Ideological Parameters in Reactions to Performances of Ancient Greek Drama at the End

of the Twentieth Century Platon Mavromoustakos

October 2010

My presentation has to deal with the Festival of Epidauros that since 1955 has been

considered as one of the most significant theatrical spaces for the productions of

ancient Greek drama. But before approaching the subject of my paper I would like

to give a small introduction to the history of this festival in order to situate more

clearly the problems connected to the approach towards the performances of

Epidauros from spectators and critics during the last years of the twentieth and the

beginning of the twenty-first century. The use of the theatre in Epidauros is

interconnected with the widening interest in the reuse of ancient Greek theatres,

which became one of the most significant issues of the period before the Second

World War.1

Reusing Ancient Theatres: A Good Old Idea

The use of ancient Greek theatres for performances of tragedies emerged as a clear

desire in European theatre practice as early as the end of the nineteenth century.

Their acceptance was promoted by the production of Oedipus Rex by Mounet-Sully in

the theatre at Orange in 1888 in the framework of the movement for open air

theatres in France (les théâtres en plein air) and Italy, where it finally resulted also in

creating the INDA (Istituto Nazionale del Dramma Antico), dedicated to the

production of ancient drama at the Greek theatre of Syracuse.2 In modern Greek

theatre life, the most comprehensive attempt to use an ancient theatre came with

the first Delphic Festival of 1927, and after the second Festival in 1930 a particularly

astute theatre critic proposed the use of the theatre at Epidaurus for these 1 This introduction is mainly taken from my paper presented in the Working Group

of FIRT Theatrical Event in a meeting in June 2004 organized and hosted by Henri

Schoenmakers. See also Mavromoustakos 2008 and 2009. 2 On Siracuse and the INDA, see Calza 1914, Col. XIV E 19/98; Donato-Pettini 1921,

Col. XIV E 19/100; Di Benedetto and Medda 1997.

performances.3 The Delphic performances led to a re-evaluation of stage practice:

the performance of ancient Greek drama now became the focus of intellectual

inquiry, and claimed a special place in Greek theatre practice. There were many new

demands. Aside from the debate on the issue of open-air performances, and more

particularly on the use of ancient theatres for these performances,4 almost every

element of staging now became a major concern. These issues, which included

specific elements like dancing, settings, and pronunciation, as well as the

contemporary appeal of ancient drama, enriched the discussion with many

theoretical and practical arguments. Already for his first production of Sophocles’

Electra, in 1936, the director of the National Theatre of Greece, Dimitris Rondiris,

chose to use the Heródion in Athens.5 This production was repeated in the same

theatre the following year, and on September 10, 1938, it formally inaugurated the

use of the Epidaurus theatre, before an audience transported from Athens by the

Greek Hiking Society.6 Dimitri Rondiris, with his interpretation of tragedy according

to its own particular style, also meant the recognition of its inherent “ritualistic

nature” and the acceptance of the need for “passionate and bulky chorus

movements” in order to maintain tragedy’s “celebratory character,” which, alone,

could “express tragedy’s religious and deeply humanitarian spirit.”7 The

3 Gabriel Boissy, in an article published in the newspaper To Ethnos on 3.5.1930. He is

taking his stance in the debate raging among Greek intellectuals at that time on the

subject of whether the Hiketides and Prometheus Bound productions should be

repeated in different surroundings. Boissy, himself a translator of Oedipus Rex, had,

since the nineteenth century, been an enthusiastic supporter of the use of ancient

theatres, moved by Mounet-Sully’s performance of Oedipus Rex in Orange in 1894,

and expressed his views in numerous articles and in Boissy 1907 (see p. 72). See also

Villiers 1977:24; Sideris 1976:404, 408. 4 A debate initiated by the open-air performance of Mounet-Sully; see Sideris

1976:35–42; Mavromoustakos 1994:43–52. 5 See Iliadi, Mavromoustakos, and Theodoropoulou 1992:163–185. 6 Op. cit. 168–169. 7 See Kostas Gerogousopoulos, in the newspaper To Vima, July 1, 1986. The phrases

by Rondiris are from the unpublished translation of interviews he gave to Robert

manifestations of such a view on stage led to a demand for the use of the theatre for

such performances; in reality, the new demand was for the return of these texts to

the place for which they were supposedly originally composed. Epidaurus had been

considered by Rondiris as the ideal place for developing this ideologically charged

idea, which did not have any real foundation in any archaeological finding.8 In 1938

Electra was the first modern performance of an ancient drama given there by a

professional company, and its tremendous success significantly promoted the issue:9

the government decided to rebuild the right side of the koilon, which had collapsed,

and it was only a matter of time before the actual decision was made to use the

theatre for systematic performances of ancient drama.10 Due to the events of World

War II, the Greek Civil War (1946–1949), and the events that followed, the Festival at

Epidauros opened officially in 1954–1955.

