Drama,
Dancing and Music
Phedre
Arts United of Washington
Theatre on the Run
Arlington, Virginia
Saturday, February 14, 2004 at 7:30 PM
by George Jackson
Jean Racine's tragedy Phedre opens on sexual passions and power
plays at high pitch among its protagonists. Other than variations and
complications of these themes, it is hard to imagine that the play has
anywhere left to go. But build it does to a seaquake of a climax that
leaves in its wake not just death but a testament to the Olympian gods'
jealousy of mortal humanity. Arts United of Washington, a brand new organization
of limited means but much imagination, took on this 17th Century classical
French drama's challenges—the grand oratory, the nakedness of the
characters' emotions—and gave audiences a winning three hours of
theater.
The core of the story is well known. Phedre lusts for her stepson, Hippolytus,
who has multiple charms but is chaste. That just about sufficed for the
best known version in America, Martha Graham's dance drama that is still
(theoretically) in repertory. Graham showed the public precisely how Phedre
beheld Hippolytus. The shutters of a window are opened, the midportion
first, and framed for all to see was a Phidian torso (Paul Taylor's) with
an illuminated crotch. In 1962's New York, this wasn't censored (Taylor
wore a thin bathing suit) but it did titillate and shock. Graham as Phedre
was her usual, hysterical, heroic self. Other authors, from playwright
Euripides (428 BC) through choreographers Angiolini (1789) and Didelot
(1825) and several novelists to scenarist Jean Cocteau (1950 for Serge
Lifar's ballet with Toumanova and himself), have involved other specifics
in relating the action. Racine (1670s) added the subplot of Hippolytus,
after all, learning what desire is. He becomes infatuated—mutually
so—with the girl Aricia, who is not only a prisoner-ward of his
father, King Theseus, but the last survivor in the family line of a former
king. Aricia thus has a claim to Theseus' throne rivaling that of Hippolytus
and Phedre's still very young children. Theseus' absence during the first
half of the play—he has been on a long voyage and there are rumors
of his death—serves to unleash Phedre's, Hippolytus' and Aricia's
desires to love and to rule.
A
major asset of Arts United of Washington's production is a new translation
of Racine's text by Britain's poet laureate, Ted Hughes. It cuts to the
bone, yet is rich. Compared to the Harvard Classics' version by R.B. Boswell,
Hughes' English is remarkably agile. AUW's director, Leighann Niles DeLorenzo
and choreographer Melissa Saint Amour have added characters to the cast.
There are Racine's four principals—Phedre, Theseus, Hippolytus and
Aricia—plus his four attendant figures who function like Greek choruses
and in some instances also display bits of individual personality. New
are three dancers: Venus, who represents the jealous gods, and Hippolytus'
and Aricia's Shadows, who embody the young lovers' uninhibited essences.
Choreography interacts subtly with the verbal text and with the stances
and movement of the actors. Venus' role becomes crucial as she precipitates
actions the principals commit despite themselves, stops impulsive deeds,
or simply listens, bides her time and gloats. Modern dance of the pre-World
War 2 sort from Central Europe figured importantly in shaping the choruses
we see in revivals of Greek tragedies, but what the director and choreographer
do in this Phedre becomes inextricable from the principal roles. The dance
might have become obtrusive, but shrewdly never did.
Saturday night's performance, the penultimate one of this run (Feb. 5
- 15), took a few minutes to shift into the needed high gear. It was gripping
once it got going, though, and witnessing the final devastation gave one
leave to shed a tear and lament the fate of those proud souls. Aimee Meher-Homji's
Phedre grew from scene to scene. Ruthless yet pitiable, debasing herself
despite her pride, she showed the conflicts going on within her as if
strangle knots were being tied in a cord of the finest silk. Jesse Davidson
looked appropriately handsome as Hippolytus, nor did one doubt that his
chastity was virile, but there's a whine in his voice more appropriate
for a modern American setting (not even the movie with Melina Mercouri
and Anthony Perkins but perhaps Mike Nichols' The Graduate) than
for a young hero. Sica Nielsen's Aricia looked lovely, and Anthony Van
Eyck's Theseus had the force needed to realign everyone and everything
when he finally appeared. Two of the attendants, Chris Batchelder and
Emily Fenichel, had commendable diction.
The
dancers were Sylvana Christopher, Aaron Jackson and Talia Bar-Cohen. Jackson
had the advantage of looking enough like Davidson's Hippolytus to be his
nimbus, but he's tight in the upper back and shoulders. As the Venus,
Christopher was sensual and severe at the same time. She wields a powerful
torso yet can also dance just with her eyes. Watching her lounging on
a couch, drawing circles with a hand's pointed fingers, made it seem that
the coils she was tracing ensnared Phedre, who became unable to resist
reaching out to touch Hippolytus' features.
Live music supported the acting and dancing. Some of The Planets—arranged
for flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, bassoon and percussion by Gordon Bowie
(the Mars section) and John Saint Amour (Venus)—improved on Gustav
Holst's original but ponderous orchestral scoring. Lorraine Ressegger
contributed fight choreography. AUW is still hunting for a play for its
second production, a play that will benefit from music and dance.
Originally
published:
www.danceviewtimes.com
Volume 2, Number 7
February 16, 2004
©
2004 George
Jackson
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Writers |
Clare
Croft
George Jackson
Jean Battey Lewis
Sali Ann Kriegsman
Tehreema Mitha
Alexandra Tomalonis (Editor)
Lisa Traiger
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