My Recent Experience with Versions of "Antigone"

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My Recent Experience with Versions of "Antigone"Antigone by Jean Anouilh; Gus Kaikkonen; The Queen by Stephen Frears; Peter Morgan;Helen Mirren; Michael Sheen; James Cromwell; Helen McCrory; Sylvia Syms; The Burial atThebes: A Version of Sophocles' Antigone by Seamus Heaney; Carman Moore; Claire Pavlich;Alexander HarringtonReview by: Howard SteinArion, Third Series, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring - Summer, 2007), pp. 147-172Published by: Trustees of Boston UniversityStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/29737332 .

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My Recent Experience with Versions of Antigone

HOWARD STEIN

VJeorge Steiner's Antigones attests to the fact that no one play in the classical Greek canon has had so elab? orate a history as Sophocles'. In my case, however, that con?

clusion came to a crashing crescendo when I went to a local

library to seek a copy of the Loeb Classical edition. When I an?

nounced to the receptionist that I couldn't find the book on the

shelves, she indicated it was removed in 2005 and not ac?

counted for up to that very day. "Probably one of the high school people; that school is always doing Antigone" Her re?

mark brought to mind my having seen Antigone performed by The Living Theater in 1968 at Yale in what was described as a

version by Julian Beck and Judith Malina from the adaptation by Bertolt Brecht of the translation by Johann Christian H?lderlin from the original Greek by Sophocles. I was also re?

minded that Hegel in his Oxford lectures on tragedy used

Antigone as his model of tragedy in a fashion similar to Aris?

totle's evaluation of Oedipus Tyrannos. Soon thereafter, I was

inspired to go to New York for an announced version of the

play* written by Anouilh in Paris, early in the 1940s, and for Seamus Heaney's version, a recent adaptation (2005) titled

Burial at Thebes. And by chance, because of the advertise?

ments, I went to see The Queen, a film with Helen Mirren

about Queen Elizabeth and the burial of Princess Diana which I thought contained parallels to the Antigone story.

*Antigone by Jean Anouilh. The Phoenix Theatre Ensemble, di? rected by Gus Kaikkonen. Connelly Theatre, New York, NY; De? cember 2006-January 2007.

ARION 15.1 SPRING/SUMMER 2OO7



148 MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

The Anouilh version was performed by The Phoenix The? atre Ensemble, a company that assembled a remaining group of people who had created and maintained for thirty years an off-Broadway company called The Jean Cocteau Reper?

tory Company, a company devoted to producing plays from

the history of western dramatic literature. The Cocteau

company closed its doors two years ago, and this produc? tion of Antigone took place at the Connelly Center on East

Fourth Street in New York before fewer than a hundred in

the audience.

The Heaney adaptation was produced by The Eleventh Hour Theatre Company connected to the Performing Arts

Faculty at Clemson University, in this case collaborating with La Mama, Ellen Stewart's performing space at East

Fourth Street in New York, also for an audience of under one hundred people. And The Queen I saw in my home?

town, Stamford, Connecticut. From this chronicle, the

reader can account for the title of these pages. I saw the Anouilh script for the first time when I was a stu?

dent at Swarthmore College in 1947-48, an experience I re?

member specifically because of an exceptional portrayal of

Creon by a student named James Gildersleeve, whom I never

met nor know anything about. Having been aroused as all

young students must be aroused by Antigone's passionate re?

sistance to unjust authority, I was stunned to sit in the audi? ence and find myself extremely sympathetic to Creon's

plight, even more so than to the victim, Antigone. I couldn't account for my reaction simply because one performer was

superior to another. It was the logic with which Creon ar?

gued, the compassion of Creon, the awareness in Creon of

his dilemma, having placed Antigone in a position of being

stubborn, unrealistic, unreasonable, masochistic, and of self

indulgently seeking martyrdom rather than justice. The pro? duction in 2007 by The Phoenix Theatre was my first

encounter with that script since my college days and now my reaction was very different. Chalk up the response this time

to the writer not the performer. Anouilh's version is, in real



Howard Stein 149

ity, by no means a translation nor an adaptation of Sopho? cles. It is instead a version of the original story, a new, dif?

ferent, twentieth-century version (or treatment) of the original story, a reworking of Sophocles.

The reworking is accounted for because the play had to

pass the censors in Nazi-occupied Paris in 1943; to achieve

that goal, the unlikely possibility of a production of the

story, Antigone, the playwright was obliged to make Creon

the more correct and sympathetic of the two antagonists.

Making a dictatorial spirit more sympathetic than a youth? ful, passionate seeker of justice, a justice higher than that of

the government and its people would seem to be impossible. However, Anouilh indeed accomplished the task: the play had a world-wide audience, and it reached Broadway on

February 14, 1946. That performance starred Katherine

Cornell and Cedric Hardwicke.

Anouilh's tool to manage this apparently impossible task was to establish Creon as a character quite different from

the Creon we meet in Sophocles. Here is how he is described

before we even hear him say a word:

That gray-haired, powerfully built man sitting lost in thought... is

Creon, the King. . . . When he was younger ... he loved music,

bought rare manuscripts, was a kind of art patron. He would while

away whole afternoons in the antique shops of this city of Thebes.

This leader of men, this brilliant debater and logician, likes to be? lieve that if it were not for his sense of responsibility, he would step right down from the throne, and go back to collecting manuscript. But the fact is, he loves being King. He's an artist who has always

believed that he could govern just as well as any man of action

could; and he's quite sure that no god nor any man can tell him

anything about what is best for the common people.

