela, Procne murdered her own son Itylus and fed his flesh to her husband, the King of Thrace, who was also Philomela's rapist. In the world of this play, children are precious, but siblings more so.

Atalanta, the title character, is not so much the protagonist of the play as is Althea. The legendary mother of Meleager, Althea had heard the Fates say that her son's life would only last as long as a brand burning in the fire. She plucked the brand from the fire, doused its flames, and preserved it so that her son might live. Althea relates this story to the chorus, who then sing a new hymn:

     Before the beginning of years
         There came to the making of man
     Time, with a gift of tears;
         Grief, with a glass that ran;
     Pleasure, with pain for heaven;
         Summer, with flowers that fell;
     Remembrance fallen from heaven,
         And madness risen from hell;
     Strength without hands to smite;
         Love that endures for a breath:
     Night, the shadow of light,
         And life, the shadow of death.

This grim view of existence precedes the entrance of Meleager, who catalogs all of the heroes assembled to hunt the famous Calydonian boar that is wreaking havoc on the land. It is only after the chorus sings another hymn that Atalanta finally enters. Meleager praises her virtue and beauty, but the other members of the hunting party just want him to shut up so they can go after the boar.

Atalanta is a great huntress, which is why Meleager invited her along on the boar hunt to begin with, but the men want nothing to do with her. Meleager's sexist uncle Plexippus goads him, saying, "Why, if she ride among us for a man, / Sit thou for her and spin; a man grown girl / Is worth a woman weaponed...." Later, he suggests the way she can help with the hunt is by being a human sacrifice. Atalanta speaks up for herself, though, and proclaims her own worthiness.

Ultimately, Atalanta not only joins in with the hunt, but even helps to kill the boar. After Althea gets this news, however, she receives darker tidings. Her two brothers have been killed, and by the hands of her own son. A messenger relates how Meleager tried to give the boar's head and hide to Atalanta, but this enraged Plexippus and his brother Toxeus, who assaulted her. Defending Atalanta, Meleager killed both his uncles, an act that sends Althea into a rage.

Of course, Althea had the means to exact revenge on her son. She burns the brand she once plucked from the fire, and Meleager wastes away and dies. Greek tragedies frequently ended with a kommos, or mixed song shared by both the chorus and main characters. During the final kommos in Atalanta in Calydon, Meleager and Atalanta say their final farewells, and then the young man enters eternal night.

Swinburne went on to write other plays in imitation of older styles, and Poems and Ballads contains a verse drama called The Masque of Queen Bersabe, written in a medieval style and subtitled A Miracle-Play. The poetry of Atalanta in Calydon has had a longer-lasting impact, though.

Tuesday, October 26, 2021

Laocoon

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing is known for his Enlightenment-era dramas, including Nathan the Wise, Minna von Barnhelm, and Miss Sara Sampson. However, he is also important for his many theoretical works on the theatre.

Lessing's Hamburg Dramaturgy is rightly hailed for the influence of its component essays on the German stage. One essay not included in the Hamburg Dramaturgy, however, is a book-length meditation on painting and poetry called Laocoon, in which Lessing sets forth a rational aesthetics for all art, drama included.

In the preface to Laocoon, Lessing speculates that the first person who compared painting with poetry was an amateur, the second was a philosopher, and the third was a critic. Since Lessing himself was a philosopher, I want to focus on the philosophic point of view in Laocoon. In discussing a hypothetical man analyzing the nature of pleasure (Aristotle is probably intended) Lessing writes: "Beauty, our first idea of which is derived from corporeal objects, has universal laws which admit of wide application."

This is a very Enlightenment concept of aesthetics. We arrive at ideas of beauty through experience. By observing corporeal objects, we come to understand that universal laws are at work. These laws can then be applied broadly to a variety of different works of art, regardless of when and where they were created. Do we agree, though? Is beauty universal? Can we uncover the laws by which it is governed? Do these laws transcend all time and place?

