Antigone by Sophokles (Anne Carson translation - CSUB 2019)

I was homeschooled from 2nd grade on, but for my last three years, I used video courses for my subjects. Although the coursework had some flaws, coming from Fundie publisher A-Beka, in general, the teachers were pretty good. I have a particular fondness for Mr. Collins, who taught 10th and 12th grade English. A crusty old guy, he was quietly subversive, going outside Fundie orthodoxy in his teaching (in a subtle way - that’s presumably how he kept his job) and really inspiring a love of literature. I have no idea if he is still living, but in any event, kudos to him for part of my good education.

In that 10th grade class, we studied World Literature, starting with Gilgamesh, but I particularly remember enjoying our study of Antigone. While it appears that most of my peers (and my own kids) get Oedipus Rex, we skipped that one. I wonder if it was because of all the sex in Oedipus, or if the writer of the curriculum just liked Antigone better. Whatever the case, Mr. Collins made sure we knew the backstory before we read the play. (As I said, a bit subversive.) Whatever the reason, though, I was moved by Antigone, and was thrilled when our local university announced that they would be doing it this fall. 

***SPOILERS FOLLOW***

Antigone’s story is both of its time, and timeless. In the aftermath of Oedipus’ death, his sons Eteokles and Polynikes quarrel over the throne. After initially agreeing to alternate years, Eteokles clings to power. Polynikes raises an army and attacks. Both brothers die in the ensuing battle, and Oedipus’ brother Kreon takes the throne. Kreon decides that Polynices’ actions are treason to the city of Thebes, and forbids the burial of his body. I admit some ignorance of Greek thought, but at least to our modern minds (and perhaps to the minds of the Athenian audience the play was directed at) it seems a bit unfair to consider the deal-breaker the good guy, and the other brother the bad guy. 

In any event, Antigone, who is the sister of the two brothers, is horrified at the decree, and takes action - a scandalous thing for a woman to do in that era. She buries her brother, and mourns his death. She then defies Kreon to his face, asserting that Divine Law (as she believes it) to be superior to his human law. Kreon is furious, and orders her shut up alive in a tomb, to die of thirst and starvation. Kreon’s son, Haimon, who is in love with Antigone, please with his father to be reasonable, citing (in addition to personal and moral reasons) the fact that the citizens of Thebes are horrified by his action. This leads to a tremendous fight between the two.

After a soothsayer prophesies doom to Kreon, he has a change of heart, and goes to release her. It is too late, however, as she has hung herself. The damage doesn’t stop there: Haimon, caught between his love for Antigone and his duty to his father, also commits suicide. In despair over the loss of her son, Kreon’s wife, Eurydike, kills herself, leaving Kreon alone - and he goes mad. 

While the specifics of the story may seem a bit outdated - we don’t have kings or primogeniture in 21st Century America - the themes resonate. Both Antigone and Kreon have valid points. Antigone is certainly right that Kreon’s law is unfair and cruel. She is also right, in theory, that sometimes a higher law supersedes a lower law. Whether one considers it a divine decree, or a moral principle, it can and should justify civil disobedience. On the other hand, Kreon is right that if everyone did what they saw fit, rather than followed the law of the land, anarchy would result. After all, humans find agreeing about what the gods want to be an impossible task. 

As the Thebeans and the soothsayer point out, however, the best way is neither anarchy nor cruelty. Laws should be just, and if they are not, they should be changed. Admitting one’s error isn’t weakness (as Kreon insists), but an actual strength. Kreon realizes this too late, and is destroyed by the consequences of his stubbornness. 

Antigone is stubborn too, of course. She knows she will likely die as the result of honoring her brother’s body. But at least Antigone has solid reasons for her actions. She sees through the arbitrary assignment of fault, and insists that morality requires respect for the mortal remains of both of her brothers. She believes the gods require that corpses be treated with respect, and not left for the animals to gnaw. While we may not believe in Zeus and the rest, we moderns generally agree that even the bodies of executed murderers deserve a decent burial. 

There is something awe-inspiring about Antigone. In a highly patriarchal world, she has the huevos to take on the most powerful man in her world. She never flinches, she never blanches, she never cries. She just takes her badass self right up to Kreon’s grill and kicks his butt with her rhetoric. 

This particular production is worth mentioning for several reasons. First, CSUB used the new(ish) Anne Carson translation as the basis for the production. This version is not an attempt at word-for-word translation, but as much a re-imagining of the play. The speeches are much shorter. The total length is just over an hour. There are anachronistic allusions to Hegel and Beckett, as well as modernity in general. But there are also some darn fine lines, and Carson’s experience as a poet makes the play much more, well, poetic, than the usual prose translation. It isn’t rhymed or metered verse, but a modern, free-verse poetry that feels thoroughly unlike prose. 