Hear any echoes of Der F?hrer?

In this reworking, the description above is offered by the

Chorus, who starts the performance as he enters the bare

stage and quietly assembles the cast of characters one at a

time, a cast which is Anouilh's, not Sophocles'. The cast in?

cludes a nurse, a page, and the single actor portraying The



I50 MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

Chorus, who is not unlike the Stage Manager in Thornton

Wilder's Our Town. We soon discover, after Antigone fin?

ishes her opening scene with Nurse, both Ismene and

Haemon in extended scenes before we actually meet Creon.

His first encounter is with the Guard who is watching over

the body of Polynices; he greets him in an impatient ex?

change: "What are you doing here?" he asks, and while the

Guard starts and stutters his explanation, Creon continues

in his authoritative manner: "Stop chattering and tell me

why you are here. If anything has gone wrong with the body, I'll break all three of you [guards]."

So this man who claims to be an artist has come to that

point where he is obliged to practice governing. He is confi?

dent but yet untried. He cannot afford to reveal weakness.

His authority must not be challenged nor undercut. He has

at his disposal logic and the wisdom of his years as well as

the gift of reasonableness. He will soon confront an agent of

resistance who is youthful, impulsive, and devoted as well as

unreasonable. His debating skills are about to go to trial, for

he has never faced such an opponent. And for the next two

hours or so, the audience is privy to a masterful exchange of

conflicting convictions.

The Phoenix Theatre production coordinated all the

strengths of the Anouilh version of Antigone's story. The re?

sult was a performance resoundingly appealing to the audi?

ence. Creon was an intelligent, even sensitive, businessman

attempting to sell a product to a reluctant customer. He used

every argument available to him, acted with compassion and

understanding of his adversary, but was more mature and

sophisticated than his opponent and therefore more con?

vincing. However, in his convincingness he diminished the

value of Antigone, and despite an excellent performance by Kelli Holsopple, her Antigone emerged as a stubborn young? ster more intent upon martyrdom than upon her principles. She developed as a member of the race who has become

aware of the conditions of growing older, conditions that

make clear what goods life has in store for her, what cir



Howard Stein 151

cumstances promise for her future life. Creon and Antigone move the debate in Anouilh's Antigone from the political

principle in conflict with the divine principle in Sophocles' version (state authority in debate with divine authority) to a

debate in which they intellectually confront one another over the question, "Which is better, living or dying?" The

audience was not only engaged, as they would be in any in?

telligent discussion of "to be or not to be," but also en?

tranced. I, on the other hand, was instead moved to recall all sorts of experiences, examples of the same debate, experi? ences which raced through my mind while I heard Creon

and Antigone argue back and forth for some fifty minutes.

My associations seemed to be without limit. Deirdre in

Synge's play, Deirdre of the Sorrows, listens intently as her

devoted friend, Owen, tells her what she must face if she

chooses to live instead of choosing martyrdom: "Then I'll

tell you, you'll have a great sport one day seeing your lover Naisi getting a harshness in his two sheep's eyes and he look?

ing on yourself. Would you credit it, my father used to be in

the broom and heather kissing Lavarcharm, with a little bird

chirping out above their heads, and now she'd scare a raven

from a carcass on a hill. Queens get old, Deirdre, with their

white and long arms going from them and their backs hoop? ing. I tell you it's a poor thing to see a queen's nose reaching down to scrape her chin."

More to the point of brevity was a moment in my adoles? cence when I confronted my father with a question, "Why,

Daddy, do so many people go on living when they have so

much trouble?" His answer was spontaneous and to the pur?

pose, "My child, you make one excuse after another. Come, let's have a cup of coffee." My muscle-memory then flexed

yet another thought, a radio/TV program called Information Please. The program was moderated by Clifton Fadiman

and included three regular guests: John Kiernan, sports writer for The New York Times; Franklin P. Adams, a New

York wit who wrote a newspaper column called The Con?

ning Tower; and Oscar Levant, a musician of note and coun




terpoint with an acerbic tongue. The particular episode in

that series appropriate here was enlivened by the presence of

Fred Allen, one of the earliest satiric, comic talents to have a

national audience. The question before the four panelists was, "If you could live your life over again, what would you

change?" Kiernan, Adams, and Levant all explained what

they would change, but Allen simply said, "I would do noth?

ing different because I go along with Oedipus at Colonus, who said the best thing is not to be born and the next best

thing is to die young ['Not to be born comes first by every

reckoning, and once one has appeared, to go back where one came from as soon as possible is the next best thing']; and I go along with Macbeth who says that Life is a tale told

by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. And

you know what Fred Allen says? Fred Allen says, The

World is a grindstone and Life is your nose.'" Also brought to mind was a closing speech by Braz Cubas, the narrator

and subject of a posthumous autobiography, Epitaph of a

Small Winner, by Machado De Assis, a Brazilian novelist

writing in Portuguese (with a translation by William L.

Grossman). Braz concludes:

Adding up and balancing all these items, a person will conclude

my accounts showed neither a surplus nor a deficit and conse?

quently that I died quits with life. And he will conclude falsely; for

upon arriving on the other side of the mystery, I found that I had a

small surplus, which provides the final negative of this chapter of

negatives. I had no progeny. I transmitted to no one the legacy of

our misery.