Lessing runs into trouble for us when his essay wanders into the territory of flat-out racism. In chapter 25, he reflects upon the fact that the "Hottentots" in Africa have very different concepts of human beauty than his own Euro-centric ideas. According to Lessing, those people regard "as beautiful and holy what excites our disgust and aversion."

Citing a source called The Connoisseur, Lessing invites the reader to imagine a "pressed gristle of a nose, flaccid breasts descending to the navel, the whole body anointed with a varnish of goat's fat and soot, melted in by the sun, hair dripping with grease, arms and legs entwined with fresh entrails." Is this part of Lessing's argument for universal beauty?

We take it for granted that whether a nose is "pressed" or slender is a matter of taste, and a narrow nose is only culturally constructed as beautiful. While breasts reaching the belly button might not be everyone's kink, who are we to judge? And come on, no one really adorns their body with entrails. That's just one of Lessing's racist fantasies, right?

Except, in a note, Lessing documents this as factual. According to The Connoisseur, an African beauty actually did appear adorned with "the shining entrails of an heifer." Whether this was true or not, Lessing gives us his evidence for believing it. Even if we accept that the contours of noses and the shapes of breasts are subject to personal taste rather than universal laws, can we really accept that it's only a matter of opinion whether entrails are sexy?

Here, however, I think we find a challenge to our own concepts a beauty. If I dig chicks in leather jackets, no one sees that as odd, but isn't leather the tanned skin of an animal? How is wearing the skin of a heifer any different from wearing its entrails? Though Lessing begins by trying to demonstrate universal laws of beauty, he ends up supplying arguments against the existence of those laws.

This brings us back to the famous sculpture known as the Laocoon group that gives its name to the essay. Lessing is struck by the sculpture's beauty, but it also presents suffering and horror. How can we reconcile the sculpture's artistic power with its grotesque and horrifying appearance?

Lessing is at his best when he compares the sculpture with the Sophocles play Philoctetes. The hero in that drama cries out in pain, which is horrid, but through art, the horrid can be rendered beautiful. As Lessing points out, Sophocles did not "hesitate to make the theatre ring with the imitation of those tones of rage, pain, and despair."

The fact that we hear that cry in drama, that we can experience the anguished calling out of Philoctetes while Laocoon must be forever silent in marble, could be an argument for drama being the most powerful of all the art forms.

Thursday, September 9, 2021

Aristotle's Poetics

When discussing Greek drama, the subject of Aristotle's Poetics frequently turns up, since not only is it a fascinating piece of criticism, but it also gives us a lot of evidence about the origins and history of classical tragedy.

It was Aristotle who suggested that tragedy grew out of the dithyramb. He also credited Aeschylus with first increasing the number of actors from one to two, and Sophocles with adding a third actor. Sophocles, according to Aristotle, also introduced painted scenery to tragedy.

The sixth chapter of The Poetics is the most famous. In it, Aristotle lays out his theory of catharsis, a purgation through pity and fear. He also catalogues the component parts of tragedy: plot, character, language, thought, spectacle, and melody. Of these, The Poetics singles out plot as the most important, since tragedy is not an imitation of people, but of their actions.

Plot, according to Aristotle, must be complete, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. In order to be beautiful, it must also have a size or magnitude appropriate to it. Plays must not be so long that we cannot hold them in our memory, and Aristotle writes that at one time tragedies were timed by water clocks, or at least some people people say so. (I wonder what would have happened if a play went over the time limit!)

Aristotle is opposed to episodic drama, in which actions follow one another in no probable or inevitable sequence. Instead, he recommends the use of reversals and recognition scenes, which work best when they go together to cause suffering, or pathos.

Later on, Aristotle's vague suggestions got taken for hard-and-fast rules all playwrights had to follow. If we take his advice as it was meant, helpful hints rather than dictates, The Poetics can be a useful resource for dramatists even today.

Saturday, September 19, 2020

Amphitryon

We generally think of the Greeks and Romans as dividing their plays into clear examples of comedies and tragedies, but Plautus's play Amphitryon turns that idea on its head.

