BSF's 'Antigone': Brilliant Classic Theatre

◊◊◊◊◊ out of five.  90 minutes, including intermission.  Contains violent images and wounds of war.

 

That Antigone was written nearly 2500 years ago is only made more amazing by the fact that is contents are so timeless.  Sophocles' story of a girl willing to face off against state rules and rulers because her individual rights were of more value, and were more right, brings to mind any number of political arguments currently facing people worldwide.  That this is actually a dual tragedy – she dies for her beliefs, while the man who locked her away also faces his downfall – makes it all the more rich and poignant.  That man, leader of Thebes, has attacked another country, found initial success, and has allowed his own arrogance and self righteousness to so cloud his judgment that he declares victory much too soon, while the country he has attacked is methodically destroying the troops he left there to gather the spoils.  Does any of this sound familiar?

The Baltimore Shakespeare Festival, in the midst of its run of Antigone (adapted by Bertolt Brecht, translated by Judith Malina), has embraced the timelessness of this story in every aspect of their telling of it.  Directed by Raine Bode, this is a taught, thrillingly theatrical and completely contemporary piece.  One enters the theatre to see a massive set ahead – a two story bombed out shell of a city street, with a burnt out car prominently on display.  The effect is both awe-inspiring and sobering.  You need to read the program notes to find that this is set during the 1990's Balkan conflict, but my, and I'm sure many other patrons', first impression was that we were on a Baghdad street.  The image (set designed by Kimberley Lynn) is one we see on CNN time and time again.  Empty street, burned out buildings, remnants of a car bombing… the bodies can't be too far away.  Pretty mind-blowing stuff before the house lights dim and a word is uttered on stage, huh?

But before you need worry about the ancient language style and themes being an ill fit for the modern environment, you need only see the breathtaking Prologue, fraught with terrifying tableau of people alternately celebrating, returning from war, and painfully mourning a familial loss.  The Prolgue is cleverly presented in voice over by two young women (Zola Barnes, Ella Gensheimer), and they are later heard between scenes, framing the piece tightly, but in a very disturbing way.  (I won't give away the device here, but when you see it, it will blow you away.)  Then the real action starts, and while the language is spoken in a rhythm and juxtaposition unlike modern speech, Malina's translation is not difficult to understand.  She and Brecht make sure that the message is loud and clear.

Bode's magnificent staging is not limited to the Prologue.  Every scene is so tightly directed, every movement so specifically planned, it is like watching the convergence of art and utilitarianism, so smooth it is nearly undetectable.  In short, her direction is exactly what direction should be: full of meaning to support the text, artfully arranged so as to please the eye and provoke thought.  Watch the actors shift the balance of the stage as the balance of power in any given scene shifts; watch in act two as an imprisoned Antigone wordlessly emotes pain and suffering that we can see behind broken windows, while the rest of the world carries on.  Ms. Bode's images are arresting, clever, and best of all not suffocating or pretentious.  Her efforts are aided by a top notch technical staff.  Ms. Lynne's set suggests modern day warfare, while its tall column and Romanesque window shapes suggest classicism, which mirrors the play's ancient origins and this production's take on it.  Alexandra Pappas' lighting is dangerously shadowy, and employs much up lighting from the floor, which in turn projects ominous shadows on the expansive set.  The lighting and staging that often has the actors addressing the audience directly gives the feel of a live rhetorical debate, particularly when the characters on opposite sides of the political spectrum are imploring us to find favor with their views.  Todd Mion's sound, especially in the cavernous space that is St. Mary's, is creepy and evocative. The echoes are chilling, and when the recorded voices speak there is a detachment that is scary and other-worldly.

The ten cast members are uniformly superb, from top to bottom.  Each brings a presence which completes the complex puzzle that their director is presenting, and each understands the nature of how they are presenting their lines.  Some of the cast, the chorus members, understand that they are speaking as everymen, sharply pointed and with a decidedly theatrical flare – a style ideally suited to ancient drama, but that would look ridiculous in a modern drama on TV or on film.  These four (Jen Plants, Noah Schechter, Molly Moores and John Benoit) represent the people and the government, and it is gripping theatre when they slowly but surely change their political point of view.  The look of outrage on their faces as they realize their leader lied to them and has set them up for failure is chilling.

