tower of circles
by Douglas Messerli
Aeschylus Prometheus Bound (translated into English by Joel Agee) / the
production I saw was on the evening of September 3, 2013 at The Barbara and
Lawrence Fleischman Theater of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Getty Villa, directed
by Travis Preston and performed with the help of the CalArts Center for New
Performance
Generally attributed to Aeschylus,
and the first of what was probably a trilogy (Promethus Bound, Prometheus Unbound, and Prometheus Firebearer) Prometheus
Bound is one of the earliest of Western works for theater and has been
highly influential in Western thought since its creation. Yet, it is also a
play filled with difficulties, particularly for our own time. Like Wagner’s
Norse and German-inspired mythologies, Prometheus
Bound is filled with sometimes arcane information and the complexly
interlinking relationships between Greek gods and the humans the gods have
encountered. For the contemporary English-language playgoer, the play’s
intensive reliance on a Greek female chorus who chant out their condemnations,
sympathies, and prayers for the great
And finally, the very fact that this work is only the first of three
parts, makes for a sense of this first being a fragmentary episode. Although
Prometheus foretells his and also our
futures, we can never be certain that he really does have the ability to see
what he claims to, and others throughout the work scold him for not simply
suffering in quietude to ameliorate the wrath of Zeus.
But it is just that Prometheus can and does speak, that he refuses
silence and denies Zeus’ unfair punishment for helping mankind survive, in
particular, stealing for them the power
of fire, that we do care for this Titan, that we comprehend him, as Ralph Waldo
Emerson described Prometheus, as “the Jesus of the old mythology”—again
reminding us of Wagner’s Brünnhilde, who also was punished for intruding
herself upon mankind, and, like Prometheus, was punished to remain in
isolation, in her case surrounded by a ring of fire, for a seeming eternity
before she is freed. If, at the center of this sometimes static work, lay
radical ideas about the fight against tyranny, positing in Prometheus a hero
willing to help the human race and ultimately end the reign of the gods, how
can a director steer a course to successfully get to that point?
Fortunately, seasoned director Travis Preston has saved his hero from
shouting out his lines from linear rock, raising him to a vertical circularity
that equates him more with Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Simultaneously speaking
from his towering heights, the Prometheus of this production remains a Titan,
while also suggesting a Christ upon the cross. He is, in short, one of us, and
something beyond us, willing to suffer the eagles’ daily clawing and swallowing
of his liver, in order to deny Zeus any pleasure in his punishment. Within the
very stage set (the construction by Efrem Delgadillo, Jr.) we see both a
continuity of time, a circle within the larger circle, the smaller bringing our
hero through his daily sufferings, and the larger, a circle of community, a
symbol of Prometheus’ embracement of the human race.
The chorus, appropriately, not only speaks to him, but crawls up to join
him in their shared sufferings. If there is sometimes something almost comical
about their efforts, so too are any mortals’ efforts to communicate with the
gods.
Of course, even this striking visualization of Prometheus’ position
would mean nothing if Preston had not found an actor who might be able to live
up to the position in which he has put him. Ron Cephas Jones not only has the
taut, skin-and-bones body that encapsulates the Titan’s suffering, but his
basso voice booms out his thespian skills quite brilliantly—in near perfect
opposition for what I previously described as the chorus’ more soprano efforts.
Bound for the entire play, unable to move by himself, he nonetheless seems
almost in control of the busy choreography (by Mira Kingsley) of the chorus,
sometimes wrestling with each, and other times circling in a round dance that
might almost remind one of Stravinsky’s pagan ritual in Rite of Spring.
If at moments all these elements—direction, acting, choreography, and
music—momentarily slide into a kind of repetitiveness or even stasis that might
make us fear that the difficulties of this tragic work might have, after all,
won out—overall there is enough excitement in this production that the plays’
revelations brilliantly dominate. And even though the work ends, predictably,
in utter despair, we can believe that one day the eagle will be shot, the Titan
rescued, mankind freed from the caprices of the gods: Prometheus not only
unbound but redeemed.
Los Angeles, September 4, 2013
Reprinted from USTheater, Opera, and Performance (September 2013).
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