The most audacious production of a tragedy the Getty has hosted. The comedies have been pretty free and far-out, but for a drama this was something else.
It was an explicitly political drama, with Oedipus’s accusations of treachery against Creon – and Jocasta’s attempts to mollify the conflict – being the main thing. Oedipus’s tragedy seemed the tragedy of a vain and hotheaded politician, rather than the fate of Everyman.
The mood was violently haunted rather than dispassionately relentless. The conclusion, after Jocasta’s exit, was a frenzied Expressionist free-for-all, rather than a orderly march into hell.
It was not a translation from Greek to English. The primary language of the production was American Sign Language. There were usually English-language voice-overs and supertitles, but not always. The choruses were a quintet signing in unison, without any interpretation. It underscored the event is an occasion of translation, interpretation.
Gestures were repeated so that even un-signed idiots like me began to note the repetitions. E.g. rubbing palms together, then extracting from a palm a stream and tossing something over a slightly bowed head.
But this was not decorative dancing. It was often beautiful but it was often brutal: abrupt, harsh, ugly. Indeed, the actors seemed to strive to make each speech end with a big, abrupt gesture. A gestural exclamation point. Is this Deaf West’s house style, or is it a feature of ASL? Either way, it was expressive of conflict and turmoil.
The signing was not silent. The performers thwacked their chests with resounding thumps, clapped, squeaked, slapped and – most disturbing of all – grunted, groaned and howled.
Russell Harvard delineated a clear trajectory from an everything-is-under-control CEO to paranoid inquisitor, to human wreck. He didn’t waste any energy in imitating a Greek statue: no nonsense about being stately and calm.
Ashlea Hayses was an appropriately strange Tiresias. She evolved from being too frightened to speak to the voice of doom.
Jon Wolfe Nelson played Creon as a martinet more concerned about his privileges than his country, or the truth.
Akia Takara’s writhing and shrieking and cowering made the Shepherd a bigger part than I remember.
Tany Orellana’s visuals had a tremendous moment when the frames between the Getty pillars became illuminated white rectangles.
Peter Bayne provided a nicely ominous electronic rumble.
A lot to think about.
A surprising choice. The Getty up to now has made a point of avoiding the most familiar items in the antique repertoire. Also, the program booklet, contrary to tradition, didn’t announce next year’s play. Could we hope for Deaf West doing “Oedipus at Colonis” next, then “Antigone”?