 photo by REBECCA J. BECKER |
BY STEFFEN SILVIS |
|
Oedipus Classic Greek Theater at the Cerf Auditorium, Reed College, 3203 SE Woodstock Blvd., 321-5026 or 224-8499. Noon Thursdays and Fridays, 4 pm Saturdays and Sundays. Closes Oct. 4. $8-$15 In the Poetics, Aristotle illustrates points with frequent references to Sophocles' Oedipus. To the philosopher, the play was exemplary, becoming for him the benchmark by which all tragedy was judged. Even Aeschylus' treatment of the myth was eclipsed by it and vanished. With what little we possess of Greek drama--and it is fractional--Aristotle's opinion seems sound: Oedipus is the masterwork of the ancient theater. Of Aeschylus' 90 plays we have seven. Of Sophocles' 120, seven are extant. Of Euripides' 92, 16 survive. The works of the two other great Greek tragedians, Agathon and Ion of Chios, exist only in scattered fragments. But rarer still than the work itself is information about how the plays were performed. We know how many actors there were and how the theaters were constructed. Music and movement were involved. So, too, were masks, but we've little knowledge of how they were used or what forms they took. We knew what some of the masks looked like, but we didn't understand how the voice from within was amplified. Still, our knowledge is conjecture at best, but this hasn't stopped the development of a classic Greek style over time. This style presumes that all movement went towards constructing frieze-like tableaux and that the lines were uttered as solemn declamation. One of the tasks of modernism was to save the Greek canon from such artificial accretions and to translate the mystery and sacredness into modern idiom. (The most radiant example may still be von Hofmannsthal's version of Sophocles' Elektra married to the music of Strauss.) The Classic Greek Theater Company recognizes the inherent problems of staging Greek plays in our time and in its informative program even warns against the creation of museum pieces. But the company's current production of Oedipus is fraught with all the stiff and studied trappings of the very style it deplores. Directed by Keith Scales, this Oedipus is not without its pleasures. The serviceable translation is by Scales himself; occasionally there are beautiful poetic constructions, but there are also odd exhibitions of pedestrianism. Scales' cast is fairly strong. Scott Coopwood makes a commanding, though rather limited, Oedipus. He has the perfect amphitheatrical voice and excels at communicating Oedipus' vanity and determination. He is less convincing in Oedipus' fall from grace, though he's clearly hampered by some of Scales' decisions. David Seitz's Tiresias is wonderfully realized, as is Scales' interpretation of the dialogue between the king and the prophet. James Eikrem as Creon and Mark Homayoun as the Corinthian also put in good performances, though Susan Jonsson's Iocasta is presented as a series of surface emotions. Success in staging a Greek play hinges on the handling of the chorus. As the program reminds us, many modern versions of Greek plays either banish the chorus altogether or reduce it to a single voice. But there are examples of modern choruses that have come close to capturing some of the power of the original, such as one production of Euripides' Trojan Women in which (taking a cue from Peter Sellars' production of Ajax) the chorus of Trojan women spoke in sign language with one woman interpreting, signifying a horror too great for speech. Unfortunately, Scales' production fails for his chorus. He begins the play very well, with the chorus speaking behind the audience. (He has also cleverly double-cast the chorus members as other characters.) But once the chorus enters the orchestra, it is reduced to effortful and palsied choreography. A shimmy explodes into a brief cavort, and then the members shunt themselves from left to right to approximate confusion. The vocal work is also poor, with much moaning and sing-along. Scales misses many opportunities to effectively integrate the chorus with the action. The ending is especially weak, with the chorus shepherding the blinded Oedipus out of Thebes and chanting, like automatons, "Drive him out" (lines which do not appear in Sophocles). Scales begins the play well with the chorus' periodic cries of Oedipus' name when he is held in awe. Wouldn't it be more effective to end his reign with their turning his name into a taunt? The choreographed spitting after Oedipus is risible. Far more powerful would have been the chorus striking its staffs into the ground to create a true gate between themselves and their tragic king. As for the misapplied stripper's fringe (to paraphrase Ariel in The Tempest, "Those are tassels that were his eyes"), silence should suffice. The Cerf Auditorium's setting could pass as Sorin's estate in Chekov's The Seagull, and the association is apposite. As with Constantine's play within the play, Scales' Oedipus is an earnest theatrical display that honestly attempts, but ultimately fails, to achieve relevance and beauty.
originally published September 30, 1998
|
