There's definitely something up at the Balch, and it's got something to do with crazed women, joyrods, and 11-and-a-half tons of sand. No, it's not Fetish Night at Man Ray or even Spring Break in Cancun, but it does include cross-dressing, homoeroticism, and the dismemberment of a family member.
The Drama Department's winter show, Crazed Women (The Bakkhai) of Euripides opens this Thursday, depicting bacchanalian (literally) festivals centered around sex, wine, and destruction. Acclaimed faculty member Laurence Senelick directs his own translation from the original Greek, and puts on what promises to be an eye-catching show - if you're into sex, wine, and death.
"Go, and be archaic," Senelick said to his cast minutes before calling "Places!" at a rehearsal last Friday night. By archaic, he does not mean dated, since so many of the themes explored in Euripides' The Bakkhai are surprisingly contemporary, considering the age of the text. Rather, what he asks of his cast is for them to behave as they would during the time when Euripides wrote the play, a time when the gods ruled the mortals from Olympus and worshippers of Dionysos worked themselves into drunken frenzies in his honor.
In the play, Dionysos disguises himself as a mortal and returns to Thebes, the city of his birth, where the people deny that he is a god. Though his father is Zeus, his mother was a mortal who died in childbirth, which leaves a glimmer of doubt about his authenticity in the minds of the Thebians, and gives Dionysos reason enough to descend upon the town in the shape of a mortal to wreak havoc. He intends to prove to the mortals that he is the son of a god, and restore his reputation by taking the most severe revenge on the worst perpetrators.
"We love vengeance," says Heather Edwards who designed the set for the production. She says that the idea to bring in tons of sand was both hers and Senelick's, explaining that she thought about it, decided it was too outrageous, and was delighted when Senelick himself brought it up as a possibility. "It was so exciting, I almost fainted," she jokes.
In addition to the sand, the set consists of stone faces inspired by a French battlefield, a Greek tomb, and a Syrian palace. All of these elements are used at various points in the play both for choreography and symbolism, as well as for their aesthetic value. Make no mistake, though, this is no romp by the seashore or stroll through the desert. "The show is all about destroying things, breaking things, tearing things up," Edwards explained.
The destruction fits the theme of chaos, or the threat that Dionysian chaos poses to military authority. The character most threatened by the adoring masses entranced by Dionysos is Pentheus, played by Aron Epstein. The possibility of aggressive women, effeminate men, and sex for pleasure astounds this militant leader, and he attempts to imprison Dionysos, who of course escapes. Dionysos, played by TJ Derham, naturally exacts the most violent revenge on Pentheus and his family.
Dionysos calls upon his "adoring sorority" to act as the chorus of women who narrate the play and forward the plot. They also add to the dynamics of the play, playing instruments and making primal noises to serve as the soundtrack to some scenes, and as punctuation in others. It is through these women that the audience glimpses what goes on at the Dionysian festivals, during which people dress in fawn skins, wear ivy on their heads, and carry joyrods - odd phallic sticks used rather creatively in the choreography. These joyrods do much to dispel the belief that every reference to an erect penis refers to fertility, as they often refer to simple pleasure in this production.
Dionysos, still disguised as a mortal, exploits Pentheus' repressed urge for pleasure by convincing him to dress as a woman in order to observe one of his rituals. In perhaps the most homoerotic scene in the play, Pentheus' vulnerability and tendency toward voyeurism is exposed, making him a well-rounded character while at the same time leaving him at the mercy of Dionysos, who is hungry to make an example of him.
Meanwhile, Pentheus' own mother Agaue is entranced by the Dionysian rituals and, convinced that he is a lion threatening her band of worshippers, strikes the first of many blows which kill Pentheus and scatter his body all over the mountain. Chiara De Luca plays Agaue, and parades her son's head on a stake back to her house where her father, Kadmos (Andy Roth) entices her out of her trance and helps her to realize what sin she has committed.
As Agaue sings dirges and re-assembles her son's dismembered body, Dionysos reveals his identity and delivers his punishments to Agaue and Kadmos. For being arrogant and insulting, and for not recognizing him as a god, they are exiled from their native land. The worst part of the punishment is the extermination of their line, since Pentheus was the male who would carry on their lineage.
Senelick's production will prove that sex and violence are indeed age-old themes not limited to the silver screen or MTV. The translation is arguably racier than much new material written for today's audiences, and is full of euphemism and innuendo, while remaining as comedic as it is tragic. Whether you go for the history or for the scantily clad and often drunk chorus of women brandishing joyrods as they traipse around the countryside having orgies and spilling wine, check out what's up at the Balch. You might be surprised.
