“The Birds”, Epidaurus
Glenda Frank in Greece
30 August 2024
I had never seen a production of The Birds, a comedy by Aristophanes, nor had I read it. But I resolved to buy tickets for the production at the ancient theatre of Epidaurus, originally constructed in the late fourth century BCE and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I have taught Lysistrata, but have never seen a good production of the anti-war comedy. And I wasn’t sure that contemporary audiences could relate to Aristophanes (446 – c. 386 BCE), even with supertitles in English and Greek. I did not anticipate the Greek audience’s response or my own.
Photo credit: Tsoutsas Laskaris.
In the second week of August, dozens of us lined up for the buses that would transport us to Epidaurus, a two hour-ride from Athens. We arrived early, but the parking lots would soon be full and hundreds would enter and fill the ancient amphitheatre, which had seen its first modern production, Sophocles’s Electra, in 1938.
The Athens Epidaurus Festival, headed by Katerina Evangelatos, is in its sixty-ninth year. The theatre is in a sanctuary dedicated to Asclepius, the godof medicine. Theatre is a healing art after all. I’m not sure that the 13-14,000 stone seats (with cushions) were all occupied, but that is the official capacity of the space and it looked like a full house. Seating is divided into two horizontal sections and several vertical segments so that people can find their numbered spot. Tickets prices ranged from €5 for students, the unemployed, and the disabled to €45 for VIP seating. The prices did not include the hefty online surcharge which was as much as €20 with the bus fare to be added of course. Although I was admitted to the theatre, the ushers told me I had purchased an unauthorized ticket in a non-existent section. So they sat me not in row 24 but in row 5 of a side section.
The skene is in ruins and the orchestra or circular dancing place is a large wooden platform with an abstract design of a forest in the rear quadrant. The set is lit (ingenious design by Vangelis Mountrichas) from above with the last row of seats and an area below encircling the orchestra. The gates opened at 8:00 and the theatre was still filling at 9:15 when audience members became impatient and began to slow-clap in protest at the long wait. The play began at 9:30, once the sky had darkened sufficiently and conditions were adjudged suitable.
It’s a modern rendering of the text by philologist Tassos Roussos. The two protagonists, Trusty and Hope, have run away from their home town, Athens, with high hopes but are terrified to find themselves in the woods at night where they jump and tremble at every vibration. They have fled urban corruption and hope to create a new walled city (a utopia) among the birds. They praise the birds as the oldest creatures on earth, being older than the gods. They admire the birds’ freedom of flight and the beauty of their song as well as the fact that these creatures are not paralyzed by boredom. This praise will be repeated at the end of the play.
Photo credit: Tsoutsas Laskaris.
The actors introduce us to director Aris Biniaris’s gift for transforming sound into drama. Their voices are in sharp contrast, one with comic shrillness, the other with a more normal sounding tremor. The drum that initiates the action will play a dominant role later. The actors tap into a limited number of comic devices but these will increase and grow more frenzied as the comedy and the terror progress.
Trusty and Hope have been seeking Teres, a man who is reputed to have metamorphosed into a bird. They want him to be their advocate, but are spooked when he arrives and threatens them. The Athenians are costumed in black slacks and sports jackets which they will remove as the play unfolds. Teres, in similar costume, wears a bird’s head as will the chorus of birds who enter later (costumes and set by Paris Mexis). Teres calls up the other birds, a chorus of 10, who enter the stage in a wild flurry of menacing activity. The stage is invigorated. The Athenians try to hide behind the thin trees or run to escape but they are outnumbered. They must state their case.
The pair begin with flattery which falls on deaf ears so they skip to another plan, to block the gods access to food, the sacrifices, until heaven and earth extend respect and authority to the feathered congregation. They mention the lack of shown to birds – the assaults and invasions of their domain by humans. It’s a poetic environmental impact statement and the birds respond, finally agreeing to build a walled city that forces the
gods to come to terms.
Movement and comedy (music by Alexandros Drakos Ktistakis, choreography by Alexandros Vardaxoglou) punctuate the exchanges. There is an agreement that each bird species will contribute to the construction according to its skills – labour specialization if you will. Suddenly Aristophanes doesn’t seem that ancient. But the wily satirist, acknowledging that comedy was his calling card, has the congress of birds and humans, seeking a fittingly dignified name, vote on Cloud Cuckoo Land for the new city.
Photo credit: Tsoutsas Laskaris.
As the play becomes more modern in its concerns, the visuals (including giant puppet heads) become less sophisticated. A rogue’s gallery of power players arrives, asking for a percentage off the top. A poet and cultural maven offers to promote the project. A businessman will move things along. A slanderer promises to attack anyone opposed to their plan. A god, representing the establishment and carrying what looks like an oversized key (a stylized caduceus staff of the kind we associate with Hermes) threatens them. Each visitor provides the opportunity for new comic routines. And with the rejection of the many forms of corruption, Hope and Trusty gain vocal power so the interchanges become a battle of voices that is both literal and figurative. But I was disappointed that the actors were using mics. I had hoped to hear the acoustics of the theatre and gain some insight into the use of the human voice in ancient productions.
Hope and Trusty realize that personal strength is not victory. The Athenians believe their vision has failed and are overcome by despair. The play takes a more poignant turn as they fall to their knees. The chorus departs and they are alone on stage. This is a powerful segment as they console each other. Comedy and confrontation are replaced by tenderness, frenetic energy is replaced by stillness.
Before the victorious close, there is more comedy. Prometheus and a dim-witted Hercules arrive wearing giant puppet heads. After a little bickering, they concede defeat. The gods cannot exist without human worship. The bird-human coalition exults and prepares for the feast that traditionally ends a comedy. But this version concludes by returning to the two idealists alone on the stage as they salute the success of a world restored to beauty.
The production does not follow the original, an indication of changing societal values from personal to environmental concerns. In Aristophanes, one of the Athenians (Peisetaerus, the protagonist) marries the princess, Sovereignty, who is the real power of Zeus, and replaces the god. And the Athenians are young, not jaded middle-aged men, since the play is a call to action.
The Greek-speaking audience was not thinking theatre history but entertainment, like a concert or a movie. Aristophanes still has it! There was lots of laughter throughout, and the cast received half a dozen enthusiastic curtain calls.
Aris Biniaris is both a theatre director and actor. His signature is the combination of aural and visual tools to convey an aesthetic perspective. The play opens with a drum roll and there are periodic moments of drumming to accompany physical frenzy. Voices becomes musical counterpoints, varying according to the scenic nuances. His goal is not just stage blocking but the creation of a distinctive atmosphere, “the inner vibrations of the work’s meaning”. This production displays his favourite themes: personal choice, social strength, and historical memory, all dynamically perceived by the audience.