Creating a Festival

The first event of the Festival at the Theatre of Epidauros was to be the performance

of Euripides’ Hippolytos, directed by D. Rondiris with the National Theatre in 1954,

followed by the Festival’s official opening in the summer of 1955. This same year the

Michel in the U.S., March 9, May 4, and June 1, 1986. 8 Neither the fact that the theatre of Epidaurus had been constructed in the fourth

century BC, that is, a century after these texts had been written, nor the fact that

there is no concrete evidence that any ancient drama was performed in Epidaurus

in ancient times has ever been discussed. 9 See the relevant report in the newspaper Eleftheron Vima 1, September 14, 1938. 10 We should note here that, in 1937, the ‘Ancient Theatre Society’ of the University

of Sorbonne (one of its founding members was Roland Barthes) had come to Greece

for a visit, and during an excursion to the Argolid the members of this student

company went to see the theatre of Epidaurus. Once there, quite spontaneously and

without preparation, with no music, the amateur actors performed Persai to the

amazement of some villagers passing by the theatre while returning home. The

account of this performance is included in Burgaud 1981. See the annals of the

conference, edited by the European Cultural Center of Delphi in 1984, p. 67–83.

Athens Festival, based in the Roman Theatre of Herodes Atticus under the Acropolis,

was also launched.

These first 50 years tend to be characterised by a certain degree of inconsistency

(or contradiction). The first 20 years, during which the theatre at Epidaurus was

used exclusively by the National Theatre, it went through a period of relative

bewilderment where, within the particular political and social environment of post-

Civil War Greece, the performances, though aimed towards a large audience, sought

to confirm the importance of the first National “scene”/theatre and its main actors.

The character of a space of cultural competition and theatrical questioning that

Dimitris Rondiris wanted to set for the festival would gradually become of

secondary importance. Epidauros became the space par excellence for the

presentation of a “formal” position towards ancient Greek drama, establishing the

belief, of a dominant conservative part of the audience and artistic society, that the

performance constituted a privileged, if not implicit, set of Greek artistic

expressions.

At the same time, the aim towards a wider public resulted in the emergence of

important actors: the Epidauros Festival constituted a stage for vendettas. From the

productions presented there until the time of the dictatorship, the most famous was

the performance of Maria Callas, though the acting of Katina Paxinou made a great

impact while she was in the cast of the National Theatre.

The 1960s and 70s saw the most important changes in the theatre around

Europe. For Epidauros, however, this was a period of retrogression. During the

military dictatorship (1967–1974), the festival would retain its conservative

character by placing greater emphasis on the National “appeal” of the events; this

was further accentuated by the weaker presence of important actors. In this sense

the 60s could be easily referred to as a “lost” decade: instead of promoting the

necessary changes and innovations that would keep the interest of the audience

alive, the festival became a synonym for routine.

The fall of the dictatorship in 1974 found the festival without its former glory,

the National Theatre having lost a lot of its own prestige, both severely weakened in

the eyes of a questioning Greek audience, having lost a great number of its

spectators, and with a clear scope towards tourist productions. The mid-70s brought

about a new beginning in the operation of the Festival. The acceptance of other

companies, as for example the until-then-considered-heretic Art Theatre of Karolos

Koun, brought to the Epidaurian Theatre a new wave of spectators. We have to

consider that this widespread diffusion of interest towards ancient Greek drama

throughout such a diverse audience was the end product of the breaking of the

monopoly of the National Theatre after 1975–1976.11 This development, brought

about by significant pressure from the audience, who considered the National

Theatre as just another tedious and insolvent National organisation, was the only

conscious effort to renovate the festival, probably the only choice of political

strategy made by its administration. However, it was not enough for a drastic

change of image, and soon, after about a decade, the institution would face the same

problems.

New Functions in Old Style

Until 1974 things were rather simple and clear-cut: classical Greek drama and the

ancient theatre of Epidaurus fell within the purview of the National Theatre.12 It was

at Epidaurus that “blue chip” performances were staged: star actors, established

directors, and traditional translations. Plays were generally produced according to

an established viewpoint, quite monumental and much influenced by the so-called

“tradition” created by Dimitris Rondiris. That viewpoint could also be seen in other,

non-theatrical Modern Greek forms of expression. In general we can assume that

this viewpoint confirmed the official Modern Greek historical schema that “saw

Greekness as having three faces, and saw the middle one, the Byzantine, as equal in

11 It should be noted, however, that the Festival of Epidaurus constituted the motive

for a large increase in the production of performances of ancient Greek drama. Of

the approximately 1000 productions that have been documented since the

Foundation of the Greek State until today, over 400 were performed at the

Epidaurian Theatre, and at least another 200 were produced with this particular

theatre in mind. 12 This part of the paper is mainly a translation of Mavromoustakos 2007. Some

additions have been made for the conference “Staging Festivity, Figurationen des

Theatralen in Europa” organized by the Institut für Theaterwissenschaft, Freie

Universität Berlin, Berlin, 6–8 March 2008.