There are two things that I particularly loved about Carson’s version. First, by updating not just the language, but the way of talking about ideas, she made a play that my kids (even my youngest) could follow without difficulty. Second, the update brings out facets of the drama that might have gone unnoticed, such as the misogyny of Kreon, and his opportunistic lust for power. Both of these were not important to the ancient Greeks, but they strike modern audiences as crucial elements of the tragedy. Sophokles probably intended that we be horrified by Antigone stepping out of her lane, even if she is right. But we can understand her actions not just as “woman is so stricken by disrespect of the gods that she has to act like a man” but as “part of Kreon’s problem is that he thinks he knows better than women.” 

On that note, I must commend Avery Gibson for her outstanding performance in the title role. She commanded the stage whenever she was on it, and brought a simmering fury that could be felt to the last row. I hadn’t seen her in anything before, although she was in a BC production of Into the Woods that the rest of my family saw a few years back. I’d love to see her in other roles. I should mention my favorite line from the play, which is spoken by Antigone about the horror of an unburied body: “sweet sorrymeat for the little lusts of birds.”

Kreon was portrayed by Brian Purcell, who has been in a bunch of local plays and musicals, most recently Crazy For You at Stars. His natural style is kind of a “boy-next-door gee shucks” sort of thing, so this role was something entirely different. I liked the way the character evolved from the seemingly reasonable and calm statesman to the increasingly angry, unpredictable, and paranoid madman. His Kreon was a bit more likeable than average, although it was a bit more difficult to see the calculating politician. The result was that Kreon seems less drunk on power and more a misguided “play by the rules” sort, obsessed with a black and white worldview, in which there are too few shades of grey. 

Other notable performances in smaller parts were Alexandria Dennis as the hapless and humorous Messenger, Amanda Duke as the jaded soothsayer, and Alberto Pelayo as Haimon. 

The use of the Chorus was creative. The members wore masks, and commented both individually and in groups, throwing the poetry around the stage, and deadpanning some great lines. I really enjoyed the way it was done - it made the chorus seem like its own work of art, and not just there to comment and carry the action forward. 

Finally, the set was amazing. It combined a desert wasteland with a decaying Southern mansion. Both the conception of the design and the many hours that must have gone into construction were impressive. 

CSUB has done some intriguing things with drama lately, from the gender-flipped The Importance of Being Earnest to the intimate Eccentricities of a Nightingale. Bakersfield has a thriving arts community, and the future looks bright with so many talented and well-coached young actors coming up through the ranks.  

 

The wonderful set. Bootleg picture by Peter Wonderly.

 Kreon (Brian Purcell), Antigone (Avery Gibson), and Messenger (Alexandria Dennis)

CSUB publicity photo

 Antigone (Avery Gibson), Ismene (Maya Blackstone), and Chorus.

CSUB publicity photo

***

Note on spellings:

I am using the spellings CSUB used for the play, which I believe were also used by Carson. In substituting “k” for the traditional “c,” the correct pronunciation is more obvious. 

The Servant of Two Masters by Carlo Goldoni

Modern actors often complain of being “typecast.” One might be the comic aunt, or the villain with the bass voice like Christopher Lee, or a number of other less lucrative parts. Or one might, like Leonard Nimoy, become so associated with a particular character that one can hardly be envisioned as anyone else.

Well, in the Italian Renaissance theater known as Commedia dell’arte, this quite literally was the way actors were. One learned a particular “stock” role, and continued to perform it for one’s entire career. Not just that, but the plays and plots would change, but the characters would always be the same. You would have the young lovers, the miserly merchant, the stuffy self-important professor, the crafty servant, and so on. These “types” would then be plugged into a stock plot, and the actors would be expected to improvise the dialogue.

With the exception of the young lovers, all the actors would wear half-masks representing their “type.” The tradition lived on in more familiar versions, such as the Punch and Judy shows. Furthermore, many of the “types” - and plots - would find their way into operas of the Italian style.

As the old saw goes, opera can be summarized thus: The tenor wants to make love to the soprano, but is prevented by the baritone. If it is a tragedy, everyone dies. If it is a comedy, the mezzo assists the lovers in finding happiness. 

 "Smeraldina" and "Truffaldino" from the CSUB Production. 

Media photo by director Mandie Rees.