And finally, my recollections fell upon a moment in my first teaching job, Freshman English at Northeastern Univer?

sity in Boston. In addition to teaching five sections with a pa?

per a week and as many student conferences as I could

muster, I was expected to supervise a club, since the univer?

sity was really a post-graduate school for high-schoolers. My club was a literary club to which I invited all the Boston tal?

ent surrounding Northeastern. One such was John Holmes, a



Howard Stein 153

professor at Tufts and a reputable poet. Holmes told the stu?

dents the following story. He was walking on a dirt road in

Vermont with his friend, Robert Frost, he in one path on the

left side of the road and Frost on the other path on the right side. Frost called over and asked him, "John, which do you think is better, living or dying?" Holmes answered, "I don't

know, Robert, which do you think?" Frost's response was,

"Living." Holmes asked, "How much?" and Frost answered,

"Fifty-five, forty-five." Holmes asked, "Have you ever writ?

ten a poem about that?" and Frost replied, "No." Then

Holmes told us he had indeed seen the poem many years

later, and Frost's answer was still, "Living," but the figures had been reduced to fifty-and-a-half and forty-nine-and-a half."

The culmination of all this recollection is my realization

that I was in the midst of a debate and not a conflict, that

neither Creon nor Antigone was vulnerable to a change, which means they are in an intellectual debate rather than a

dramatic conflict. In this version, Tiresias never appears and

Creon's reversal comes only after the Messenger comes to re?

port to us and to the Queen the scene in which Creon in?

tended to act on behalf of the resisters; but alas the damage had been done and the Messenger announces to us how

Creon responded to the voice of his son and then screamed, "Remove the stones." Creon makes an entrance, after the

Messenger's announcement and report, with this opening line: "I have had them [Antigone and Haemon] laid out side

by side."

For the French audience in Paris a few years before the

American audience in New York, Anouilh prepared a play suitable for both the Boulevard crowd and that of Broad?

way. He domesticated the story to the point that it was an

uncle trying desperately to save his niece from certain death, to save her who, though a relative, was also destined to be? come his daughter-in-law. (In fact, on occasion she calls him

Uncle Creon.) Anouilh made the play very accessible, with a

narrator, an explanation for Haemon's attraction to Antigone




when all the time everyone expected him to be attracted to

Ismene, and by offering a Creon who in this production looked alarmingly like a CEO business mogul. I can best ex?

plain my prejudice about the version by quoting Tennessee

Williams from the stage directions in act 2 of the original version of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof:

The bird that I hope to catch in the net of this play is not the so? lution of one man's psychological problem. I'm trying to catch the

true quality of experience in a group of people, that cloudy, flicker?

ing, evanescent?fiercely charged!?interplay of live human beings in the thundercloud of a common crisis. Some mystery should be

left in the revelation of character in a play, just as a great deal of

mystery is always left in the revelation of character in life, even in

one's own character to himself. This does not absolve the play?

wright of his duty to observe and probe as clearly and deeply as he

legitimately can; but it should steer him away from "pat" conclu?

sions, facile definitions which make a play just a play, not a snare

for the truth of human experience.

In Sophocles' Antigone and all those versions based on

that play, Creon, out of desperation, finally sends Antigone off to her fate, both adversaries sticking to their convictions, neither one a victor but both dealing with the repercussions to their principles. In the Anouilh, however, we find

Antigone's martyrdom is a result of her self-interest in not

taking the risk of living a life accompanied by all the pain and hardship that accompanies growing up and growing old. The original principle that motivated her conflict with

Creon, a principle devoted to her brother's afterlife, has been

supplanted by a more prosaic conviction rather than the

original higher authority. Although Creon suffers the horror

of losing to death both his wife and son, he nevertheless seems to be a more principled human being than his adver?

sary. She is reduced rather than exalted. I left the theater thoughtfully entertained.



Howard Stein 155

The film, The Queen,* bears no connection to the ancient

story of Antigone, except in its extraordinary and alarming

parallels: a contemporary monarch is informed of the death

of a relative who was a member of the royal family by mar?

riage, and who, protocol would dictate, is to be buried with

state honors suitable and appropriate to a member of the

family. That fundamental situation is sufficient to establish

the first similarity to Creon's story of an ancient king con?

fronted with the death of a relative whose sister considers

that his family position justifies a state burial suitable for a

royal family member. In both stories, the similarity is ex?

tended since Diana in The Queen, like Polynices in

Antigone, is considered by the monarch to be an enemy of

the state; both therefore are refused appropriate burial.

Whereas Polynices has waged war upon Creon's Thebes, which caused him to be considered the enemy of the state, Princess Diana, during and after her marriage to the Prince

of Wales, the heir apparent to the throne, had alienated

Queen Elizabeth, her husband, The Duke of Edinburgh, her

mother, the Queen Mother (or Queen Mum), with behavior

that seemed an affront to the institution of the monarchy. Behavior that embarrassed and outraged the royal family has also made her seem an enemy. Diana, however had been

highly successful in winning the affectionate approval of the

general public not only of England but of the entire British

Empire. And this had raised her offense, as it were, to a po? litical level.

The Queen's son, Charles, married Diana, whereas Creon's

son, Haemon, was in love with Antigone; in both Sophocles and Anouilh, the son anticipates marriage to Antigone. In

The Queen, Charles pleads for his ex-wife's rights to a pub? lic procession, especially since Diana is not only the ex-wife

of The Prince of Wales, but the mother of Charles' son,

William, a possible future king of England. His confronta

*The Queen, directed by Stephen Frears, written by Peter Morgan, starring Helen Mirren, Michael Sheen, James Cromwell, Helen Mc

Crory, and Sylvia Syms.




tion with his mother echoes Creon's confrontation with his

son, Haemon:

Creon: Is it merit to honor the unruly?

Haemon: I could wish for no one to show disrespect for evil-doing.

