Agamemnon (The Ghost Sonata) (review)

Agamemnon (The Ghost Sonata). By Aeschylus. Theseion Theater, Athens, Greece. 12 January 2000.

A highly unconventional production of Aeschylus' Agamemnon opened this year in a huge factory district loft in Athens. Michael Marmarinos, a young artist reputed for his innovative work with the classics, directed. Marmarinos made the unusual choice to focus the production on Agamemnon and his homecoming, rather than on Clytemnestra. The king was interpreted by Blaine Reininger, lead singer of the popular German rock group, Tuxedomoon, while Clytemnestra was played by Jenny Drivala, a well-known soprano in Greece. Presented as environmental theatre, with a sparse and minimalist set designed by Dionysis Fotopoulos that made no distinction between stage or auditorium, the production underscored natural attributes of the loft space.

Marmarinos's production presented a fascinating portrayal of the king as an engaging stranger. Reininger's Agamemnon was handsome, tall, lean and spoke in English. His words were translated into Greek and projected on a wall behind him. In this production, Agamemnon was given more text, reciting excerpts from the diary of a concentration camp prisoner, and also, significantly, he played songs composed by Tuxedomoon, gospel music by Kurt Weill, and Greek folk tunes. The German musician evoked the sadness of a romantic loner, endowing Agamemnon with a strong poetic quality. In this interpretation, Agamemnon had a rounded personality and held his own, no longer easy prey for Clytemnestra.

The character of the queen was also reinterpreted. Jenny Drivala's Clytemnestra emerged as a sexually alluring, enigmatic figure, attractive and repellent at the same time. Drivala's movement was controlled and confident and her voice had a distinctly attractive, melodious quality. Yet, she often stared unmovingly, her words appearing to come from the mouth of a stone sphinx.

The production opened abruptly with Agamemnon's return. In the scene between Agamemnon and Clytemnestra there was strong erotic tension between the two characters. Reininger and Drivala drew attention to the rhythmic qualities of language when they spoke, conveying the sense that words were musical sounds. His English mingled with Clytemnestra's Greek, creating engaging musical rhythms. Listening to Clytemnestra's melodious voice, Agamemnon could believe that, although absent for so long, he would indeed be reintegrated into the household. In this interpretation, the king was not an ignorant victim committing hubris by stepping on the tapestries. This crucial episode was presented as a re-enactment, for in a sense, the king was already a ghost. His opening story-telling and singing conveyed the impression he sensed or knew about his death, as if already having been through it. Thus, Agamemnon became a formidable opponent for Clytemnestra. She killed him, but he haunted her. After the Agamemnon-Clytemnestra episode, the herald appeared on the roof giving news of Agamemnon's return; however, the king had already walked to his death. The play began anew, but this time Agamemnon did not appear, haunting the action without participating in it. Indeed, Marmarinos subtitled his Agamemnon "The Ghost Sonata," underscoring the immaterial presence of the king. Unfortunately, with the exception of the initial scene, Marmarinos did not fully explore Agamemnon's haunting absence.

Cassandra's prophesy provided the only other interesting moments. Like Agamemnon, Cassandra gave the impression of being a stranger. Wearing a sexy, turquoise dress and with bleach blond hair, she looked like the Scandinavian tourists who visit Greece and are hotly pursued by Greek men. If Clytemnestra's distinctive mark was her voice, Cassandra's was her body. Her prophetic abilities were intimately associated with her physicality. She experienced the pain of her coming death and became possessed, having to be restrained from throwing herself against the palace wall. Indeed, her seizure was so powerful two female members of the chorus also had violent convulsions as she spoke.

The chorus in this production was composed of young people, dressed in casual modern wear, who Marmarinos attempted to identify with the audience. They mingled among us, guiding us to different parts of the space to view...