Theatre in Review: Antigona (Noche Flamenca/West Park Presbyterian Church)Spanish dance meets Greek tragedy in Antigona, a flamenco retelling of the Antigone story. This is not the tightly focused ethical debate of Sophocles's drama or Jean Anouilh's modern adaptation; instead, in Martin Santangelo's version, it tells the whole sorry story of the fall of the house of Oedipus, beginning with a young man's tragic error and ending in a river of blood. From the first moments, when a series of eerie, bone-white faces appear from beneath a vast black muslin tarp -- they are masks, attached to the back of the cast members' heads -- this terrible tale is told in a series of vividly realized stage pictures. In a series of brief, fiercely danced episodes, the saga unfolds. Jocasta, realizing she has married her son, wraps her shawl around her neck and hangs herself; Oedipus, discovering her, pulls knitting needles from her neck and puts out his eyes. Their sons, Eteocles and Polyneices, agree to rule Thebes jointly, but their intense rivalry leaves them both dead. Creonte, their uncle, becomes dictator; he rules that Eteocles will have a full state burial, but, in a brutal act of humiliation, Polyneices' body will be left exposed to the elements. Antigone cannot accept this cruel and arbitrary decision, and her determination to give Polyneices an honorable burial sets everyone in the family on course for disaster. The story is told in music, song, and dance; most of the vocals and narration are in Spanish, with English translations, adapted from Dudley Fitts and Robert Fitzgerald's translation of Sophocles and projected on a screen upstage. But the music -- raw, haunting, and filled with portents of doom -- and the visuals are what matter here: The representatives of the Delphic Oracle are dressed in diaphanous white shrouds; when backlit, they spread their arms, revealing an array of floating white masks; it's a startling prophecy of the deaths to come. Antigona, fed up with her frivolous sister, Ismene, hurls the young lady at the corpse of their brother. Creonte, seizing power, takes part in a "bullfight" with a woman bearing a stool, then accepts as a crown a toreador's hat. Creonte ruthlessly kicks Antigona's shoes out of his way before ordering her to be dispatched. Antigona, consumed with grief, wraps herself in a white cloth that is dragged across the stage by a masked female quartet. Creonte and Tiresias, seated, face each other, each slapping one knee to beat out the rhythm of their furious dispute. One might be justifiably wary of such cross-cultural conceits, but here the remorselessness and high drama of flamenco is a powerful vehicle for expressing the conflict of implacable wills that is the essence of Greek drama. In interviews, Santangelo says the project was inspired by the ongoing controversy in Spain about the advisability of reopening mass graves from the Franco era, in order to identify the victims. In any case, the jackhammer sound of heels riveting the floor, the sinuous upper body movements, and the furiously intense concentration of flamenco provide a brilliant vocabulary for tragedy. Antigona is choreographed by the celebrated flamenco specialist Soledad Barrio, who also plays the title role; she moves through the action like a sword of vengeance, dancing with an urgency that never falters and facing her opponents with a stunning self-possession. Equally gifted with star presence is Juan Ogalla as Haemon, her lover and Creonte's son, who, caught in the middle, reveals his conflicts in some of the evening's most intense footwork. Manuel Gago is a preening, arrogant Creonte, yet also pitiable when faced with the string of deaths that concludes the drama. Pepe el Bocadillo's raw, pain-streaked vocals lend tremendous authority to his Tiresias. Emilio Florido adds an undertone of mockery as the Master of Ceremonies, who sees through all of the characters' illusions. I'm not convinced that adding hip-hop to the mix adds anything useful, but Ray F. Davis, as Eteocles, moves fluently (if jarringly), and this choice does make for a striking contrast in the battle between Eteocles and Polyneices. The music, written by Eugenio Iglesias, Salva de Maria, and Santangelo, and performed by Iglesias, de Maria, David Rodriguez, and Hamed Traore, is arresting throughout. S. Benjamin Farrar's lighting blends beautifully sculpted white light with blood-red washes and slashes of blue, helping to create the right dramatic environment. No sound designer is credited, which is a pity, as the musicians and their instruments are miked and, in the unforgiving acoustic atmosphere of the West Side Presbyterian Church, the often stunning score threatens at times to melt into a musical soup. Still, this is one of the most arresting evenings to be found in New York right now. The night I attended, the city was in the grip of a heat wave and the church is not air-conditioned. (Water bottles and fans were helpfully handed out.) Still, my attention never wavered, not for a second. Using a highly singular dance style, this production gets at the blood and bone of tragedy, rendering it impossible to resist. -- David Barbour 
|
