Darkness has fallen. Silence reigns in the tiny Charlestown Working Theater, and not even the nearby actors' breathing can be heard. Just as the sensory dearth begins to become unbearable, a soft glow radiates from a box in center stage. The chorus begins to dart, run and tumble, until — finally — the boxed light is mounted, a mask is put on with trembling fingers and frantic panting, and Dionysos begins to speak.
Euripides' "The Bacchae," directed by Meg Taintor and performed by theater troupe Whistler in the Dark, is running in conjunction with Homer's "Odyssey" as part of the two−week long Journeying Ways Festival. These renditions of Grecian masterpieces show theater in its rawest form, and the pieces' combined power is hypnotic.
Whistler actors Melissa Barker, Jen O'Connor, Aimee Rose Ranger, Scott Sweat and Mac Young all portray at least one set character, and they take turns portraying Dionysos in this performance.
Rejected as a deity by his mortal family, the royal house of Cadmus, Dionysos has returned in disguise to the town of Thebes seeking revenge. He is the bastard son of Zeus, who killed his mortal mother after she viewed him in his divine form. After wandering Asia, Persia and numerous other lands, Dionysos has acquired a cult of female followers, the Bacchantes. Drunk on their unworldly power, they hunt and dance wildly around Mount Kithaeron, having abandoned their families back in Thebes. Much to Dionysos' chagrin, his cousin, King Pentheus (Young), has banned the worship of Dionysos in Thebes and is willing to go to great lengths to impose his will.
There were a number of factors that kept the audience members on the edge of their seats throughout the hour−and−a−half performance. For one, there was the arrangement of the stage. Given the tiny venue, the audience was very small — only around 25 people occupied the building, including the five actors. The audience had no choice but to be directly engaged in the show, given the placement of the bleacher−style seats directly on the stage. The effect was very intimate and very powerful.
Also crucial was the Spartan use of props and costumes. In the tiny theatrical space, the props consisted of only two masks and six wooden blocks. The actors all wore basic black outfits that could be altered in seconds with the addition of a simple crown of ivy, a staff or an additional cloth outer garment.
This stark minimalism was disconcerting at first, as it made it difficult to identify the characters, but the lack of ornaments forced the audience to focus exclusively on the actual acting.
The sheer volume and emotion of the play was overwhelming at first but appropriate for a piece steeped in debauchery and insanity. To feel vaguely threatened at the play's beginning was a credit to the actors, who left audience members shaken at the play's end. The image of Agave being consoled by her father, Cadmus (Sweatt), as she held Pentheus' severed head in her hands, is a haunting one that will linger with audiences long after the play's end. Even with minimal props — or maybe because of its sparse aesthetic — this performance packed a punch.
When silence and darkness fell on the theater once again after this tragic ending, the play's spell was broken only as the dim theater lights returned and applause crackled through the audience. This was theater in its most primal, unadulterated form and its intensity — though overwhelming at times — was undeniably impressive. This play is a must−see for theatergoers interested in Greek tragedy, or anyone simply looking to be swept away by powerful acting.
