The Persians

Last night I went to see Aeschylus' The Persians done by the Shakespeare Theater. Erin and I scored $75 season tickets this year - probably some of the best 75 bucks I've spent. Five plays - AMAZING quality (some of the best I ever seen) and the theater's 3 blocks from our apartment. I'm kind of sad that I'll miss the last play. (In weighing the pros and cons of going to Russia - missing the Shakespeare Theater was in the con column.) They did a new adaptation of it - and I have to say it was incredible. The setting was fabulous. Instead of a chorus (typical of Greek theater, where a group of actors speak/sing in unison), this version split them up into different characters - each advisors to Xerxes. It began with a multi-media type opening by the chorus in modern clothing- a briefing if you will which gave great background in 2 minutes. They then covered their clothes with councilor-esq robes as the curved multimedia screen lifted to reveal a stage partially covered in sand - red as blood.

Anyway - I'm not to give an entire review of the play. But to say go see it (and anything else the Shakespeare Theater does.) It's well worth it - and REALLY cheap if you're <26.

But there is one thing that bothers me - that's worth writing about. I tried to discuss this with Erin last night - though she didn't have the energy and I didn't have the arguments put together. The play is a tragedy. It shows the Persian's reaction to their stunning and complete defeat by Athens (the underdog) at the height of the Persian empire. The end, when King Xerxes returns to Persia, ought to be gut-wrenching. He's asking for the forgiveness of his land and of his people as, because of his ego (and the councilor's) - all of Persia is lost. But there was something missing. They got the physical desperation right. But the emotion behind it wasn't right. I ought to have felt more like a voyeur.

Quick deviation. When I see someone deep in prayer, I feel awkward, as if I am encroaching on a space that is not mine. I'm silent, dumfounded; lifted from myself. At those moments, it's as if I am along side of him with empathy. I'm having trouble articulating this feeling - but chances are you've had it before... It's this same emotion that I should have had when watching Xerxes at the conclusion of the Persians. And he almost had it. But then, everyone else on stage dropped to his or her knees to join Xerxes and starting petitioning and mourning the dead of Persia.

It was too much for me to believe. I intellectually understood that all of those responsible for the deaths were asking forgiveness and all of those left in Persia were mourning, and that's why the entire cast was on their knees. But it was too much - and I couldn't take it in. I couldn't be with each of the characters, so instead, I was with none of them. I was left feeling faked out. Like I was watching actors - which is quite rare with the Shakespeare Theater. It was well done - but it wasn't poignant and the emotions weren't quite real. But maybe it's just me.

But on a side note - the two percussionists were fabulous!

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- men are unintelligable creatures. I'll leave it at that.

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I sent a letter to Svetlana today (in Russian - yip!) I'm trying to get a hold of her. I'm going to be so close to Pinsk for the summer - it'd be great if we could meet up again. I sent the letter Global Express (go USPS) - cost me an arm and a leg - but I'd rather it not take 6 weeks for her to get the letter....

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to be continued....