Creon: Is not she tainted with that malady? Haemon: Our Theban folk with one voice denies it. Creon: Shall Thebes prescribe to me how I must rule? Haemon: See, there you have spoken like a youth indeed.

Creon: Am I to rule this land by other judgments than my own? Haemon: This is no city which belongs to one man.

Creon: Is not the city held to be the rulers? Haemon: You would make a good monarch of a desert.

To Charles, her son, Prince of Wales and ex-husband of

Diana, Elizabeth says in a brief exchange:

Elizabeth: What are you going to do about the boys?

Charles: Let them sleep until we know more.

Elizabeth: Yes, that's sensible.

Charles: I should go to Paris. I told my people to start organiz?

ing a jet.

Elizabeth: What? A private one?

Charles: Yes.

Elizabeth: Isn't that precisely the sort of extravagance they at?

tack us for?

Queen Mother: You can use the Royal Flight. They keep one of the planes on permanent stand-by

... In case I kick the bucket.

Elizabeth: Out of the question. It's not a matter of State.

Charles: What are you talking about?

Elizabeth: Diana is no longer an HRH, nor a member of the

Royal Family. This is a private matter.

Charles: She's the mother to your grandchildren.

No response from the Queen, brief words between the

Queen Mother and Prince Philip, at which Charles stares in

disbelief . . . scene over.

And in a later scene:



Howard Stein 157

Charles: I was thinking last night what Diana might have done

had it been me in the tunnel in Paris. . . . She would have taken

the boys to Paris. I rather regret not doing that now.

Elizabeth: What? And expose them to the media? . . .

Charles: Look, whatever else you may have thought of Diana?

she was a wonderful mother. . . . Never afraid to show her

feelings. Elizabeth: Especially whenever a photographer was in sight.

Later still, in an exchange with Elizabeth, he touches the most dangerous secret hovering in Elizabeth's breast.

Charles: Why do they hate us so much?

Elizabeth: Not "us," dear.

Charles: (not having heard) What? . . . Yesterday, when we

drove the coffin back into London there was a noise. A bang. I

don't mind telling you I thought it was a gun. I thought some?

one had taken a shot at me.

Elizabeth: [visibly irritated] Why don't you go on without me. I'm going to walk back . . .

Another connection, although the similarity is more dis?

tant, is the role of the Chorus. In the Sophocles Antigone, that role is somewhat reduced from the role of the Chorus in

earlier Greek dramas, but it remains a major player in the outcome of the drama. In that play, the Chorus has the cru?

cial influence following Tiresias' prophetic remarks in chang? ing the mind of Creon and reversing his decision. They also articulate a glowing tribute to creation which begins, "Won? ders are many, and none is more wonderful than Man ..."

The role of the Chorus in The Queen is quite different. It is the entire population of London as well as the devotees of

Diana all over the world making their voices heard through television, news media, with posters, flowers, and a plethora of comments, expressions of love and admiration for the Princess as well as expressions of exasperation, anger, and

contempt for the Queen and her family and her institutions. The Chorus in Antigone is much more sympathetic, compas? sionate, thoughtful, frightened, than the Chorus of The




Queen?an expression of disgust, fury, impatience, and ha?

tred. It explodes in its limited fashion, a non-confrontational

yet adversarial manner which is more threatening than the

controversial debate in the ancient story. These similarities and echoes demonstrate the impulse to

make an immediate connection between Sophocles' Antig? one and Peter Morgan's screenplay, The Queen. The fact is,

however, that Morgan uses the ancient story as a means of

dramatizing the subject he is really dealing with: the ancients versus the moderns. The Antigone story serves as a useful re?

minder for the modern story he wishes to dramatize: the

conflict between the people and the monarchy, between the ancient tradition and the modern use of the institution of

monarchy. The debate/conflict which makes up the bulk of

the drama of the original as well as the variety of versions

subsequent is not the case with The Queen. Instead we have a variety of small scenes dramatizing the conflict between

the two forces, the ancients intent upon maintaining not

only the Queen's authority but also the continued existence

of the institution to which the Queen pledged her devotion

at the age of twenty-five when she took the following oath, her constitutional responsibility: "I declare that my whole

life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service." That pledge carried with it her mission and her ob?

ligation: to advise, guide, and warn the government of the

day.

With her first meeting with the Prime Minister, she forms

that government, a government which has fallen into the

hands of the Labor Party and their interest in moderniza?

tion. Only occasional scenes take place between these two

forces, Blair and the Queen, by phone, by messenger, in per? son (rarely), the Queen intent upon maintaining the habits,

spirit, fashion, protocol, and behavior attendant on her po?

sition, and he exercising the values, wishes, dreams of his

party but also of the general population and the press. Un?

like Creon and Antigone, they do not engage in a mortal de?

bate/conflict, eventually yelling at each other. The Queen



Howard Stein 159

would have none of that. As she says to Blair at one point:

I doubt there are many who know the British more than I, Mr.

Blair, nor who has greater faith in their wisdom and judgement.

And it is my belief that they will soon reject this "mood" which has

been stirred up by the press ... in favor of a period of restrained

grief, and sober, private mourning, (a beat) That's the way we do

things in this country. Quietly. With dignity, (a beat) It's what the

rest of the world has always admired us for.

To which Blair responds: "Well, if that's your decision,

Ma'am, of course the government will support it."