brilliance and glory to the ancient one … It did not permeate into peoples’

consciousness, and scarcely penetrated their mindset: there, the place of honour

was jealously held by the ancients.”13

The opposing theatrical camp, that of Karolos Koun’s Art Theatre (Theatro

Technis), had to be content with the use of Herodes Atticus Odeon for the

performances of classical Greek drama it produced. This theatre was somewhat

more humble in the national consciousness, as it was not really an ancient Greek

theatre, having been built much later in Roman times. Furthermore, the Theatro

Technis was still under a cloud because of the scandal of its 1959 production of

Aristophanes’ The Birds,14 and its presence even at the Odeon was not to be taken for

granted. With the fall of the Colonels’ junta in 1974 and the return to democracy,

things changed radically: in 1975 the Theatro Technis was allowed entry into the

holy of holies, Epidaurus, and indeed with the heretical 1959 production, which with

the passing of time had become enveloped in the lustre of myth and had become

legendary, as the longest-running Greek play performed in post-war Greece.15

Indeed, the Theatro Technis opened the way to Epidaurus for many other theatre

13 Politis 2003:106. 14 The performance had been forbidden by the authorities after it premiered in the

Herodus Atticus Theatre in Athens, and was considered infamous, distorting

Aristophanes and blessing the religious feelings of the public. See the Athenian

press between 30 August and 4 September 1959 where the words “Distortion” and

“Blasphemy” are used in most of the titles. In 1962 the performance was attributed

the greater distinction as the winner of the first prize of the Festival des Nations in

Paris. Since then it has been repeated continuously (1962, 1964, 1965, 1966, 1967,

1968, 1977, 1981, 1986, 1987, 1997, and 2008 at a new revival at the National Grand

Theatre in Beijing) in international tours of Karolos Koun group (UK, Germany,

Russia, Poland, Austria, The Netherlands, Italy, Switzerland, Israel, and Cyprus), and

in other Greek Festivals. For an interesting presentation of this performance and

the whole of the aristophanic productions in modern Greece, see Van Steen 2000. 15 Following its triumphant tour abroad, this production of The Birds continued to be

revived until 1998, along with 1965 The Persians which—coincidence?—was also a

Theatro Technis production.

groups (such as Spyros A. Evangelatos’ Amphi-Theatre, the State Theatre of

Northern Greece, and the Cyprus Theatrical Organisation; later on the Municipal

Provincial Theatres were accepted and even individual theatrical stars and their

companies). Access to the Epidaurus Festival by other companies was not simply an

administrative correction of an old injustice, nor did it herald the end of the post-

Civil War establishment’s obstinate fixation, according to which all intellectuals, of

all kinds, were en masse prone to subversive ideas. This was the threshold of a new

era for Greek theatre, which was now (or which should have been) characterised by

an inclination for reassessment: new audiences came to Epidaurus, as did many new

directors and actors. The omnipotence of the point of view on how to produce

ancient drama as expressed by the National Theatre, with its attendant formality

and the monumentality of its productions, now coexisted (or should have) on equal

terms with other viewpoints.16 The theatre was to benefit from the thaw ensuing

16 The discussion that follows should perhaps already have been written and is due

to a conversation in the Elpenor Bookshop between myself and Stefanos

Pesmazoglou. What prompted the discussion was a conversation that had been

organised for Greek audiences between the German director Peter Stein after the

screening of the historic film version of Oresteia presented in the 1980s (the talk

took place on 26 October 2003 as part of the “Cinemythology,” events organised by

the Thessaloniki Film Festival in collaboration with the Goethe Institute and the

European Network of Research and Documentation of Performances of Ancient

Greek Drama under the aegis of the Cultural Olympiad). Two different points of view

were expressed by the audience: the view of the polite members of the audience

who thanked a foreign director for treating Greek texts and promoting the

grandeur of Greek culture, and the other view of the “angry young men,” who were

enraged that part of the text was not included in the cinematic version of the

production and accused the director, on the one hand, of irreverence and those who

liked the film, on the other hand, of being anti-Greek. For the record, it must be

noted that more than any other director, Greek or foreign, Peter Stein is careful to

consult all literary and theatre sources before treating any text, whether a classical

Greek drama or not. For Stein, this whole painful process takes a long time and

arises from his firm belief that an in-depth study of the text is an absolute must

from the return to democracy. The abolition of censorship liberated onstage

expression for the first time in modern Greek history. The theatre (should have)

developed smoothly, and the exchange of views on the theatre should have been

informed by the criticism arising from actual onstage performances of theatrical

works.

It is (or should be) considered absolutely legitimate, indeed it should be taken

for granted, that the debate springing from performances—doubting, accepting, or

rejecting them—relates the text to prevailing ideological positions. Briefly, one’s

attitude to a performance should evaluate, question, and debate the relationship

between classical drama and contemporary dilemmas, what role a theatrical event

plays in shaping the consciousness of contemporary audiences. Year by year,

however, things suffered a reversal, and although there are currently views in the

press that are radically different from the ones that follow, what once seemed to

dominate makes us increasingly realise that we are now, early in the twenty-first

century, living through a new “turn to antiquity.”17 That is to say, we have gradually

moved from critiquing productions to a new version of “archaeolatreia,” or ancestor

worship, such as to produce an inclination to control every aspect of theatrical

productions.