Dana Whipkey as The Guard sent to find his leader, Kreon, offers a slight bit of levity as he somewhat humorously, though ultimately seriously, delivers news of a blatant disregard for one of Kreon's edicts by members of his own family.  Whipkey's delivery is common man based, so much so that anyone can relate to the awkwardness and fear he exhibits.  The catalyst for the tragedy is that Kreon has forbidden the burial of Polyneikes, brother to Antigone, for he feels Polyneikes has betrayed him.  The Guard is the one to tell the imperious Kreon that Antigone has ignored his order and covered her brother.  He sentences her to death, and the tragedy begins.  Polyneikes (in the person of James Kinstle) lays before us as a constant reminder in Act One of the toll of war, not only on the soldier but on the folks back home, and as a reminder to Kreon of what he has done.  Kinstle, in a bit of ingenious casting, appears in Act Two as a blind soothsayer, letting Kreon know that his actions with Polyneikes are what started it all and the the winds of war are now certainly blowing against him.  Later, Kinstle appears in an overhead window wordlessly (and blindly) observing everything coming to closure.  His blank stare and sure posture are gripping for their simplicity and symbolism.

Ismene, Antigone's sister tries to share the blame, but is ultimately condemned to live while her sister pays for doing the right thing.  Tara Bradway, in this role, is a commanding presence when arguing with her sister to forget what is right and save herself, and is then heartbreaking as she seeks to share the blame.  The look of restless guilt on her face as she stares out the windows and slowly paces back and forth while Antigone is entombed in a cave says more about guilt over not doing the right thing to begin with than any 5 pages of dialogue might have.  Owen Scott, as Hamon, Kreon's youngest son, and fiancé to Antigone, delivers a very convincing speech against the tyranny of his father's rule.  The fire and passion in Mr. Scott's eyes is spine-tingling and should rouse the masses in revolt.  Much of his stage time is spent wordlessly supporting his condemned wife, and in anger against his father.

Christine Demuth, a diminutive young woman, with a gigantic stage presence, is dynamic as Antigone.  Ms. Demuth says more with her eyes than her lines, bringing a rich, deeply felt portrayal to the stage.  Antigone's fiery defiance in facing up to Kreon is inspiring and truly brave, and this actress is more than up to the challenge of delivering it.  Again, like many of her castmates, in Act Two, she does not utter a word, but watch her carefully through the upstage windows.  She continues to give a heart-wrenching, fully realized performance.

Finally, Stephen Patrick Martin gives a bravura performance as Kreon.  Martin is equal parts righteous indignation, oily politician, macho war hero, and subtly, a feeling father and family man.  He plays all but the latter facet of his character with an larger than life air and an infuriating pomposity.  Later, when his world is quickly crumbling before him, you realize that while his actions are mostly inexcusable, he personally regrets how things have turned out for his family and people.  In those final moments, face to face with a bloody soldier who warns that the enemy has not given up and is, in fact, on its way, Martin shows us a Kreon who truly believed he was doing the right thing, only to realize that he should have listened instead of silencing all opposition.  Matin's frank, self-involved delivery – maddeningly calm with a menacing dangerousness underneath – is all the more powerful in hindsight, given his pitiable delivery in defeat.  An excellent, layered portrayal of a complex role – congratulations, Mr. Martin.

Critics are often loathe to bandy about words like "perfect" or "flawless."  But, in truth, this production is magnificently close to being just that.  The local theatre scene, thus far in 2007, has be remarkably rich, and this production takes its place among several excellent presentations in Baltimore this year.  Hollywood may trot out its Oscar contenders all at once in the winter, but here, we have top notch theatre year round. 

Antigone plays only through next Sunday, November 11.  This is a production truly worth your time (and at a mere 90 minutes, not much will be taken), so don't miss it!

 

PHOTO by James Kinstle, courtesy of the Baltimore Shakespeare Festival.  Foreground: Stephen Patrick Martin as Kreon and Christine Demuth as Antigone; Background: Jen Plants as Chorus Leader and John Benoit as the Messenger Chorus.

 

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