The Queen, in accordance with the constitution and tradi?

tion is the final authority, and remember, she is the Queen of

the Commonwealth which includes Australia, New Zealand,

Canada, the Fiji Islands, and a host of other lands as well as

being the Head of the Church of England. The Chorus may call Diana, "The People's Princess," but the Queen has an?

nounced that Diana is no longer HRH (Her Royal High?

ness), and is no longer a member of the Royal Family. Who,

then, will accommodate whom: Blair and the Chorus or the

Queen and the Royal Family? What separates this invention by Mr. Morgan in the con?

flict/debate between the ancients and the moderns is that the

burial, which has been thrust upon the country by accident,

by the chance motor accident in France so early in Diana's

life, may very well determine the future of the monarchy as

an institution of government. We are not here just dealing with the future of Queen Elizabeth. To dramatize this, a

more complex conflict, the screenwriter has chosen the per? fect occasion, an echo of the Creon/Antigone invention.

That story serves his purpose perfectly. The screenplay re?

veals a resolution to the conflict of the ancients and the

moderns by revealing the Queen's accommodation bit by bit

as a means of neutralizing the threat to the existence and fu?

ture of the Royal Family. The resolution comes not by a

heated exchange between the forces, but (as I have men?

tioned) by a series of small scenes with a minimum of dia



16o MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

logue which indicate a slight change in the rigidity of the

Queen's situation.

At the very beginning of the film, the Queen's first appear? ance, Elizabeth is sitting for her portrait by the family's artist, talking about the election on Election Day:

Elizabeth: Have you voted yet, Mr. Crawford?

Artist: Yes, Ma'am . . . and I don't mind tell you, it wasn't for Mr.

Blair.

Elizabeth: Not a modernizer then?

Artist: Certainly not. We're in danger of losing too much that's

good about this country as it is.

Elizabeth: I rather envy you being able to vote.

Artist: One forgets that as Sovereign, you are not entitled to vote.

Elizabeth: No.

Artist: Still, you won't catch me feeling sorry for you. You might not be allowed to vote, but it IS your government.

Elizabeth: Yes.

Morgan invents an even more telling quality in the Queen when he creates a moment of her as a parent:

Charles: My Private Secretary's office has found a travel agency

open in New York that will sell me a flight to Paris with an

hour's stopover in Manchester. (Charles contains himself with

difficulty). Perhaps now you might consider whether it's still an

extravagance to bring back the mother of the future King of Eng? land in one of our planes?

Elizabeth (after a long pause)-. All right.

Despite modifying her position bit by bit, the Queen re?

mains quite adamant about her edict, in the same manner

that Creon established his edict. From her point of view, any

acknowledgement of Diana's virtuous behavior essentially threatens the future of the Royal Family. She must guard that future despite loyalty to her own family and to the peo?

ple. The implications go far beyond the kind of funeral serv?

ice. The burial is only the beginning of the problems

confronting Her Majesty. Tony Blair asks his aides:



Howard Stein 161

Tony: Why is Charles doing this [asking for Blair's total support]? . . .

Creeping up to me like this. He did it at the airport when he

asked me to "deal" with his mother.

Aide #2: Because he knows that if the Queen continues to get it

wrong over Diana, it won't be long before the Royals become

public enemy no. 1. (a beat) Terrified of being shot, apparently.

Tony: Who, Charles?

Aide #2: He probably thinks if he's seen on our side, the Queen

will be the one left in the firing line, not him. Tony: What? So it's OK for his mother to take the bullet, not him?

(shakes head) What a family. Aide: Can't stand one another apparently.

Tony: Who? Charles and the Queen? Yes, I heard that, (a beat) I sup? pose he won't be King until she dies, and she'll live to 500. They all do. Can't be much fun for her, either. Having her natural suc?

cessor breathing down her neck. Thinking murderous thoughts.

The whole thing . . . (a beat) It's like "The Agamemnon."

And so the whole play moves from being similar to Antig? one to being a reminder of Agamemnon?and an even more

vicious, dangerous situation. This change is apparent to the

participants, not just to the audience.

Of course, in the final analysis, the Queen's accommoda? tion prevents such a catastrophe. The monarchy's preserva?

tion is more important to the Queen than giving in to the

popular wishes and even to acknowledging some sympathy for "The People's Princess." Whereas Creon is a rigid, deter?

mined, insistent, unapproachable monarch, Elizabeth is a

strong, dedicated, passionate devotee of her nation and her

task, unrelenting but approachable, subject to modification.

She changes her mind about Charles and his air travel to

Paris; and as the drama continues, she accepts a public fu?

neral, allows the route of the Changing of the Guard to be

redirected in order to accommodate all the flowers and de?

posits made by the people in the Buckingham Palace

grounds, all modifications after a victory for the moderns

and all hated by the Queen Mum, the Duke of Edinburgh,




and the Queen's immediate staff. Although devoted to the ancient rituals, customs, and behavior, she is the only mem?

ber of the Royal Family willing to modify her dedication to

the historical institution of the monarchy. And so we find her towards the end of the story listening

to the final advice of the modern Prime Minister:

Ma'am, a poll that's to be published in tomorrow's paper sug?

gests 70% of people believe your actions have damaged the monar?

chy and one in four are now in favor of abolishing the monarchy

altogether. (Silence.) As your Prime Minister, I believe it's my con?

stitutional responsibility to ADVISE the following . . .

And he lists the items of advice, the final two being: "Pay re?

spects in person at Diana's coffin," and "make a statement

via live television to my people and the world."

The Queen, in the company of her mother, continues:

"Swift prosecution of these matters, he felt, might, just

might, avert disaster."

The Queen capitulates and puts each suggestion into ac?

tion.

