Agamemnon

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Photo Source: Jonathan Slaff
The first entrance of the chorus—masked as old men and keeping rhythm with tall staffs, a tightly bound ensemble singing a driving melody—is brave enough to pull you out of your seat. But you don't stay there. Forty minutes later, the first ode is finished, and there are more than two hours left to go. This new production of "Agamemnon" might be called "Re-Enter the Chorus," as its greatest achievement is to reinvigorate the musicality and centrality of that intractable tragic component. But director Alexander Harrington's ambitions are greater than his ability to engage.

Harrington has put a lot into this staging. He's translated the entire play to capture the meter of the classic Greek text, and he's enlisted composer Michael Sirotta to write a lengthy score that lives somewhere between medieval church chorus and artsy musical theater. The theater space matches Harrington's sweeping vision: In La MaMa's cavernous Annex, Agamemnon has a long walk toward his doom. Between the platform where he enters and the tall staircase where his murderous wife awaits, a palpable tension fills the floor where the chorus dances.

But across three hours, that tension dissipates. "Agamemnon," despite being one of the longest extant Greek tragedies, is also one of the tightest; it hurtles unstoppably toward catastrophe. But gravitas kills the fire in this production, a problem exacerbated, ironically, by the music, which makes the chorus's language indecipherable. It's also exacerbated by Valois Mickens' Klutaimestra, who lacks the ferocity and charisma to be a worthy adversary of the chorus. Perhaps if she looked up from her cue cards, which she was reading during the performance I saw, she might have more to contribute.

A high point is Cassandra's aria, sung by Jessica Crandall to a stunned (and temporarily speaking) chorus. In this scene, barely half an hour, the potential offered by the combination of theater space, music, and newly imagined chorus pays off in both pathos and urgency. When she exits, she takes the play with her.


Presented by Eleventh Hour Theatre Company and La MaMa E.T.C. at La MaMa E.T.C., 74A E. Fourth St., NYC. Nov. 13–29. Thu.–Sat., 7:30 p.m.; Sun., 2:30 p.m. (No performance Thu., Nov. 26.) (212) 352-3101, (866) 811-4111, www.theatermania.com, or www.lamama.org.