REALLY Organized Chaos
Kate Farrington
Artistic Associate
At the February talkback following our performance of Helen, someone asked an astute question—how close or far from the original text was the language of our translation?
It’s a fun topic. First, it unlocks a HUGE conversation about how different translations “work” onstage. Are the actors using poetic language that feels timeless (dare we say classical?), or speaking in more contemporary language that feels immediate—even a little slangy? Which aspects of the original story are being honored? Which are being challenged? Each translation offers a different journey and can lead us to quite different but equally engaging versions of the play in performance.
Second, exploring and comparing translations hints at another, more nuanced, conversation about our overall relationship to these ancient scripts. When watching Oedipus or Antigone I’m always struck by the strange dualities of Athens’ Golden Age tragedies. These plays plunge us into extreme circumstances and the most visceral human emotions—but all the while maintaining the most rigorously controlled writing style imaginable. Wild, heartbreaking, and gore-soaked these may be, but the storytelling itself is as measured and meticulous as machinery. It’s an unnerving combination.
All Greek plays follow the same basic format. A brief opening scene introduces us to the situation, then is followed by the entrance of the chorus, who comment on the (usually dire) circumstances before being joined by the main character(s). The story then unfolds in a series of episodes in which the protagonist, focused and fierce, argues their case against a series of opponents. Each scene begins with characters speaking long carefully constructed speeches, but quickly breaks down into furious, rapid-fire exchanges. No one changes their mind.
These episodic confrontations are separated by interludes from the chorus—songs that may offer much-needed context, bemoan the unhappy nature of human existence, or simply provide poetic relief from the relentless parade of sorrows unfolding onstage. (Sophocles’ choral odes were and are considered some of the finest poetry of that age.)
At last matters reach a crisis and the protagonist confronts their terrible fate—and more often than not a few other characters are caught in the crossfire. The chorus solemnly offers the audience a parting thought, and everyone (left alive) exits the stage.
Every extant Greek tragedy we have follows this structure. Every playwright was expected to work within the rules and customs of the drama, to construct stories that fit the mold. Yet within this rigidity, the wildest passions run rampant, and the greatest artistry is born.
Antigone by Sophocles might be the most perfect example of that unlikely recipe for good theatre.