In the prologue, we have Mercury, messenger of the gods and patron of thieves and tricksters, tell us the performance will be a tragedy, but then he quickly walks back that declaration:

What? Frowning because I said it's tragedy!
I'm a god. I'll change it for you:
Transform this selfsame play from tragedy to comedy and never blot a line.

Later, Mercury says that instead the play will be a tragicomedy, since you don't have kings and gods in all-out comedy. Thus, the genre of tragicomedy was born, blending together the conventions of two different genres. Later authors who wanted to mix genres could point back to Amphitryon as a model for their own experiments.

In the first act, the conquering general Amphitryon has returned from a war against the Teleboians on behalf of the king of Thebes, Creon. He's brought back with him his faithful servant Sosia, but little do they know the god Jupiter has just spent the night with Amphitryon's wife Alcmena. Jupiter has disguised himself as Amphitryon, and Alcmena is ignorant of the deception. What is more, Mercury has disguised himself as Sosia, who gets beaten up by his own doppelganger.

When the real Amphitryon shows up, Sosia doesn't know how to explain what has happened. Things get even more confused when the general sees his wife for the first time in months, but she assures him that they just parted. Sosia compares Alcmena to the same type of ecstatic women who appear in Euripides's play The Bacchae:

These raving maenads when they're raving--
You mustn't cross them... 
Or you'll make the crazy things still crazier 
And get yourself torn in two. 

Alcmena isn't about to tear anyone in two, yet she has been possessed by a god... though in a different way from the maenads who worshipped Bacchus. She shuts herself up in her house, and when Amphitryon tries to get inside, Mercury as Sosia mocks him and dumps water on his head. This scene provided the model for the first scene of Act III in Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors, though most of that play is inspired by another Plautus work, Menaechmi.

Amphitryon gets resolved when Jupiter miraculously reveals to the general and his household what has been going on the whole time. Alcmena gives birth to two sons, one biologically Amphitryon's, while the other is the child of Jupiter and destined to become the great hero Hercules. The general doesn't mind being cuckolded as long as it was by a god, and he accepts his situation, sending away the prophet Tiresias, who had been called in to sort out the matter.

So many of the characters--Creon, Tiresias, Hercules--appear in other ancient tragedies we have, and apparently the tragic dramatist Sophocles even wrote a play about Amphitryon, though it is now lost. Overall, though, Plautus's Amphitryon presents the action in a decidedly comic manner.

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Postmodernism

Just as the failed revolutions of 1848 brought about the climax and end of Romantic movements across Europe, the year 1968 brought a climax of the dreams and ambitions of the entire world in the post-war era, as well as the collapse of those dreams for very many.

In January of that year, the Prague Spring began in Czechoslovakia, when the liberal reformer Alexander Dubček became head of the country's Communist Party, promising "Socialism with a human face" and lifting censorship. The wave of liberalization led to uprisings in Poland and other Eastern European countries, as more and more people sought liberation from the oppressive policies of the past.

In the United States, Robert Kennedy launched a campaign for president that drew millions of young, idealistic voters. Meanwhile, his ally Martin Luther King Jr. was leading a civil rights movement that continued to be peaceful, in spite of provocations by white supremacists.

But if the year promised freedom, what it ultimately delivered was death. The bloody Tet Offensive in Vietnam left a huge number of casualties. Both King and Kennedy were assassinated. Student protests in Paris devolved into riots that failed to bring about meaningful political change. Across the United States, many cities were literally burning with social strife, and authorities tried only to contain the violence, unable (and in the view of many observers, unwilling) to stop it.

The Prague Spring collapsed, and days later, so did the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, as police clashed with anti-war protestors. The subsequent election of Richard Nixon as President of the United States and installment of Soviet tanks throughout Eastern Europe ensured that violence, repression, and decay would continue.

Though the following year, 1969, saw the first human beings land on the moon, what should have been a victory for all humanity came in the wake of so much chaos that many people were unsure of what humanity's future would really be. Modernism, which had thrived after World War II, seemed hopelessly naïve with its optimism of unending horizons and positive change.