One could argue that views that require the existence of pre-emptive censorship

belong firmly to the past, and that the urge to create such mechanisms is quaint.

Indeed, the following text makes one laugh (or should, at any rate):

… Is it so hard for us to understand that we of this nation are the

custodians of certain values (which are an integral part of it) which

our nation has bequeathed to the whole of humanity? Is it so hard for

some to realise that every quest for innovation in culture

(modernism), and even trends towards something novel (post-

modernism), may find fertile ground and may be cultivated in any

field other than ancient drama? So has the time perhaps come for the

central government to take a purifying initiative and establish a

“Protection of Ancient Drama Authority”, which would support, at

before one undertakes the task of directing. 17 I have borrowed the phrase from Demaras 1968:263.

least within the borders of Greece, the archetypes of art created by

Dionysus?18

The viewpoint, reminiscent of similar ideas expressed by Greek critics during the

nineteenth century, expressed by the writer of the article in 2005—a spectator of

the performances in Epidauros who had been given space in one of the most

important newspapers—is not unprecedented, and in no case should it be taken as

the position of the newspaper as a whole, as the majority of its journalists seem to

hold the opposite point of view. In another newspaper, a prominent actor who

performed in Epidauros expresses the following ideas:

Just as the archaeological service does not permit anyone to take

home even a pebble from the Parthenon, just as it protects such

monuments—and a good thing, too, as we earn a living by exploiting

them—so must ancient dramas be protected.19

A short while ago, in a public debate with the then directors of the Epidaurus

Festival, a less severe but similar point of view was expressed: perhaps productions

for Epidaurus should be tried out first elsewhere (a kind of pre-festival), and, having

been judged worthy, they should only then have access to the ancient theatre.20

Other interesting views have been expressed about the theatre itself. I have gleaned

two indicative points of view: “This theatre is in our very DNA,” and “The sound of

performances in Epidaurus must be Greek. Whenever I have attended [this theatre]

and heard foreign languages, they sound dissonant.”21 One might consider such

18 Katsibardis 2005. 19 “Vivliodromio” 13.14.2005, insert in Ta Nea newspaper, an interview of the star-

actor Kostas Kazakos by Georgos Sariyiannis. 20 See M. Vl.: “Όχι πειραματισμοί…” [No Experimentation…], Eleftherotypia, May 16,

2005. 21 From statements made by performers and directors in the Paper magazine insert

of the Imerisia newspaper June 24, 2006, Tribute to Epidaurus, Ioanna Blatsou, editor.

Naturally these are not the only views. The same text contains the following radical

point of view about performances where the actors have happened to step on the

thymele [the altar dedicated to Dionysus] of the theatre: “Do you dare step on the

statements simply as advertisements or the promotion of leading actors or

performances, that they are a part of a superficial journalistic investigation in

which the interviewee attempts to impress readers with a laconic statement, if one

did not later, elsewhere, come across criticism concerning the Persians directed by

Theodoros Terzopoulos, which included Greek and Turkish actors, speaking both

languages. After a description of the plot the critic concludes:

… That is what Aeschylus wrote. And all of this, naturally, in the

Greek of his times. What, however, did we just hear in an Epidaurus

performance? We heard some Greek and quite a lot of Turkish (as

opposed to Persian) … what were they doing in Epidaurus? What did

Epidaurus ever do to deserve having to listen to the Turkish

language, incomprehensible to Greek audiences? And just who

exactly was it that sanctioned this? Did they have no idea how

Aeschylus’ work would sound? And did it not occur to them that this

was impermissible? … was perhaps Aeschylus of Eleusis a native

speaker of Turkish and we simply did not know?”22

Another article, in a newspaper with much smaller circulation, is perhaps more

indicative, as it expresses passionately ideas that cannot be so easily published in a

national newspaper. Discovering conspiracy theories against “Hellenism” lurking

behind the performance of Matthias Langhoff in the Backhae the writer calls for the

reaction of the Greeks against “eternal enemies.”23 This brings to mind coffee-house

graves of your ancestors? Do you dare tread on the holy altar? How can you then

tread on the thymele?” 22 Christides 2006. The review of this production prompted three letters of

disagreement, written by important playwright Marios Pontikas, journalist Aris

Skiadopoulos, and a reader of the newspaper, Vangelis Sarakinos, in Eleftherotypia,

July 7, 2006. 23 In this article, the writer identifies and condemns an international conspiracy

invented by Henry Kissinger, who influenced the whole of Europe: “… in Europe

there is a tremendous effort (in light of the coming unification) to prove that the

foundation of European civilisation is not ancient Greece, but Jewish!! Meanwhile,

discussions on classical culture which contain an annoying xenophobia mixed with

anti-Semitism and incomprehensible, but always skulking, conspiracy theories.

