Ultimately, the issue isn’t simply
about preparing a production of ancient tragedy and taking it to Epidaurus or
elsewhere. With a bit of effort, anyone can do that if they truly want to and
systematically pursue it.
The crucial question is: why should
they do it? Why enter into such a difficult and perilous challenge? Do they
have something substantial to propose or counter-propose? Is there something to
share with the audience that transcends the gears of the automated recycling of
familiar topoi and methods? Something capable of shaking us, unsettling us?
Something that could ultimately make us better and wiser citizens? And if not,
what’s the point of it all? What is the core motivation, if it’s not about
renewing our acquaintance with the classics?
Let’s be clear: our classical poets
are not modern. They are ancient, which means that any interpretative and/or
performative movement involving them is more than just a trial; it’s a
tremendous gamble.
Unlike the classics, Shakespeare, is
modern; similarly, Pierre Corneille, Molière, Jean Racine, Pedro Calderón de la
Barca, Lope de Vega, and Christopher Marlowe, are modern. These playwrights
lived and created within a new world—the world of history, of prognosis and
scientific forecasting. The ancients inhabited the realm of myth and prophecy.
The differences are vast and profound.
That said, it is clearly more
manageable to stage Hamlet, for example, than Oedipus, as Hamlet is a recognizable
three-dimensional being much closer to who we are as moderns. We can imagine
him walking downtwon, anywhere. The same goes for Juliet and Romeo.
It’s no coincidence that the history of modern theatre begins with Shakespeare.
Oedipus, Ajax, or Clytemnestra are
not "like us." They are ancient figures/forms that require a
completely different performative approach to be made modern.
I make this hasty comparison to
illustrate that the substantial staging of an ancient text is a far more
complex, demanding, painful, time-consuming trial filled with pitfalls. The
absence of absolute answers (evidence) on all levels (music, movement, acting,
etc.) transforms the entire endeavor into a "theatrical riddle," a
minefield that is prohibitive for shortcuts, hasty decisions, and makeshift
solutions.
Tragedy is not fast food. To claim
that one can prepare and stage an ancient tragedy in 7-8 weeks, one that will
also make a difference in our performative repertoire, is surely deceiving or
feeding delusions. Transforming ancient theatre discourse into something modern
requires immense sweat, faith, dedication, study, and long-term research;
otherwise, the outcome will inevitably be "more of the same," with
only minimal shades of difference. At best, that’s where it ends.
Everyone was in a frenzy this summer
over Theodoros Terzopoulos' Oresteia. Understandably so, and
rightly so. It was a magnificent production, a commendable summa of life. Those
spectators who had never seen Terzopoulos' work before were surprised. They
wondered, what is he doing? Where did he come from? Yes, they saw something
different, something completely "foreign" compared to what they are
used to receiving as stage readings of ancient texts. I don’t know if it
crossed their mind that this artist has been systematically, almost
obsessively, engaging with ancient texts for fifty years—a solitary, torturous
journey that is simultaneously incredibly captivating and essential. And the Oresteia was the triumphant conclusion to this beneficial
"odyssey," the mosaic of an entire life concentrated into a
three-hour feat.
You might say that not everyone has
the strength, will, thirst, or inner need to delve into ancient texts so deeply
as to extract their precious metals and render them essentially
"modern." There’s nothing wrong with that. I respect it. At the very
least, let them try to create, as much as possible, the conditions that will
allow for more time dedicated to this endeavor.
And since I mentioned this, I quickly
ponder: Why do we have Greek productions in Epidaurus every year? Let’s have
them every other year. Wkat's wrong with that? One year, let’s host exclusively
guest productions of ancient theatre from abroad (there are plenty), and the
next year local productions. I believe this way will create larger time margins
for preparing the Greek productions.
I know that such a thing will never
happen. Neither producers nor travel agents, nor of course directors,
translators, or leading actors want it. It’s all about the money. Above all,
that. And let them tell us (in a literary sense, of course) that art is
paramount. In any case, it was just a thought I wanted to share.
I discuss all this in light of The
Suppliants (dir. Marianna Kalbari) with which I decided to conclude my summer
theatrical excursions. I must confess it was not the best choice for a
"curtain call."
I still wonder: why was this
production staged? What did it have to offer us? To share with us the
translation by Gryparis? If that was all, we could have read it at home. What
was the point of rushing to the Dasos Theatre? Beyond that, I didn’t see anything
else. The presence of the remarkable Lydia Koniorou may have been dominant, but
it was not enough to change the nature of an indifferent whole.
The Suppliants is one of the most ideologically charged works of ancient theatre. It’s not only about gender issues taking center stage. It also addresses power and its limits, as well as the relationships between power and the people, issues of rights, popular sovereignty, etc. This production left us nothing to remember that it had once crossed our lives. In particular, the choreography of the Danaids was completely uninteresting—nonexistent and uninspired.
Judging by reports on audience
attendance in various venues, it seems the production was absolutely satisfied.
After all, isn’t this the ultimate desire of every summer production—to attract
as large an audience as possible? Box office numbers matter. Everything else is
secondary, and no one seems to care beyond grandiose literary promises.
However, it’s the viewer who spends
money at the box office. Shouldn’t we, then, consider more seriously and
systematically what the spectators take home with them, rather than primarily
what the production takes from the box office to its own home?
It's clear that the ideal and
healthiest outcome of this interaction between senders and receivers is for
both parties to emerge as winners, with no one losing. Achieving this doesn't
occur by chance; it demands considerable effort, continuous nurturing, and
mindfulness.
Originally published in Greek. Parallaxi 29/09/2024