Instead, art from around 1970 on is sometimes labelled postmodern, since it embraces skepticism and irony rather than grand gestures and sweeping narratives. Postmodern art engages with art from the past, but in a way that is eclectic, borrowing snatches and pieces of past art, but deliberately not synthesizing it together into a unified, comprehensive whole. The very notion of totality or universalism becomes a bitter joke in the hands of postmodern artists.

Postmodernism can be seen in architecture, for instance the AT&T skyscraper in New York which is topped by a non-functional broken pediment. It can be seen in photography, for instance in the work of Cindy Sherman, whose "Untitled Film Stills" series shows the photographer herself dressed up in various costumes, looking like she is in a series fictional movies. Postmodern sculptors like Jeff Koons use grand techniques to immortalize items of kitsch, producing such objects as giant stainless steel balloon animals. 

Perhaps the defining element of postmodernism is its unwillingness (and perhaps inability) to get away from the past it always confronts. The postmodern feminist artist Judy Chicago spent years assembling "The Dinner Party" which includes 39 place settings at a giant triangular table, each place setting painstakingly handcrafted to honor a different woman from history, including the playwrights Hrotsvitha, Hildegard of Bingen, and Virginia Woolf.

In theatre, postmodernism can be seen in the work of such playwrights as Tom Stoppard, Heiner Müller, and Janusz Glowacki, each of whom wrote plays that deconstruct the most famous work in the dramatic canon: William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead premiered at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 1966, shifting the play's center of attention from Hamlet to two minor characters. The play's dialogue is deeply influenced by the work of Samuel Beckett, but its playfulness marks it as a work of postmodern drama rather than the serious modernism practiced by Beckett. Müller's 1977 play Hamletmachine goes even further in its rejection of the conventions of drama, questioning even the importance of an author at all. In 1982, Glowacki premiered Fortinbras Gets Drunk, which takes a Stoppard-like approach of focusing on a minor character from Hamlet, but to probe political issues as much as existential ones. All three writers went on to create other postmodern works, including Stoppard's Travesties, which reworks Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest, Müller's Quartet based on the Pierre Choderlos de Laclos novel Dangerous Liaisons, and Glowacki's The Fourth Sister, which sends up Chekhov.

The British writer Harold Pinter was a close associate of Beckett, and his early works, The Birthday Party, The Caretaker, and The Homecoming, all exhibit the anxieties of post-war theatre of the absurd. Dubbed "comedies of menace," these plays rely on seemingly mundane dialogue and pregnant pauses to create an atmosphere of dread that reflected the unspoken horror of the new nuclear age. In the 1970s, though, Pinter turned in a new direction. Influenced by the postmodern turn toward skepticism and questioning, Pinter wrote a series of plays that retained the sometimes comic and sometimes tragic atmosphere of his earlier plays, but that delved into the nature of memory of past events. In Old Times, three people tell stories about their past together, sometimes revising their versions of the story, and sometimes contradicting the versions of other characters. Pinter's 1975 play No Man's Land depicts two older men recalling their past lives together, but the piece gets us to not only question whether the two men ever met in the past, but also whether the men themselves know the truth. One of Pinter's most commercially successful works, Betrayal, tells the story of a marital affair, but in reverse chronological order, from end to beginning.


Another postmodern British playwright, Caryl Churchill, first rose to prominence with Cloud 9, an attack on Victorian colonialism and sexual repression that implies a link between the two. Her 1982 play Top Girls utilized overlapping dialogue and out-of-chronology scenes to critique the way women sacrifice themselves and one another to get ahead in the world. Written in the wake of the election of the rightwing politician Margaret Thatcher as the first female prime minister of the United Kingdom, the play celebrates feminism while at the same time critiquing it. Churchill's work sometimes appropriates figures from folk belief to discuss contemporary issues, as is the case in Mad Forest and The Skriker, but the hallmark of her plays is an unending drive to experiment. Her fragmented 2012 play Love and Information contains more than 100 characters in dozens of scenes, many of them less than a minute long.


