Hubris reveals itself as true villain in Greek tragedy
Bakkhai
(out of 4) Written by Euripides. Adapted and translated by Anne Carson. Directed by Jillian Keiley. Until Sept. 23 at the Tom Patterson Theatre, 111 Lakeside Dr., Stratford. StratfordFestival.ca, 1-800-567-1600. Is that a deep red leaf painted onto the stage of the Tom Patterson Theatre in Stratford . . . or is that what I think it is?
In Jillian Keiley’s production of Bakkhai ( otherwise known as Euripides’ The Bacchae), using the 2015 version adapted by Canadian poet Anne Carson, the double meaning of Shawn Kerwin’s set as both a representation of nature as well as female sexuality instantly demonstrates the director’s approach to this classic Greek tragedy. It transforms these two elements into one and the same: organic, primal, brutal if it needs to be. They are forever under the attempted control of man.
This Bakkhai is a battle of ego between two men of different kinds of power (political and divine), and the true villain in this production is hubris. King Pentheus (Gordon S. Miller, who gives a captivatingly fragile performance as a man whose identity is built on inherited and unquestioned authority), meets his downfall by arresting the women who escape their homes in Thebes to join the Bakkhai in the mountain. He dismisses Dionysos (Mac Fyfe) as a worthwhile adversary. Dionysos himself acts out of insult, using the women of Thebes, and eventually Pentheus’s own mother Agave (Lucy Peacock) in the play’s most devastat- ing action, to exact revenge. He’s ultimately victorious because of his status as a daimon (half mortal, half God), but no less wicked.
Fyfe, an inspired bit of casting, is captivatingly ethereal and physically androgynous. His Dionysos is as confident as Miller’s Pentheus is insecure, and as sexually intoxicating as his opponent is impotent. This Dionysos wins the audience’s favour until the malice of his plan unfolds. Peacock’s final moments on stage, careening from hysterical joy from the “hunt” to existential and emotional terror, show who the collateral damage in the duel between King and God is. And Agave’s journey reveals the gold mine of expression that lies within Peacock when she’s unleashed to reach her gritty depths.
If hubris is the villain in Bakkhai, then community is the saviour. The beauty of community and mutual love is best seen within the Bakkhai themselves, the followers of Dionysos — Sarah Afful, Jasmine Chen, Laura Condlln, Rosemary Dunsmore, Quelemia Sparrow, Diana Tso, and Bahia Watson. As the soul of the production, the Bakkhai are selfpossessed in their lives, free in their sexual pleasure, and devoted not to themselves, but to each other and to a higher cause. In intricately choreographed choral numbers, they act as a single unit — but the cast don’t sound like they’re in Guys and Dolls. These songs have an organic, trueto-life sound, as if these are women who have reached a higher plane simply by accepting and enjoying their sensual sides, respectfully, by themselves and with each other.
Explicitly, Bakkhai is about the danger of denying our natural im- pulses. On another level, it’s about the control of women’s sexuality and agency. But in 2017, when it is easy to place too much stock in one’s own opinion, status, or sense of correctness, Bakkhai is also a reminder to place yourself in the context of the rest of the world. And that context is full of grey area and hypocrisies, as Keiley’s direction and Carson’s adaptation make clear. But, to trust Bakkhai, we’re all in this together — and that’s a divine realization.