The ancient Antigone always leaves a reader or observer

wondering what discovery Creon makes after Tiresias' exit

that has him change his mind and reverse his position to?

wards Antigone's action. That he might be persuaded is one

thing, but that he is convinced he can contradict his princi?

ple of authority, his political power, is yet another. However, in The Queen, the screen-writer has not only provided the

ultimatum from the Prime Minister, but invents yet another

telling and moving moment that provides us with an aware?

ness of her position and her institution that fuels the people's acceptance of her position. Walking among her population,

making her appearance supporting "The People's Princess," she comes upon a young child holding a bouquet of flowers. The Queen leans down and says to the child: "Would you like me to place them for you [among the explosion of bou?

quets honoring Diana]?" The child answers, "No," and the

Queen, startled, exclaims, "Oh," to which the Child replies,



Howard Stein 163

"They're for you." Elizabeth, as described by the screen?

writer, "is thrown. Suddenly looks utterly lost. Vulnerable, almost child-like. Her eyes are puffy and swollen, as though she is fighting tears ..."

My response to that moment was that Elizabeth knows

the monarchy will win. For whatever reason, the people wish it to be. Earlier in the film, Blair has had an argument with his wife about abolishing the monarchy, and with mem?

bers of his entourage in office who have offended him with

their attitude towards the Queen. His response is an impas? sioned diatribe to set the record straight between the an?

cients and the moderns. To his major associate, Alistair, he

spins around with "eyes flashing in anger":

You know, when you get it wrong, you REALLY get it wrong, (a

beat) That woman has given her whole life in service to her peo?

ple?fifty years doing a job she NEVER wanted?a job she

watched kill her father. She's executed it with dignity, honor and, as

far as I can tell, without a single blemish?and now we line up bay?

ing for her blood?why? Because she's struggling to lead the world in mourning for a woman who threw everything she offered back

in her face, and who seemed, in the last few years, to be committed

twenty-four seven to destroy everything she holds dear.

These two adversarial forces are not by any means identi? cal to the two forces acting in mortal combat in the ancient

story of Antigone and Creon. But with all the accommoda? tion made on the part of both forces, one more similarity re?

mains to the ancient play. With the burial having taken place to the pleasure and satisfaction of the populace and the

world, Blair some time later visits the Queen at Buckingham Palace. During that visit and conversation, Blair says about

their trials and tribulations a few months back:

Tony: I still believe History will show it was a good week for you. Elizabeth: And an even better one for you, Mr. Blair.

She can't help herself from implying the accusation that he

acted out of self-interest rather than from a more noble heart,



i64 MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

a self-interested politician. In a similar way, Creon accuses

Tiresias in their encounter (when he expressed disapproval of Creon's edict) that the seer, the most noble, respected, and honored citizen of the state has acted from a venal impulse of

self-interest?as he accuses Tiresias in a nasty exchange:

Creon: It's a sorry thing when a wise man sells his wisdom, lets

out his words for hire.

Another echo!

Accommodations, whether in a conflict between ancients

and moderns or simply between two different points of view, do not necessarily end up in absolute accommodation. Early in the film, the Queen mocks the modern style inherent in

Mr. Blair's request for people to "just call me Tony." That

kind of familiarity Queen Elizabeth is not about to condone, for there was never any danger that either Blair or anyone else would address Her Majesty as "Betty."

i had read Burial at Thebes before journeying to the East

Village in New York City to see an announced production

appearing at La Mama.* That was an unusual practice for me. I operate on the assumption that "form is the arousing and fulfilling of expectation," and I therefore try to avoid

bringing any expectations with me. However, because of my advance reading, I was already quite excited and as a result

entered the theater with an a priori expectation. For exam?

ple, Seamus Heaney, the translator/adaptor of Sophocles' Antigone, included in the printed version of the play a cast

list of the first production by the Abbey Theater in Dublin, in 2005. That list included a two-character Chorus, a deci?

sion which especially interested me. I had never seen a clas?

sical Greek play that involved a two-character Chorus. My

*The Burial at Thebes: A Version of Sophocles' Antigone, by Sea? mus Heaney. The Eleventh Hour Theatre Company, original music

by Carman Moore, original choreography by Claire Pavlich, and directed by Alexander Harrington. La Mama, First Floor Theatre;

January 25-February 11, 2007.



Howard Stein 165

interest in the upcoming performance was also generated by an especially impressive translation by Heaney. His use of al?

literation, which he accounts for in a five-page addendum to

the printed script was explained by the alliteration in the

original version. I complained in my article on Hecuba, an

article published in Arion in Fall 2005, about the translation

by Tony Harrison which was packed with alliteration that distracted me from the action on the stage by calling atten?

tion to itself. Would that be the case with Heaney's version/

translation of Antigone} I entered the theater with consider?

able anticipation and expectations. The space for performance seated about ninety people

with seats on two sides of the center space, chairs for about fifteen people on each side. Actors were to enter from the rear of the center space, and the remainder of the audience was seated in a bleacher-like construct facing the center

space. That construct was divided by an aisle which faced

the audience and which, I was to discover, was a playing area, not one just for exits and entrances. I learned about

that after having established myself in the front row of the

bleachers, where I was sure (I thought) to be able to see and

hear every word of the performance. That was not to be the case. No matter how I attempted to turn my head and my

body, I could not see over other folks in the audience nor

could I manage to attach a voice to an actor in that aisle. My

appreciation of Heaney's work was not totally obliterated, but it was significantly impaired. Heaney's words are orchestrated with energy, imagery,

and rhythm, completely accessible, and not only colorful but

also dramatic. The first words we hear from Ismene and

Antigone are made for the mouths of the actors:

Antigone: Ismene, quick, come here

What's to become of us?