One manifestation of postmodernism in drama has been the so-called Theatre of Images. While most traditional theatre has been concerned with language (one of the six elements of drama laid out by Aristotle), the Theatre of Images replaces linguistic texts with a procession of images that are not necessarily aligned with any verbal meaning. Directors such as Richard Foreman, Lee Breuer, and Robert Wilson are often identified as artists working in a Theatre of Images rather than a theatre of words. Foreman is influenced by modernist writers like Gertrude Stein, but he has also tried to make audience members active participants in the creation of theatre, as he did with his 1976 play Rhoda in Potatoland. He frequently directs plays with non-professional actors, preferring their simplistic expressions over the mannered performances of trained actors.

Breuer co-founded the avant-garde Mabou Mines Theater Company in 1970 (together with JoAnne Akalaitis, Philip Glass, Ruth Maleczech, Frederick Neumann, and David Warrilow). With Mabou Mines, he has re-imagined numerous classic plays from the canon. His production of Gospel at Colonus used gospel music to re-introduce the feeling of the sacred into Sophocles' play Oedipus at Colonus. Breuer's production of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll House portrayed Nora as physically towering over the men in the play, accentuating the absurdity of her situation. His production of Peter and Wendy used Japanese-style puppetry techniques to tell the story of Peter Pan, and has played to adult and child audiences alike.

The term Theatre of Images is perhaps most associated with Wilson, who borrows from different media, cultures, and historical time periods to create eclectic pieces of theatre that usually have no discernible plot. He collaborated with the composer Philip Glass to create the 1976 opera Einstein on the Beach. Because of the length of the opera (more than five hours with no intermission) audience members were invited to come and go as they pleased, selecting which parts they chose to pay attention to and which parts to ignore. For the 1984 Summer Olympic Games in Los Angeles, Wilson planned a massive 12-hour-long performance called the CIVIL warS: A Tree Is Best Measured When It Is Down, but the Olympic Arts Festival cancelled it. Since then, Wilson has frequently worked outside of the United States.

Some scholars have labeled the Theatre of Images as postdramatic, since it eschews plot in favor of creating an overall mood or feeling. Rather than creating a narrative that tells a story, postdramatic theatre focuses on physical phenomena that audiences experience directly. While this style of theatre has its roots with modernist playwrights like Beckett, as well as postmodern writers like Müller, Pinter, and Churchill, it attempts to outgrow the playwright entirely. It renders the text as merely one component of a performance, and usually not even a very important one. Postdramatic performance stretches theatre to its limits, and because of that, most audiences have tended to avoid it, opting instead for more commercial theatrical ventures.

Wednesday, June 5, 2019

The Importance of Being in the Park

This year, The Public Theater is producing three big-budget plays at the Delacorte in Central Park: Much Ado About Nothing, Coriolanus, and a stage adaptation of the Disney movie Hercules, the last of the three done as part of the theater's Public Works program. However, there are plenty of other great shows to see in the parks this summer, including New York Classical Theatre's delightful new production of The Importance of Being Earnest.

Last night, I saw the classic Oscar Wilde comedy at the north end of in Central Park. Ushers greet you at the entrance at 103rd Street and Central Park West. Bring a blanket or a low folding chair, but make sure it's easy to carry, as you'll be moving from place to place. Each act is performed at a different location around the pond.

And be prepared for a potential surprise. I saw the show with the manly Ademide Akintilo playing Algernon while the charmingly feminine Connie Castanzo played Cecily. However, every other performance, they switch roles, so he plays Cecily, and she plays Algernon. All the other cast members switch roles as well, so every other performance is gender-swapped, which must be rather interesting, to say the least.

The Importance to Being Earnest is only playing until June 16th in Central Park. From June 18th to 23rd, the production will move to Brooklyn Bridge Park at Pier 1. Then, from June 25th through 30th, they'll be at Carl Schurz Park at East 86th Street in Manhattan. You can get more information and sign up for rain cancellation notices here.

