Don't Look Back!

The myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is well known and has been told through the centuries in almost all art forms. Eurydice dies on their wedding day and Orpheus travels to the under-world to bring her back. Hades, the god in charge, agrees to this on one condition: Orpheus must walk in front of her on the as-cent and not look back until they have reached the upper world. In his anxiety and doubt he breaks his promise and turns to see if she is following and Eurydice vanishes from his sight, return-ing to the underworld; this time for eternity. Pretty tragic stuff, huh? In the usual telling of this story the emphasis is on Orpheus and there are many myths surrounding him; including his traveling with Jason and the Argonauts with his music being the key to escaping the lure of the sirens. He’s also credited with most things musical including the invention of the lyre and, probably, the old soft shoe (just kiddin’).

For months I’ve had my eye on an off-Broadway pro-duction of a new version of this story simply called Eurydice, and it retells the myth from her viewpoint which occasionally isn’t all that kind to this willfull and wistful (and tone deaf) character. My chance to see it heaved into view on Sunday and, luckily, I was able to snag tickets for the matinee and I’m happy to report that, well, I remained happy after seeing it.

When taking one’s seat the set is in full view and it (the set, not the seat) soars high into the flies and looks like a skewed, off kilter spa with various shades of green and teal and blue 8 x 10 tiles covering the sky-high walls. There are pipes and drains (and a hand pump) and you just know there is a chance you might get wet. Everything is slightly askew, slanting just enough off true to make the viewer un-comfortable and disoriented, unable to anchor a focal point for the restless eye. In the play there are lot of water metaphors and we learn fairly early on that, in this case, water is not the benign element we would like it to be since it is the instrument of forgetfulness between the living and the dead. Within this setting the rules are strict and any aberrent behavior is observed by three “stones,” a goofy and menac-ing greek chorus, and the inhabitants of this limbo are scolded and ridiculed for trying to retain any memory of past lives, or loves. In this particular version Eurydice joins her long-deceased father who seems to have avoided passing into oblivion, somehow maintaining language and understanding; perhaps his sole purpose in death has been that of waiting for his daughter to arrive. In fact, those beautiful tiles are actually 8 x 10 letters he has written to her and posted to the heavens, obviously undelivered and unread. Presumably the love of a father for his daughter is therefore strong enough to withstand the pressure of forgetfulness and he somehow defies the rules.

When Eruydice actually does show up in the underworld (via a rain drenched elevator) she has metaphorically passed through the river of forgetfulness (that elevator) and has to be tutored by her father to relearn language and basic human sentience, and to remind her what it’s like to be a living, thinking being. At first she thinks she has checked into some fancy hotel and asks her father, mistaking him for the bellhop, where her room is and in a highly theatrical way he builds her a room out of string. It’s a beautiful, moving sequence; but only one of several clever and emotional theatrical devices.

In the meantime through the strength of his music, possibly greek-god (lower case) given, Orpheus is able to negotiate his way to the underworld where the story takes its traditional tragic turn. Only in this version she is the one who screws up their ascent by being assailed by doubts, the love and comfort she has attained with her father and the ever increasing roar of civilization as they approch the upper world. She calls his name (it’s up to you to fathom why she does this) and he turns to look at her; thereby screwing up the bargain. Well, damn her fickle hide.

I truly loved this play; its modern interpretation and its beautiful and quirky language. It was thrillingly theatrical, visually exciting and beautifully acted and directed. Some of the metaphorical staging escaped me (I had trouble with the highly variable character of Hades) but that’s as it should be; and maybe on purpose. I love a good mystery and I should be able to understand all the clues; but if I don’t, well, it’s my own unimaginative fault.

This is one of those productions that should have had a permanent home off-Broadway but, of course, it’s already just a slowly dimming memory (...hey, it was hot out and I needed the water). Although extended several times, this production closed after Sunday’s evening performance; the closing itself possibly a metaphor for what’s wrong with commercial theater. For instance, Naked Boys Singing (self explanatory) is still going strong right up the street.