Playwright: adapted/directed by Mary Zimmerman from the texts of Apollonius Rhodius ( Peter Green, trans. ) and Gaius Valerius Flaccus ( David R. Slavitt, trans. )
At: Lookingglass Theatre at the Water Tower, 821 N. Michigan
Phone: 312-337-0665; $30-$58
Runs through: Dec. 23
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
Mary Zimmerman and the Lookingglass ensemble are back in top form after lying fallow for too long. Argonautika has them once again engaged in the patented blend of innovative spectacle grounded in solid literary values that first earned them their reputation. Their foundation is the picaresque sea voyage of Jason and the Argonauts, a narrative filled with fantasy adventures exceeded only by Odysseus' homecoming trip. ( And, as recounted by Zimmerman, shorter as well. )
The expedition's purpose is the recovery of a prized golden sheepskin, now guarded by a dragon in a faraway kingdom. The Greek Islands being largely uncharted territory at the time, this is akin to a suicide mission. But Captain Jason sets out with his crew of bold sailors on the good ship Argo, bigger than any built before. Before returning, they will encounter the ravenous bird-women called Harpies, escape the pincer-like straits of Symplegades, rescue the fair Andromeda from a sea monster and succumb to the seduction of the lusty virgins of Lemnos.
'How about the special effects?' clamor audience members, recalling Ray Harryhausen's fabulous monsters in the 1963 film. There's no actual water, as in Metamorphoses, with the Argo now conjured by a fleet of miniature crafts drawn by the journey's patron deities and by a dojo-like deck augmented with mast, rigging and bridge over which acrobatic actors scramble with the grace and agility of squirrels. Yards of green silk and two eerie eyes menace the terrified Andromeda, stick-puppet harpies defecate white confetti, and a towering prosthetic mannequin ( of more than passing resemblance to Defiant Theatre's Johnny Squarefoot ) loses a boxing match to a feisty bantamweight Pollux.
Ryan Artzberger's medieval-Christ countenance doesn't allow Jason much in the way of expression, and Atley Loughridge's Medea is played so pre-adolescent as to open up her liberator to accusations of cradle-snatching. But Lisa Tejero and Mariann Mayberry, as the story's, well, power-goddesses, have the perfect explanation: When the former notes an anachronistic zipper on a dress, the latter warns us against being too literal—'You miss a lot.' Anyway, aren't legends always more fun than facts?