Oedipus in Exile

Having bid the Iranian Barrymores adieu, Wednesday night was "Oedipus in Exile" on the big stage at Drama. It's a beautiful Baroque performance hall. When you imagine a European theatre, this is it.

First of all, let me say that my Turkish isn't what it used to be. (I had some really choice swears I learned from Cigdem and Bora at Bard.) So I didn't understand word one of the dialogue. But with a rather strong background in dance appreciation, I'm fully aware that you don't HAVE to be in verbal communication with a performance. That said, the staging of this piece was astounding.

The stage was arrayed in a light grid of 19: 15 at the stage level for the chorus and Theseus, and 4, elevated behind them for the members of Thebes. Individual spots illuminated each performer as his recitation was delivered. And considering that some of the lines were half-second gasps, the performance took on the aspect of a schizophrenic slideshow where your eye traveled from Athenian chest-beating to Oedipus's shamed guilt in a camera-flash moment. (After the performance, a girl asked me if I thought the lights were done by computer. I said, "No. That had to have been a person. If an actor lost a line, the whole show would be ruined." All she said was "Wow!")

Every recitation moved with volume and intensity. At one point, I turned to Alma and said "I feel like I'm hanging out inside a crazy person's brain."

The vocal delivery was powerful. Oedipus's fateful whining. Antigone's hysterical rationalizing. Creon's grandiloquence.

The costuming was spot-on. From Theban tatters to the chorus's martial black leather.

During the reception, a member of the audience asked me if I found the play static. (Because of the individual fixed spots, the performers could only move a step or two before being completely out of sight--an effect used sparingly and with great insight.)

My answer was "Of course. When you restage classical Greek drama, you are dealing with a static medium. Sophocles wasn't writing plays as we understand them. He was creating group readings. The challenge of bringing these works into modernity was answered by the dancing light play and the forceful delivery. That was dynamism enough. Anything more would have been forced. With this you HAD to pay attention to the stage."

At the end of the play, I told my friends "That's the sort of effect MTV would love to get their hands on and completely fuck up."

In the wee hours, we went to Metelkova and shuffled around to The Cure and The Ramones. The company sang "La Bamba" and "Twist and Shout" as one of the chorus members banged them out on an acoustic guitar. I had a charming conversation with a dancer named Ilksen, despite her protesting "I don't really know English," and me protesting "I've smoked so much hash words are coming out before I start talking."

A bunch of Slovenian freaks were running around throwing Arabic "salaam"s to the group of Turks. That was dumb. But not as dumb as the drunk Slovenian chick who kept coming over and telling me in Slovene that she didn't think I was from New York. If I do one thing, I exude New York asshole cool.

Comparing "Oedipus in Exile" to "Bitter as Honey" is nearly impossible. "Oedipus" was completely visceral. "Honey" was cerebral. Both were emotional in radically different ways. With "Honey" you were overwhelmed by the infinity of interpretations, this leads to that forever and ever. With "Oedipus" you were caught in the grip of architecture. You were part of monument building. "Honey" was a prayer. "Oedipus" was a temple.

But, both plays were the second of a trilogy. And the groups were both fully versed in seeing the world as a stage, and life as a starring role with no curtain call.