Perhaps our society no longer understands theatrical beating of breasts and tearing of hair, but there were many weeping in the Lowell Davies Festival Theatre Sept. 10, where the Old Globe Theatre's production of Euripides' anti-war tragedy, The Trojan Women, nightly brings home the human toll exacted by war.
Set among Balboa Park's eucalyptus and fully incorporating the telephone poles that serve to hold the light grids in the outdoor Lowell Davies Festival Theatre, Ralph Funicello's three-tier set is a magnificent achievement. Festooned with netting, bits of corrugated metal, and chain link, this could be the detritus of any war, though costume designer Ann Hould-Ward garbs the conquerors in modern camouflage khaki and combat boots redolent of the late John Hirsch's unforgettable 1988 Coriolanus at the adjacent Old Globe Theatre. The whole is observed from the canyon upstage left by the bust of a classical Greek lad, a veritable marble behemoth.
While awaiting their fate just outside the city walls, the royal women of defeated Troy wear stressed gowns that glitter still. They are the spoils of war, flesh awaiting disposal and dispersion; no more, no less than their serving women, represented by a chorus of five led by Rosina Reynolds, her features as chiseled as Greek statuary, her voice vibrant as a cello.
Utilizing a fine classical intensity and a bit of nudity, director Seret Scott makes the production's seven principals, chorus, and four soldiers seem many more. Delivering the unrelenting tragedy in the accessible, 90-minute adaptation by Marianne McDonald, they seem much larger. The focal point of the tragedy is the death of former queen Hecuba's grandson, Astyanax (Nick Navarro), whom the conquering soldiers are ordered to throw from the ramparts to the rocks below. Since his father, Hector, was a hero, the slip of a lad presents a potential threat.
The acting ensemble is uniformly excellent. Especially impactful are Rayme Cornell's mad scene as Cassandra, Jennifer Regan's woeful Andromache, and Michael James Reed's sympathetic Talthybius. As the aging Hecuba, Randy Danson is less effective, her finest moments delivered over the body of Astyanax. The role calls for near-operatic vocalism; she seems frayed both vocally and physically. John Campion is all faded virility as General Menelaus, who, after 10 year's siege of the city, intends to take vengeance on his unfaithful wife, Helen (Celeste Ciulla). Ciulla's erotic dance convinces him that forgiveness, tempered with punishment, might be more satisfactory. Peter Maradudin's lighting is most effective, and Chris R. Walker's sound design provides aircraft, mortar and a screamingly funny, top-of-show voiceover for Poseidon (physically portrayed by M.F.A. actor Glen Pannell).
In the year 2000 in America, one seldom looks upon or expresses unalloyed grief. It is edited out of news reports and on a personal level is considered by many to be somewhat unseemly. We apologize for our tears. Therefore, it is all the more important to have the catharsis provided by an excellent modern production of Euripides' 415 B.C.E tragedy. War no longer concerns Those Others Over There. We are witnesses in a safe place to personal devastation, and we celebrate the human spirit, which makes it possible to go on despite paralyzing grief and loss.
"The Trojan Women," presented by the Old Globe Theatre at the Lowell Davies Festival Theatre, Balboa Park, San Diego. Tues.-Sun. 8 p.m. Sept. 9-Oct. 14. $23-42. (619) 239-2255.