Wherever you see it, and whether with a traditional cast or with the roles reversed, do make sure you get to the show. The cast, which includes Jed Peterson and Kristen Calgaro as Jack and Gwendolen, and Tina Stafford and Clay Storseth as Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble, is excellent. I saw Kate Goehring as a wonderful Lady Bracknell and John Michalski as a deadpan Merriman, but they might be just as good when they switch roles!

William Shakespeare is a perennial favorite for outdoor productions, and tomorrow night Hudson Warehouse is opening a new production of Antony and Cleopatra at the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument in Riverside Park at 89th Street. As is the case with New York Classical Theatre, they pass a basket, and it's pay-what-you-can. Starting July 4th in the same location, Hudson Warehouse will be putting on a stage adaptation of the Alexandre Dumas novel The Man in the Iron Mask, and in August they'll be back to Shakespeare with The Merry Wives of Windsor.

If Coriolanus and The Merry Wives of Windsor aren't your cup of tea, and you're looking for more familiar Shakespeare territory, Black Henna Productions is doing Hamlet, Viking Prince of Denmark in parks throughout Manhattan, Queens, and Brooklyn this month. Also, Smith Street Stage will be doing Romeo and Juliet in Carroll Park, and starting in July Hip to Hip Theatre Company will be doing traveling productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream and Richard III.

For those who are tired of work by that upstart crow Shakespeare, The Classical Theatre of Harlem is doing a real classic, The Bacchae by Euripides this July in Marcus Garvey Park. Last summer, they did a great job with Sophocles's Antigone, so it should be worth seeing, and once again, donations are appreciated, but there is no admission charged. For those who complain that theatre is too expensive in New York, this summer offers an appropriate response.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Antigone in Harlem

Last night I saw Classical Theatre of Harlem's production of Antigone, which sets the classic Sophocles play in an urban wasteland of the near future.

Alexandra King plays the title character, who refuses to compromise on the burial of her brother, Polynices. She isn't afraid to tell others exactly what she thinks, whether by insulting her sister Ismene (played by Ava McCoy) or spitting into the face of her uncle, King Creon.

In many ways, Creon is the protagonist of the play, not Antigone. Ty Jones (the company's founder who also played the title role in CTH's production of Macbeth in 2016) plays Creon with a fitting stateliness. We believe his growing rage both when he speaks to Antigone, and when he addresses his own son Haemon (played by Avon Haughton), who timidly tries to get his father to change his mind.

Though CTH does not credit an adaptor or translator, their website claims the piece was inspired by the adaptation by Paul Roche. Occasionally, the production introduces anachronisms, including some rather hysterical references to contemporary Harlem, but for the most part it sticks close to the original. One exception is that Creon's wife Eurydice (played by Adaku Okpi) has a slightly expanded role. This was a welcome change, given the gravitas Okpi brought to each of her scenes, and I would have liked to have seen even more of her.

It's great to see Greek drama performed outdoors the way it was intended, so come out to the Richard Rogers Amphitheater where the show is playing for free until July 30th.

Friday, April 15, 2016

Staging Medea's Chorus

I just saw the Argus Eyes production of Medea at Saint Peter's University in Jersey City. Staging a Greek chorus in a modern-dress production can often be a challenge, but director Mason Beggs found some interesting ways to make it work.

Argus Eyes used the new Robin Robertson translation, which was first published in 2008. The opening passage, given by Euripides to the nurse, instead came over the loud speaker:

                    If only it had never happened like this.
                    If the Argo hadn't opened its sails and flown
                    to Colchis through the Clashing Rocks.
                    If the pines were still standing
                    in the glens of Mount Pelion,
                    not cut and turned 
                    to oars for the Argonauts.
                    If Pelias the king hadn't sent those heroes
                    off to do his bidding, to cross the sea
                    and steal the Golden Fleece.
                    It would all be different. Not as it is.

Periodically, the production returns to the loudspeaker device, which makes sense, as audiences today are more familiar with voiceovers in movies than with soliloquies addressed on stage to an audience.