How have we reached this point? Habitués of the theatre over the past 25 years

have retained in their minds some of the great scandals, which of course theatre

professionals bear the scars of personally. The first scandal was in a National

Theatre of Northern Greece production of Alcestes, directed by Yiannis Houvardas in

1984;24 the next a National Theatre production of The Ecclesiazusae, directed by

Yiannis Margarites in 1987; and, of course, the biggest of the scandals occurred

during the Karezi-Kazakos company’s performances in the 1989 production of

Oedipus Rex at Epidaurus, directed by the Georgian Robert Sturua, when an actress

playing the messenger lit a cigarette while describing the suicide of Iocasta and the

blinding of Oedipus.25

Perspectives and New Challenges

From the 1990s to 2006, the attacks on irreverent productions have become more

frequent and more vehement (whereas, in contrast, commercial productions with

star leads have remained untouched by enemy fire, being always considered as

important achievements of high acting). Practically speaking, every director knows

that he or she has to work within certain boundaries, and that if they transgress

they are trying to denigrate anything to do with modern Greek culture, and to

present us as the uneducated bad boys of Europe … And what a coincidence (?) Mr.

Matthias Langhof is a German Jew … And for those who still have doubts, let me cite

for you an excerpt from a speech by the notorious Henry Kissinger, the German

Jewish doyen of American diplomacy: ‘The Greek people are anarchic and difficult

to tame. For this reason we must strike deep into their cultural roots: perhaps then

we can force them to conform.’ … And still, no one has yet resigned from the

National Theatre of Northern Greece, and the state sees nothing, and we are ready

for total submission … or are we?” See Michaelides 1997. 24 See indicatively Synodinou 1984. The performance was presented in a luxurious

modern dancing room and the actors were dressed in black tie and official black

dress. 25 She played the messenger in the production.

they risk their artistic futures. That is, they know that they are in danger of

voluntarily surrendering their work as a kind of hostage. Since the 1990s, the idea

that ancient Greek drama is a grave, national issue seems to have been gaining

ground. Every production seems to either confirm or cast doubts on the stereotypes

upon which modern Greek consciousness is founded:26 whenever a production

caters to these stereotypes, or at least lets sleeping dogs lie, and when the

production conforms—frequently as a faded version of a glorious and beautified

past as presented on stage—it is self-evidently good; if, on the other hand, it passes

judgement on the stereotypes, or clearly has reservations, or even attempts to be

original through artistic license by presenting an image that is different from the

traditional one, the production is accused of showing ignorance or bad taste, and

ultimately of irreverence. Criticism begins from an aesthetic point of view that

arises from how the ancient texts are presented and, gradually, as part of a broader

non-theatrical debate, becomes associated with our national identity. Ultimately,

performances are not judged as independent offerings to a contemporary audience,

but as indicators of their creators’ respect for our soothing certainties. The ancients

set the boundaries of our national pride; therefore, calling for the intervention of a

government body is also a demand to curb all different views that are expressed in

theatrical productions.27 According to the prevailing viewpoint, ancient texts have

their own yardsticks that exempt them from all other achievements of human

creativity, as if all those other achievements of world dramaturgy do not each have

their own yardsticks. Ancient texts are classified as being part of some higher

culture that belongs solely to us, and therefore, only we are the ideal stewards; it is

as if they do not belong to humanity as a whole.

26 A study by the University of Macedonia in Northern Greece based on a sample of

university students is interesting: Is Greece the cradle of civilisation? Yes, 78.9

percent; Did all the sciences begin in Greece? Yes, 60.3 percent; Is the Greek flag the

greatest? Yes, 53.6 percent; Is Greek culture better than all others? Yes, 47.4

percent. 27 Among these is the condemnation by the Greek Playwrights’ Society of the

production of National Theatre’s Medea directed by Stathis Livathenos at Epidaurus

in 2003.

The issue is, perhaps, simpler. The views lightly expressed by those in the

theatre, which they have published impertinently in newspapers, and are perhaps

cited here even more impertinently, are based on a couple of simple questions. Are

these texts sacred? If so, can ancient texts be listed like buildings, considered as

monuments?28

Hopefully this is not the only way to approach ancient drama in contemporary

Greek society. During the past two years the choices of performances have begun to

include many of the new generation of European and Greek directors who have

appeared since the 1980s. Performing to the Athenian public and the public at

Epidaurus, they have already offered new perspectives: on one hand, although the

ancient theatre at Epidaurus is a difficult theatrical space due to its size and the

technical specifications needed to protect its condition as an ancient monument, it

has been proved that presenting only monumental “traditional” productions can no

longer be the only solution, and, on the other hand, the discussion about producing

ancient drama today—modifying old solutions, criticizing the stereotypes, and

changing our perspective on how to see the ancient texts in a new light—is a

necessity.29 The recent renewal of the Epidaurus Festival has uncovered the

limitations of the Greek critical discourse, resulting in an intense controversy

between a conservative and suspicious part of the public and a new generation of

28 I borrow this expression from Georgousopoulos 2004: “The so-called cultural

heritage is limited in material objects, cultural residues, surviving elements.

