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Sept
5 - Oct 13, 2002
Director JoAnne Akalaitis' provocative and passionate production of
the Phèdre myth. In Racine's 17th century version of this ancient
Greek tale, Queen Phèdre lusts after her handsome step-son
Hippolytus and, once spurned, pursues a vengeful path that ends in
tragedy. Ms. Akalaitis' productions at Court Theatre consistently
receive critical and audience praise for their innovation and ingenuity.
"MARY STUART marks Akalaitis' most thrilling and emotionally engaging work to date, and it is acted with operatic boldness as well as with a few perfectly measured post-modern winks..." |
| -Hedy Weiss, Chicago Sun-Times |
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BETRAYAL BECOMES A MASTER
"Your home's defiled, Theseus. I am no longer worthy of your love. You've been betrayed, your house has been dishonored. See my shame. I can do nothing now but hide my face." -Phèdre in Racine's Phèdre translated by Paul Schmidt.
. . . Phèdre is not altogether guilty, and not altogether innocent. She is drawn by her destiny, and the anger of the Gods, into an unlawful passion which she is the first to hold in horror . . . . And when forced to reveal it, she speaks of it with such shame and confusion as to leave no doubt that her crime is rather a punishment from the Gods, than an impulse of her own will. -Racine, Introduction to Phèdre
There are few more intense and complicated classic theatre acts of betrayal than Phèdre's confession of betrayal to her husband in Racine's PhÈdre . Betrayal in theatre is a delicious dramatic opportunity. To quote Webster's, "the act of delivering to an enemy by treachery, failing or deserting in time of need or disclosing in violation of confidence presents a full-proof dramatic arc." Betrayals are rarely impulsive or unexpected. They draw the audience into the action. They provide dramatic form for countless classic plays such as Shakespeare's Richard III and Moliere's Tartuffe.
In most plays, betrayals just involve the betrayer and a victim. In Phèdre, by hinting to her husband Theseus that he has been betrayed without disclosing the source, Phèdre betrays her husband, her stepson, and (most tragically) herself. Like Prince Hal's betrayal of Falstaff with "I know you not, old man," Phèdre's betrayal has larger consequences for herself and her family than she could ever foresee.
The myth of Phèdre grew out of the Theseus stories that were passed down over 1,000 years in ancient Greece, and the story stands as a great betrayal at the end of a great hero's career. Theseus lived in the generation before the Trojan War and is credited with pulling together the area around Athens. His myths usually contain examples of leadership, courage and strategic thinking as well as amorous exploits. But at the end of this life filled with charismatic success lies the story of multi-faceted betrayal of Theseus' son by his wife. As is so common in the world of Greek myths, the Gods set up a tragic fall from the corner where it was least expected - in this case the home.
Euripides wrote two plays (only one survives) depicting the Phèdre story, one in which a scandalous Phèdre betrays Hippolytus, and the other in which the Goddess Aphrodite betrays the human characters. This second Euripides play inspired Racine, although Racine removed the Gods as characters. Sophocles also wrote a Phèdre play which has since been lost, and the Roman writer Seneca emphasized betrayal less than the exotic and deviant sexuality of an older woman lusting after a younger man.
Racine, writing in 1677 for the court of Louis XIV, used seventeenth century notions of honor to create a theatrical petri dish of betrayal. Phèdre wrestles with her passion, and betrays herself when she betrays her love. From that suicide of honor, the betrayals of Hippolytus and Phèdre's dutiful nurse Oenone follow inevitably. Betrayal becomes a monster, devouring the entire world of the play.
In a word, Phèdre's principle is the paradox of a black light, that is of a contradiction of the essences. Now this contradiction has, in Phèdre, an absolute form: the monster. At first, the monstrous threatens all the characters; they are all monsters to each other, and all monsterseekers as well. But above all, it is a monster, this time a real one, which intervenes to resolve the tragedy. And this monster is the very essence of the monstrous - in other words, it epitomizes in its biological structure the fundamental paradox of Phèdre. It is the force that bursts out of the depths of the seas, it is what pounces upon the secret, breaks it open, ravishes it, tears it apart, scatters and disperses it. -Roland Barthes
-Celise Kalke, Court Theatre Dramaturg |
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