This first passage, however, is not a from the chorus. The choral lines, if I am not mistaken, were divided among characters listed in the program as "Maid" and "Handmaiden" and--most interestingly--Agathe.

Agathe? I don't remember a character with that name in Medea. But Beggs creates a nosey neighbor who comes over bearing cupcakes and scant comfort for Medea. Why she is named Agathe, I'm not sure, but the device works.

Of course, the chorus in Euripides is usually more peripheral than it is in Aeschylus or Sophocles. The star of this play is clearly Medea, as comes through in Robertson's translation. In one passage, Medea eloquently laments:

                    Of all living, sentient creatures,
                    women are the most unfortunate.
                    We must save and raise a dowry;
                    then the man agrees to marry us
                    becomes master of our bodies:
                    a second burden greater than the first.
                    Loss and insult: that is all we have.

If you'd like to see this production, you have two more chances: Saturday at 2:00 and then again at 7:00 at the Roy Irving Theatre at Saint Peter's University.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Stendhal on Theatre

The novelist Marie-Henri Beyle, better known as Stendhal, the author of The Red and the Black and The Charterhouse of Parma, also wrote some dramatic criticism in the 1820s, before his career took off as a novelist. In Racine and Shakespeare, Stendhal compared the playwright most praised by classicists with the dramatist most favored by the romantics.

Much of Stendhal's argument relied on oversimplification. For instance, he wrote that the entire dispute between Racine and Shakespeare could be reduced to deciding whether playwrights should observe the unities of place and time. For Stendhal, the answer was clearly no, they shouldn't, and in a long mock-dialogue he made fun of academicians who still clung to the unities.

In the third chapter of Racine and Shakespeare, Stendhal makes the bold claim that Sophocles and Euripides where romantic, and even that Racine was romantic. This is because these authors all tried to suit the age, rather than writing "literature which gave the greatest possible pleasure to their great-grandfathers." Stendhal's alleged romanticism, however, amounts to little more than embracing all that is new. He had harsh words for Byron, calling his tragedies "boring." Schiller had merely "aped Shakespeare" according to Stendhal. On the other hand, he praised Etienne de Jouy's now forgotten play Sylla.

Stendhal is most upfront in his preference for all things modern when discussing triumphal archesof all things:

When Louis XIV had the triumphal arch known as Porte-Saint-Martin erected, the bas-relief on the north side depicted French soldiers attacking the walls of a city. They were armed with helmets and shields and arrayed with coats of arms. Well, I ask you, were the soldiers of Turenne and the Grand Conde who won Louis XIV's battles armed with shields? What good is a shield against a cannonball? Was Turenne killed by a javelin?

According to Stendhal, the Romans were romantics, because "they depicted what was true for their time." Louis XIV's sculptors, by contrast, were classicists, and Stendhal makes clear how much he feels they deserve our contempt.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Yes, dear...

As I was reading Madame de Staël’s Germany, I was struck by the criticism she doled out against the author of the French adaptation of Friedrich Schiller’s Wallenstein. She wrote that this author “was obliged to incorporate in his play the exposition which was handled so originally in the prologue.” While she admitted that the first scenes were “in perfect accord with the imposing tone of French tragedy,” she complained that there was “a kind of animation in the irregularity of the German original which can never be improved upon.”

Um... Madame de Staël? The author of that French adaptation… wasn’t that Benjamin Constant? You know... the guy you were mentoring... and uh... sleeping with at the time?

Why, yes, it was! But that didn’t stop her from laying into her “little friend” even more. Referring to the play by its French title, de Staël wrote: “I would be curious to see the play Wallstein performed in our theatre, even more so if the French author had not submitted so rigorously to the conventions of French regularity.”

Geesh! Cut the guy some slack, can’t you? Well, a number of years later, Benjamin Constant finally admitted… yes, she was right. In 1829, the French-Swiss author published a revision of his preface to Wallstein, recognizing that, on each of these points, he probably should have listened to his girlfriend.