Depending on the specialisation of its collection, a museum gathers even fragments

and every-day utensils to preserve, study, and classify them. Written documents,

mainly written testimonies, on the other hand, are kept in libraries and archives. Of

course, corrupting them or interpreting them at will, disregarding their essence, is

not allowed. Yet texts, especially these texts which require hermeneutic agency in

order to communicate their meaning, are unprotected. In the last few years they

have suffered the dismantling rage of postmodernism. Nevertheless,

postmodernism, which began in architecture, did not alter cultural monuments (at

least only rarely and not without rousing criticism and reactions).” 29 On developments in modern productions of ancient Greek drama, see Fischer-

Lichte and Dreyer 2007.

theatre artists. A clear-cut separation has been drawn: critics who advocate for

conventional productions, view foreign or innovative approaches with distrust, and

remain entrenched against the new tendencies, facing a less homogeneous group of

receivers, spectators, and artists. These receivers do not reject the unknown and the

new, and even feel more comfortable with dialogue and the moderate or even

radical staging of ancient drama.

To the question of whether ancient texts are sacred, the history of theatre

provided an answer years ago. The texts are in no danger from performances, and

they will survive thanks to the protection of libraries, which cannot, however,

always protect them from oblivion. It is in performing these texts that they survive,

exist in the present, and remain relevant. The history of directing all over the world

has been rooted in rebellion against the immobility of texts, in the attraction of

reading texts from a new perspective. It is from a critical stance towards the past

that every development and debate has arisen. Ancient drama constitutes a basic

indicator of the image that we construct of ourselves. Moreover, it is in the theatre

that one sees a society’s level of maturity, in the relationship of the audience with

democratic processes, or in other words, with dialogue and debate.

The 50-year history of the Epidaurus Festival has confirmed the stereotypes and

nourished the growing of a new conservatism. This social role of the festival

overshadows its artistic importance. So a new challenge comes forward: the

challenge to prove through new artistic expression that it is possible to change pre-

fabricated ideas and contribute to the openness of dialogue and thus give a new

social role to the Festival at Epidaurus.

On Heritage, Illegality, and other Constructions

During the last years of the twentieth century and more violently at the beginning

of the twenty-first we have come to realize that dialogues have begun to resemble

trials more and more. Those who hold forth in public—self-appointed prosecutors

on television or in print—seek to find where to place responsibility for

misdemeanours of varying gravity, and urge the authorities to intervene (and at

times the latter respond to their vociferous demands). But let us remember the

basics: dialogue does not take place by invoking punishment; punishment is meted

out following some sort of institutionalised process, which in turn is subject to the

principle of the rule of law; in its turn, there can be no rule of law without

democracy, and there can be no democracy without free dialogue. This circularity

may recall the archetypical snake eating its tail, but let us not go into snakes, their

tails or their eggs. In a nutshell, the manner in which we carry on a dialogue, our

argument, reveals our own personal relationship to democracy. Put more simply, it

has to do with the right to free expression, which is the only guarantee for the

unhindered exchange of ideas—a topic on which much ink has been spilled, and

much time squandered.

Lately, a special category of citizens, those who work in the theatre, have been

tried, accused of perverting texts. This is Greece—and it isn’t the first time. In August

1959, the authorities banned perhaps the most important staging of a work of

Aristophanes in the twentieth century: The Birds directed by Karolos Koun. The

press wrote, “The perverted production of The Birds has been banned.”30 In 1975, this

production crowned the period in which democracy was restored. The restoration

of democracy was also marked by the manner in which the Epidaurus festival was

rejuvenated: it welcomed the Art Theatre with that “perverted” production of The

Birds. What happened? Did democracy lend its support to perversion, and

retroactively go against the decision of its own executive authority,31 or did it just

take 15 years to realise that The Birds had not been perverted?

One hundred years after the birth of Karolos Koun, and almost 50 years after

that historic production, once a year, we still discuss the perversion of ancient texts.

30 The announcement by the Ministry to the Prime Minister’s Office stated that, as

per Konstantinos Tsatsos’s orders, the performance of 30 August was cancelled

because the work “imperfectly conceived, constitutes a distortion of the spirit of

the classical text” and some scenes “offended the people’s religious feelings.” See

Athens newspapers, 30 August 1959 and later. In the headlines, the most frequently

used words were: blasphemy, desecration, misapprehension, perversion, distortion, etc.

More recent articles published in anticipation of the play’s revival for the Beijing

Olympic Games in 2008: Hatzioannou 2008, Marinou 2007, and Sykka 2007. 31 Coincidences are frequently amusing: Konstantinos Tsatsos was elected President

of the Hellenic Republic on 20 June 1975, and The Birds was performed in Epidaurus

on 16 and 17 August 1975.