Why are we always the ones?

There's nothing, sister, nothing



i66 MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

Zeus hasn't put us through

Just because we are who we are?

The daughters of Oedipus.

Not an extraneous syllable for this necessary exposition. Is? mene speaks with a similar vocabulary and rhythm to her

lines a bit later:

Ismene: We're children of Oedipus?

Daughters of the man

Who fathered us on his mother?

The king they drove from their city, No matter he didn't know.

No matter it was Oedipus

Brought his own crimes to light And then reached into his eyes And tore them out of their sockets?

The introductory words from the Chorus offer us a different

vocabulary and a different rhythm:

Chorus: Glory be to brightness, to the glistening sun,

Shining guardian of our seven gates.

Burn away the darkness, dawn on Thebes,

Dazzle the city you have saved from destruction.

The alliteration in each line helps capture the sound and sense of the thoughts and feelings to be uttered by the Cho? rus. Heaney's talent is immediately visible and audible. I had a great deal to look forward to.

But alas, my seat in the theater precluded accessibility to

much of the activity taking place at the top of the aisle, within the bleachers, and unfortunately, even when the Cho? rus was in the large space in front of me. Despite a serious, ambitious production with dedicated performers and artists, the experience for me was flawed and malformed. Let me

explain.

The production was initiated in March, 2005, by the artistic

director, Alexander Harrington, who asked Craig Bacon, a

voice teacher, to lead a group of actors in physical and vocal ex



Howard Stein 167

ercises geared towards developing a visceral approach to tragic choruses. That indeed was an imaginative, unique, and ad?

mirable project, a promising, welcome, and courageous contri?

bution to the American theater. Later that summer, Harrington

joined the Performing Arts faculty at Clemson University, and was asked to direct Burial at Thebes. He in turn asked Carmen

Moore, a composer, and Craig Bacon, both of whom had col?

laborated from March through August with Harrington on the

Greek Tragedy Project. Moore came to Clemson as a guest artist on the Burial at Thebes project, and Bacon was invited to

Clemson to lead the cast in a series of workshops. Harrington discovered a Performing Arts major, Claire Pavlich, who was a

trained ballet dancer, observed her choreography in a produc? tion at Clemson, and solicited her to develop choreography for

the Burial at Thebes based on a movement vocabulary that came out of the workshops. Harrington integrated the music

with the choreography and with the results of the workshops,

assembling a production that he decided to bring to New York

City under the auspices of his company, The Eleventh Hour, in

association with Ellen Stewart's La Mama.

I offer this extensive explanation of the development of

this production because it helps explain why this university

supported project had a cast of twenty-one people, ten of

whom were the Chorus, nine of whom were Actors Equity, and a staff of fifteen (which included Ms. Moore performing recorded instrumental music on an Ensonig MR76 key? board). The ambition was not only considerable but signifi? cant, and deserved to be transported to New York in a

performance that was indeed vivid, energetic, and elaborate.

My difficulty arose with the playing space, for it seemed to me that a university theater (a proscenium space) was much more appropriate for the production Harrington and his col?

laborators prepared than it was for La Mama's space The

choice of venue, however, was not my only reservation, be? cause the role of the Chorus, that which inspired the pro?

duction, was directed so as to highlight the Chorus more

than to serve Heaney's version. A ten-member chorus of men




and women speaking in unison, with La Mama acoustics, I

fear, need much more time in their project workshops to

handle the enormous task that a classical Greek Chorus is

required to perform. The production was a grand undertak?

ing for that group, but their success in communicating to

me, an audience member, was unsuccessful. My measure of

success was a Greek National Theater production presented at City Center in New York City in 2003 with a Chorus of

fifteen Elders. This production, by contrast, left me frus?

trated, disappointed, and even disturbed. The good was

overwhelmed by the less good. Mr. Harrington's casting of Jessica Crandall as Antigone

and Louise Flory as Ismene was not only good but excellent.

That also applies to Frank Anderson as Creon. Antigone's first appearance provided the audience with a childlike young

girl whose delicacy belied a determined, even strong-willed woman, humanly vulnerable but not subject to anyone else's will with respect to her mission. She is passionate, someone

who knows exactly what she is passionate about, and who will not minimize her defiance of any adversary in this situa? tion. When the Chorus speak about her later in the story, they describe the Antigone Heaney has created:

Chorus: Steadfast Antigone, Never before did Death

Open his stone door To one so radiant.

You would not live a lie.

Vindicated, lauded, Age and disease outwitted,

You go with head held high.

While the Chorus describes Antigone as "noble," Haemon

describes his father, Creon, very differently:

Haemon: You're deranged Let whoever can abide you watch her die.

That derangement is a reflection of Creon's political pas? sion in contrast to Antigone's human/tribal, familial, primal



Howard Stein 169

passion. Hers is of equal intensity and drive, unresponsive to

any reason or logic in its way. To Ismene, however, such be?

havior is foreign. She articulates her response:

Ismene: I'll be ruled by Creon's word.

Anything else is madness.

You are mad. You don't have a chance.

Ismene is not at all mad. Even when she reverses herself

and asks to join Antigone in her resistance, her logic and her

behavior are filtered through reason. In performance, Louise

Flory came across just that way, acting with emotion rising to a high level. Jessica Crandall, however, was wild, auda?

cious, unrestrained, as was Frank Anderson as Creon. Nei?

ther Crandall nor Anderson modified their performances with emotion. Their words told them what they were feel?

ing, and they played no subtext to those words.