That first part of Schiller’s Wallenstein, the prologue that just shows a day in the life of an army camp, it really was better in the original, Constant admitted. With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight (and of a demanding lover who wasn’t afraid to say exactly what she thought), Constant wrote:

The scenes follow one another without being linked, but this incoherence is natural: it is a living portrait with neither past nor future.... We perceive all the symptoms of a burgeoning insurrection, awaiting Wallenstein’s signal to explode.... We see them defying authority, yet making it a point of honor to obey their leader.... It would be impossible to transfer to our stage this singular production....

Though Constant covers his rear by noting that he never could have gotten the French stage to accept something like Schiller’s prologue, he has to agree with de Staël that he at least should have tried. “In various ways I had destroyed the dramatic effect of the play by condemning myself to maintaining all our own theatre’s rules,” Constant wrote--two decades after he had first translated the play. Sadly, he had described Wallenstein’s superstitious nature rather than showing it, as Schiller had done. (Show, don’t tell, remember Benny? Didn’t a certain someone point that out to you…?)

Plus, he had eliminated a number of roles from the original, reducing 48 different characters to a mere 12. As Constant put it:

I had sacrificed, without any compensation, another advantage possessed by Schiller. Subordinate characters which are not directly linked to the plot allow the Germans a type of effect unknown in our theatre.... In German tragedies... there exists... a second sort of roles which are, in a way, spectators themselves.... Thus we can say that the audience’s opinion is anticipated and directed by an intermediary audience which is closer to the action, but no less impartial.

Constant compared Schiller’s use of secondary characters to the use of the chorus in the great tragedies of Sophocles. Looks like he missed out on that one. And then there’s the matter of his portrayal of the female character Thekla. Constant has to confess, he got her wrong, wrong, wrong. It seems there might have been a certain amount of eye-rolling from you-know-who on this one.
Toward the end of the essay, Constant writes:

Had I possessed more foresight or daring, [or perhaps just listened to my girlfriend] I would have avoided the majority of the flaws I have just indicated in my own work. I should have foreseen that a political revolution would carry over into a literary revolution. I should have foreseen that a nation which had only momentarily renounced liberty in order to hurl herself into the perils of conquest would no longer be satisfied by the weak and imperfect emotions which had sufficed for spectators softened by the pleasures of a peaceful existence and a refined civilization.

There’s a nice thought for this Bastille Day.

And next time, please pay attention when the lady criticizes your play. Especially when the lady happens to be Madame de Staël.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Walter Hasenclever

When the German playwright Walter Hasenclever wrote his own version of Antigone, he took some of the Kaiser's statements and put them word-for-word into the mouth of the villain, Creon. Now that's guts.

Legend has it, Hasenclever wrote his Antigone while actually at the Western Front during the First World War. After writing his break-through expressionist play The Son, in 1914, Hasenclever had volunteered for the army. Once he saw what war was really like, however, he turned against it.

Unlike the Antigone of Sophocles, Hasenclever's Antigone makes Creon unambiguously a tyrant from the very beginning. In his very first speech he declares:

     God, who defeated our enemies, has
     Raised me up as king. Heralds have 
     Proclaimed my will.
     (translated by J.M. Ritchie)

Later on, when he changes his mind, it is only because of the most dreadful of visions. In the stage directions, Hasenclever describes: "Heaps of dead. People with gaping wounds. Women, men with knives in their chests. Demented bleating like animals. Smashed limbs. Children stumble among the bodies." These images of war were clearly personal for Hasenclever.

Faking mental illness, he got out of the war, but then had to spend years in a sanitarium. That didn't stop him from winning the Kleist prize for drama with Antigone, though. The following year, he wrote the play Humanity, which also takes on the traditional German power structure, but which utilizes brief staccatto lines of dialogue rather than long speeches.

Hasenclever later turned to film and supplied dialogue for the Greta Garbo movie Anna Christie. Once the Nazis came to power, however, his career was over. He moved to France, and died there during the war, a sad end to a great anti-war playwright.

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.