Now, however, having gone a step further, we seek to have them declared objects of

conservation, and to condemn altered texts as illegal.32 Perhaps we should create an

archive with all the texts and allow them to rest there in peace, untouched, by the

“morale de l’archive (L’idéal de l’archive: la douce égalité qui règne dans une immense fausse

commune).”33 Of course, one would have to create an organisation to supervise this

archive: something like the Ancient Drama Protection Authority.34 Things, however,

are not that simple, as we have now come to understand that it is not only our “own

antiquities” that are in danger,35 but also other masterpieces of world theatre.

Perhaps later we should start thinking about whether we should declare all plays

that have appeared on stage somewhere in the world as heritage objects, not just

the masterpieces, but all of them. But when all is said and done, who is to be the

judge of what will be included in the archive, as, with the passage of time, the

archive will be called upon to include new works by authors who want to protect

their precious plays from the possible arbitrariness of posterity. Less important

works will gradually be included among the heritage works, as will insignificant and

poor works—the kind that we would like to lambaste with witty critique. In the end,

we might accept all written works, something that seems to follow logically from

the premise that one must respect all the products of human thought, and the ideal

of equality which stems from democracy. Such an Authority would have to

intervene with illegal texts or destroy them whenever they tried to make

themselves heard. As an aside, I would like to remind the reader that all this is being

discussed in a country that is full of illegalities, both in terms of its physical and

intellectual environment. This is perhaps why these subjects are being discussed

here and now. We need to tidy things up and put them in order.

Let us be serious. These thoughts lead to undesirable conclusions, as frequently

occurs when, in formulating one argument, we follow it to its logical conclusion and

accept the resulting consequences. Let us not forget that philosophy has often taken

dangerous turns. We must return to the question of being faithful or arbitrary in

32See Georgousopoulos 2004 and 2008a. 33 Kundera 2005:120, “Folio” No 4458. 34 Someone has actually stated such a demand! See supra Katsibardis 2005. 35 There is such a plethora, one does not know where to begin.

terms of the stage presentation of any play in order to ask ourselves whether or not

we can talk about heritage pieces.

The question of faithfulness or arbitrariness in presenting any text is as old as

the theatre itself. The last time there was a heated debate was when Ibsen’s Nora (A

Doll’s House), directed by Ostermeier, was performed in Athens as part of the

Festival. The critics’ ire at the perversion of the text was caused by the fact that the

director changed the ending of the work: instead of Nora leaving her husband, as

Ibsen had written the play, indicated in the text with the banging of the door, in

Ostermeier’s production, she shoots her husband. Did none of those who were

enraged at this think that when Ibsen wrote the work, he wanted to provoke? Did

no one think that 130 years after the play was written, a woman leaving her

husband would not raise any eyebrows? Did no one know (as they should have) that

Ibsen grew angry whenever his play was performed with the ending changed (Nora

staying at home) so as not to shock the audience? Did it not dawn on the critics that

Ostermeier’s reading of the play focused on the social issue that motivated the

author to write this play? The right of women to choose the life they wish to lead is

a basic theme in the play, and having Nora shoot her husband provokes the

audience and makes the play more current; it is more interesting than if a

performance followed the resolution provided by the printed text.36 Ostermeier’s

solution was, of course, not an illegal, arbitrary readjustment of the original play to

current attitudes. It stated something more. This is the attitude on which every

restaging of an older work stands. Plays are not produced today because they are

generally and vaguely important, or because we feel that they are masterpieces

(although there are many important works, and naturally there are also

masterpieces among them). There is a basic reason why we deal with older texts,

36 And an ironic aside: At the play’s premier in Germany in 1880, Ibsen was forced to

change the ending and make it milder. This ending was written by Ibsen, no matter

that he was not happy with it. Should the ending, imposed on the author and more

powerful than the original one—as the newer version should logically prevail over

the older one—have been used in subsequent performances? It is well known that

the ending of A Doll’s House was frequently cut in the late nineteenth and early

twentieth centuries so as not to disturb conservative audiences.

and this is the only reason that can justify producing them: these works continue to

be played because they have something to say to us today. It is the relevance to

today that directors seek, or rather, should seek, as the theatre has the unique

ability to present the past to us as if it were today. This is a challenge that has

occupied all directors from the dawn of the directors’ century until now. For the

twenty-first century, it goes without saying that every play has a different meaning

for every different audience, or at every historical moment it is performed on a

stage.37

At this point, it is difficult to resist a parenthesis. Some years ago, Bertolt

Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle was produced for the theatre. The text and the

author’s intentions are only comprehensible when the introductory and final scenes

are played, as they present the dispute between the members of two communes

over an area of the farm—one group claims ownership, maintaining that the land

was an ancestral bequest, the other group sees the land lying fallow and claims

ownership because they are cultivating it. The recent Greek production ignored this

scene.38 There was no vehement criticism in the reviews about a perversion of the

text. One wonders why? To answer that Brecht’s plays are not entitled to protection

from perversion would be to belittle the great German playwright.39 To answer that

political conditions are now different than when the play was written does not

prevent us from seeing this perversion. Perhaps the silence has to do with the critics’

desire to go along with the prevailing ideology and thus support it? One could use

