His feminine side
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- July
- 14
Alan Cumming – the elegant, knowing new host of PBS’ “Masterpiece Mystery” – showed a decidedly cheekier side of himself at the Lincoln Center Festival over the weekend.
As Dionysus in the ingenious National Theatre of Scotland production of Euripides’ “The Bacchae,” Cumming pranced around the stage in a gold-lamé kilt, kohl-rimmed eyes, vamp nail polish and black curls — every inch the rogue god as rock star. The actor was supported by some special effects that generated real heat —flaming walls, phallic mikes and an effective Greek chorus of R&B singers in drop-dead red (seen here with the star, courtesy of Lincoln Center).
None of these, however, could quite equal Cumming’s spectacular entrance — lowered from the rafters, upside-down and bare-bottomed, in a cruciform that put the deus in ex machina.
As with Dionysus himself, there was a method to this madness. One of Euripides’ last and most powerful plays, “The Bacchae” illuminates the tragedy that can befall men, and women, who devalue and repress the feminine in culture. Pentheus, the pent-up king of Thebes (a terrific Cal MacAninch), dishonors the Dionysian cult and the women who participate in its expressive rituals. So he is, of course, manipulated by the god into exploring the rites with horrific consequences. What we suppress in others we are often forced to acknowledge in ourselves.
But “The Bacchae” is too richly textured to be limited to one theme. There is a whiff of political relevance here as an uptight Western state, Thebes, finds itself undone in confronting the enigmatic East, in the person of Dionysus.
At its heart, however, the play is about the limits of familial forgiveness. Pentheus’ family disowned his aunt, Semele, when she became pregnant with Dionysus by Zeus, king of the gods. As a son set on avenging his lost mother, Dionysus exacts a terribly symmetrical justice in which a mother will lose her son.
All of this is captured in Euripides’ text, beautifully reimagined by playwright David Greig and beautifully spoken. Remember that ancient Greek performances consisted of one or two male actors using masks for various characters and wooden prosthetics to evoke the female form. So the playwrights of that time had to paint with poetry.
For all the modern bells and whistles of this production — along with Cumming’s star turn — it is the poetry that remains.
This entry was posted
on Monday, July 14th, 2008 at 12:05 pm by Georgette Gouveia.
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