Antigone

At the Playhouse until 26th September

Sophocles' tragedy of misguided heroism and misdirected loyalty is given its full potential this week at The Playhouse. Declan Donnellan, who also directs the production, has written a new version of the classic which remains true to the original while successfully giving the dialogue a subtle modern context. The guard's brillintly mundane honesty when he exclaims 'that's what fate's all about Sir, innit' is an appropriate reflection of the character who would rather be in the pub that facing the king, while Antigone occasionally expresses herself with all the bolshy stubbornness of the most difficult of teenagers.
Antigone and Ismene are the daughters of Oedipus and his mother Jocasta. One brother, Polynices, is killed attacking while the other brother, Eteocles, is killed defending Thebes, the city ruled by their uncle Creon (Jonathan Hyde). Creon refuses to bury Polynices, whom he considers a traitor, while he gives Eteocles all the honour of a Greek burial. Antigone refuses to accept the ruthlessness of Creon's injunction and determines to bury her brother.
Antigone, played by Tara Fitzgerald, is by no means a simple figure, arousing both sympathy at her plight and revulsion at her fanaticism and, we begin to realise, her selfishness. 'Keep out of my death' she savagely commands Ismene (Anne Calder-Marshall), revealing the single-minded nature of her mission which is not only to bury her brother but to die doing it. The actress successfully communicates this dual sense of childichness and tragic maturity. Just as Creon loses sight of human values in his determination to remain politically just, so does Antigone gradually lose sight of the meaning and logic of her act. Creon's role is ambiguous too, as he oscillates between the office of protector and tyrant. While his niece engineers her own ruin, Creon steadily dissolves as the play reaches its climax, losing his imposing demeanour to become, as Antigone petulantly calls him 'just a little man'.
The Chorus is perhaps the most startling element of the paly. Nine bald-headed men, with greenish, haggard faces in the half-light, creep about the stage carrying long wooden poles that stick up above them, creating an effect that is visually striking and delightully sinister. Meanwhile they emit a mournful and harmonised moaning and strange rhythmic sniffing which recreates the true Greek concept of the singing chorus, and which forms a perfect background for the scenes of emotional and political collapse around them.
Throughout the actors enunciate the dialogue slowly and precisely, to give an almost exaggerated clippedness to intense emotional expression. Although somewhat disconcerting, the technique is appropriate as a method of narrating events, in particular the final narration of Antigone and Haemons' deaths. Another unusual effect is that of seating some of the audience on the stage to produce an amphitheatre effect, and experience which, I am sure, provd more than unusul for the members of the selected few.
This production is absorbing from start to finish. Highly recommended.

Jane Labous