That precisely is one of the beauties in classical Greek

drama, as it is in Shakespeare. The actor need not seek sub? text nor any other clue to what the character is feeling. The actor should play the line. The actor cannot fool the text nor

will the text fool the actor. The text is what is to be played and uttered, not something deeper and more mysterious. The line is fully sufficient, deeper and mysterious enough. Is? mene played emotion; Antigone and Creon played passion. That difference reinforced my conviction that emotion is

passion filtered through a prudent will.

I detected a difference, however, in the passion of Antigone and that of Creon. For me, Antigone's madness was best de?

scribed as her being "mad with sanity"; Creon, on the other

hand, as described by his son, "deranged," was unhinged.

Early in the play, in the presence of the Chorus, responding to the Guard's report, he confronts the Guard:

Creon: Enough. Don't anger me. Your age, my friend,

Still doesn't give you the right to talk such rubbish. The gods, you think are going to attend



I70 MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

To this particular corpse? Preposterous.

Did they hide him under clay for his religion?

The man is nasty, mean, contemptuous, prosaic to the core

despite his poetic expression. While he speaks in a poetic

rhythm, the Guard cuts him down with his prose:

Creon: What are you saying? What man would dare do this?

Guard: That, for the life of me, I cannot tell you. There wasn't so

much as a scrape left on the ground. No sign of pick-work or

that class of thing. No rut-marks from a wheel. Nothing but the

land, the old hard scrabble.

As the play progresses, one discovers Antigone becoming more and more sympathetic, appealing, and Ms. Crandall

supported the text. Creon, on the other hand, becomes less

and less tolerable, more the tyrant than the monarch. His

passion moves into the realm of rage. The result for the au?

dience is to find one approving of the martyr/saint Antigone and despising the arrogant dictatorial Creon. Heaney con?

tributed to this result despite Mr. Anderson's rather sympa? thetic performance (as far as I could see him). The fault of

such a dichotomy between the two main characters might in

part be accounted for by two expressions in the text:

Antigone: This is his edict for you And for me, Ismene, for me!

And he's coming to announce it.

"I'll flush 'em out," he says.

"Whoever isn't for us

Is against us in this case."

Later, in his confrontation with Tiresias, Tiresias makes an

interesting allusion:

Creon: When did I not, prophetic father, heed you? Tiresias: And isn't that why your ship has stayed on course?

The two expressions by Heaney the playwright, "Whoever

isn't for us is against us," and "Isn't that why your ship has

stayed on course?" cannot help but be associated with the



Howard Stein 171

present Administration of the United States, and in a very

unsympathetic manner. This Creon and this Antigone are

not of equal value to us and to their society as they are in

Sophocles' Antigone. Anderson's performance could not

soften the text.

Which brings me to Creon's final drama, the discovery and then reversal of his edict. The final possible influence on

Creon is the presence of the seer, Tiresias. And although Creon acknowledges that he, in the past, has heeded the

prophetic father, he manages also to assail Tiresias:

Creon: You, Tiresias,

You and your fortune-telling tribe

Have bled me white.

None of your pollution talk scares me.

But even the wisest man on earth, old man,

Has been corrupted the minute he's prepared To start delivering fake truths on demand.

In Sophocles' version as well as in Heaney's, Creon insults

Tiresias as someone who has been bought, collecting money in exchange for convincing Creon to change his mind about

burying Polynices and releasing Antigone. When Tiresias is

fully insulted, he leaves?after having announced a prophecy of doom:

Tiresias: You have violated their prerogatives. No earthly power, no god in upper air

Exerts authority over the dead.

Henceforth, therefore, there lie in wait for you

The inexorable ones, the furies who destroy.

The drama demands that Creon discover something that

forces him to reverse his decision. In the Fitts/Fitzgerald translation, Sophocles uses eight lines, and Heaney uses

seven:



172. MY RECENT EXPERIENCE WITH VERSIONS OF ANTIGONE

Chorus : He's gone, my lord, but his words won't go away.

Never in all my days was that man wrong.

When he warned the city, the city knew to listen.

Creon: I know. I listened too. And learned from him. I hate a climb-down, but something's gathering head.

Chorus: Now, of all times, you must heed good advice.

Creon: What is to be done? Tell me and I'll do it.

What did he suddenly discover? He already knew of Tire?

sias' wisdom and power as well as effectiveness. He was of?

fered advice by the Chorus of Elders, by Haemon, by Ismene, and by Antigone. Nothing would deter him from

acting on his edict. Suddenly, however, he sees the light. Who turned it on? The Chorus? Teiresias? Creon? Memory? The director is left to fill in the spaces, a gargantuan task,

unsuccessfully accomplished in this production. The mo?

ment happened at the top of the aisle near an altar-like con?

struct. I heard things happening, but I couldn't see them. No

matter what follows with the Messenger's report, the death

of Eurydice, the suicide of Haemon; no matter that even in

accepting the advice of the Chorus, he reverses the order of

his two obligations?with the result that he is late on all

counts; no matter Creon's lament. The credibility of the ac?

tion was lacking, and the effectiveness of the tragedy was

lost as well. However, when Mr. Harrington finds the way in

his Chorus Projects Workshop to have the Chorus help him

successfully cover this weakness in the drama (which reverts

both to Sophocles as well as to Heaney), he will be able to

manage what Nikiti Kontouri managed to do with a fifteen

person Chorus in 2003 with The Greek National Theater. It

is absolutely worth the effort.



Documents

My Recent Experience with Versions of "Antigone"