Playwright: Sophocles,
At: greasy joan & company,
at the Loop Theater,
Phone: (312) 744-5667; $20,
Runs through: Oct. 10
This intelligent, compact and reasonably pure Antigone proves Greek tragedy still resonates in contemporary times. However, there are two large difficulties, one technical and one interpretive.
The technical issue is that the makeshift Loop Theater has dreadful acoustics. Sound bounces off hard walls that lack deadening materials, or is swallowed up a three-story shaft directly over the stage. With fewer than 100 seats, volume shouldn't be a concern; however, sufficient volume is crucial and superb diction even more so. But the ensemble is inconsistent vocally, so some words turn to mud even in such close quarters. Particularly lost are the intimate conversations between Antigone and her sister, Ismene, which come early in the play and frame the central moral conflict.
The interpretive issue is the absence of catharsis; that is, the release of emotion by the audience in response to the tension and terror at the heart of Greek tragedy. It's not easy to achieve. If properly translated (as this one is by Brendan Kennelly) and performed, the plays run 90 minutes or less. The build-up is quick, carefully structured and unrelenting. It requires an oversized intensity that's antithetical to contemporary realistic acting techniques, especially in a theater with no distance between actors and audience. I wouldn't mind if director Julieanne Ehre and her cast tried and failed, but that they do not try at all. This Antigone is well-tempered, almost polite when it ought to be more.
That being said, the ideas and themes of Antigone—the final play of the trilogy about King Oedipus and his children—remain intact, and very important ideas they are about the conflict between law and faith (or Man's law vs. God's law), the uses of power and the arrogance of power. Briefly, Oedipus' two sons die fighting on opposite sides in a civil war. The new king, Creon (their uncle), declares one warrior a hero and the other a traitor to be left unburied, which is sacrilege. Their sister, Antigone, defies Creon and buries her brother. Creon condemns Antigone to death, bringing down the wrath of the gods upon himself, his family and his city.
Ehre's spare production utilizes four women as the chorus, costumed (by Ana Kuzmanic) in soiled party dresses and doubling in secondary roles. Their odes, partially sung to Andrew Hansen's fine music, are effective contrasts to the dialogue scenes. The central character, Creon, is ably played (and clearly spoken) as a modern technocrat by Ed Dzialo. Set (Natsu Onoda) and lighting (Jacqueline Reid) utilize the cave-like, claustrophobic feel of the space, enhanced by an ash-toned color palette.
This Antigone has much to commend. One wishes it had dared more to find the passion beyond its obvious intelligence.