This play, written by Carlo Goldoni in 1746, was written at the request of Antonio Sacco, a famous comedic actor who played the role of “Truffaldino,” a variant of the “Harlequin” role. In this case, it is the role of the crafty servant. Like its inspiration, the play contains some room for improvisation, but in a “modern” twist, much more of the dialogue is written out.

We saw a performance of this by the California State University Bakersfield theater department. There were a number of delightful period touches. The costumes were appropriate for the “types,” including Truffaldino’s multi-colored garb. There were half masks on most of the characters. There was a wagon that opened into a stage, which then became part of the set. (The rest of the stage represented the town square and the house of the merchant.) The music was mandolin arrangements of Italian songs, some of which may have dated to this era. In a nice touch, many of the tunes were from operas, giving the link between the Commedia dell’arte and Grand Opera.

The basic plot is this: Beatrice has come to Venice disguised as her brother, who has just been killed in a duel with Beatrice’s lover, Florindo. Beatrice has come to do two things: find and marry Florindo, and collect the money that Pantalone owes her brother. There is a complication, however. Beatrice’s brother was engaged to Pantalone’s daughter, Clarice, who has never met him. She is in love instead with Silvio, the son of the pompous doctor. Pantalone is determined to keep the prior pledge, to the satisfaction of exactly nobody but himself.

Meanwhile, on her way, Beatrice picks up Truffaldino as her servant. He is a bit of a smart-ass anyway, and manages to irritate everyone with his antics. Except Clarice’s servant Smeraldina, who falls for him immediately.

Beatrice, however, seems to lack something as a master. Namely, a sense of dinnertime. Truffaldino’s great goal is to get some food in his empty stomach, and Beatrice’s obsession with her goals prevents her from dining in a timely manner.

Frustrated, Truffaldino decides to freelance a little, offering his services to Florindo, who has no idea that Beatrice is there. Suddenly, Truffaldino must navigate some treacherous waters, as people give him messages and money “for your master,” but because he has two, he cannot reliably figure out which master. This is compounded by his illiteracy (which becomes a running joke, as he must somehow explain why he has opened letters and keeps a journal), and his need to keep his double life secret.

The culmination of this double dealing is a hilarious scene in which he is acting as a waiter to both masters, neither of whom knows of the other’s existence. He runs himself to exhaustion - and famine - until the end, when he is finally rewarded by four bowls of spaghetti, which are (in this version) dumped on his head as the curtain falls.

Needless to say, this will take some sorting out before all comes out (mostly) well in the end.

It is hardly an unusual convention, but as in many plays - and operas - the servants get the best lines. And also the ones that say the most about society.

As an example, in this play, much is made of the fact that Clarice is caught embracing Beatrice (who is still dressed like a man.) Clarice knows that Beatrice is a woman, but she has been sworn to silence. Why won’t Beatrice reveal her identity? Well, she knows that Pantalone won’t pay his debt in full if he knows he is dealing with a woman. Instead, he would set himself up as her ward - and skim a bit off the top.

But this causes complications, because Silvio is now certain that Clarice has given herself to another. She is soiled goods. As Smeraldina gives as an aside to the audience, men can play the field if they like, but expect women to be pure and faithful.

Not bad for a work 270 years old.

CSUB does a nice job with the production. For obvious reasons, this isn’t at the level of the best professional theater, but the actors were expressive and committed even during the most silly of plot points. In particular, I thought that Truffaldino and Beatrice were well performed. We saw the opening night, but I did not detect any glitches. The CSUB theater department is a reliably enjoyable experience, and this production of a fairly obscure classic is well worth seeing.

The Servant of Two Masters runs two more performances: Saturday, November 7, 8 PM, and Sunday, 2 PM.

***

There are many examples of works for stage and theater that play on the Commedia dell’arte tradition, but here are two of my favorites:

Stravinsky also wrote Petroushka based on the characters, but Pulcinella, both in the ballet form, as found here, and also in the suite for chamber orchestra, is one of my favorite works. I love Stravinsky in all his moods, but there is something particularly charming in his witty remix of Baroque styles - and the Concerto Grosso form. The half masks and stock characters are on great view in this version. 

Prokofiev’s opera, The Love For Three Oranges is based on a play by Carlo Gozzi, a contemporary of Goldoni. While the opera itself is worth a listen, I am fond of the music selected for the orchestral suite. I have had a chance to play the suites from Romeo and Juliet, but hope we get to do this one at some point. Let this one play the whole way through. If you don’t at least recognize the march, I’d be surprised.