37 Among the endless examples from the history of the theatre, let us recall a

performance of Gogol’s The Inspector General by Meyerhold’s theatre in 1926, or, if we

wish to look to our own post-War era, let us just think of the different political

meanings ascribed by audiences in the countries of existing socialism, or in Greece

under the Colonels’ dictatorship, to Ionesco’s plays; meanings Ionesco himself had

not imagined. 38 As was the case when Karolos Koun directed the play in 1956 for obvious political

reasons. 39 Brecht’s followers have often been accused of over-protecting his texts,

frequently by the same freedom-of-speech advocates who seek to protect the texts

of plays.

many examples to illustrate that, for some critics, there are double standards—the

standards shift so that there is no danger to the reviewer or his role in holding forth

expertly on any discussion about the theatre. But such a digression would take us

far from the subject at hand, to which we must now return.

The answer to the original question about being faithful to a text or arbitrary is

not a simple one. Though hints may appear in this paper, there is only one

certainty: theatre criticism has decided to take a stance on an issue that has been

debated heatedly for a long time. The dispute is that between playwrights and

directors, and it has determined developments in the twentieth century, just as the

differences between playwrights and actors were heated in the nineteenth century.

And not just that: there is also the desperate disappointment of any reader who sees

a beloved text come to life on the stage, but does not recognise what he imagined as

he read the work in his leisure time or during a sleepless night. And let us not forget

that in the modern world, before we become spectators at a theatre, we are all

readers—we all learn to read from a young age, before anyone has taught us how to

be a member of an audience. It would be strange, therefore, if in the entire history

of the theatre no one had attempted to answer this question—just as strange as

being interested in the theatre and not knowing, whether or not intentionally, the

different answers that have been given to this question, yet carelessly classifying

stage performances as faithful or arbitrary.

Common sense accepts that the text is only one part of the complex events that

constitute a performance, and one does not need the contributions of the

contemporary theory of theatre40 to be certain of one thing: that every production

adds meanings to the text that appears on the stage, and, conversely, that every

performance neglects meanings that exist in the text. One need not be a theatre

expert or a critic to understand that we never just hear a text being recited on

stage; we see one of many possible versions of a work—that specific version

generated from the inspiration of the production’s creators or the special

characteristics of its actors. In the same way, when we see a living room on stage,

we do not see a living room, but one of the possible living rooms that might make us

40 See indicatively Lehmann 1999.

understand that what we are looking at on stage is a living room.41 In this light, the

commonplace observation that “Theatre is Discourse” presupposes that we

understand the meaning of the word Discourse as it relates to the theatre. The issue

is complex, and the naive habit of thinking of theatrical Discourse as one and the

same as the text is as constricting as the naiveté that identifies any readable text

with what was understood while reading it. Briefly, the famous maxim by Jacques

Copeau, “There is only one way to direct a play. And that is always written into the

text,”42 does not seem to be accepted these days. Accepting it would lead us to a self-

evident conclusion: the desire to create an archive of heritage productions that

would be the only plays performed. Moreover, we must realise that this idea gives

rise to vehement outcries that directors pervert texts, which is unacceptable to

those who are aware of the following elementary fact: during the complex

procedure of producing a play, the text is always changed to adapt to an endless

series of problems that begin with an actor’s inability to speak a certain line and

continue all the way to the particular moment that is chosen to present the work.

Consequently, all of these greater or lesser alterations change the meanings the

viewer receives. The need for these changes must seem obvious when the play is not

considered to be of great literary value, but changes cannot be allowed in a text

which, in the view of the critics, must be proclaimed a heritage text, because then

every new production would reduce its great value. It would seem reasonable to

discuss this in 2008 if the issue had not already been discussed as far back as 1905. In

his On the Art of the Theatre, Edward Gordon Craig wrote:

…Had the plays been made to be seen, we should find them

incomplete when we read them. Now, no one will say that they find

Hamlet dull or incomplete when they read it, yet there are many who

41 If we do not take the above as given, we must reject those disciplines that

developed to deal with problems such as, for example, theatre studies. It would

mean that we were not interested in the analytical approaches of literature and

linguistics, or even history as a discrete discipline. Generally, we would need to

disregard any academic approach, as all wisdom is contained in aphorisms. 42 Copeau 1926:421.

will feel very sorry after witnessing a performance of the play,

saying, “No, that is not Shakespeare’s Hamlet.” When no further

addition can be made so as to better a work of art, it can be spoken of

as “finished”—it is complete. Hamlet was finished—was complete—

when Shakespeare wrote the last word of his blank verse, and for us

to add to it by gesture, scene, costume, or dance, is to hint that it is

incomplete and needs these additions.43

All of these stage acts that Craig insists are necessary to play Hamlet are not in

the text (a play that would undoubtedly be among the heritage texts), but must be

supplied by the creators of the production. In order to perform a masterpiece like

Hamlet well, we must invent additions which do not exist in the text. Though Craig’s

ideas would develop throughout the twentieth century and lead viewers (both

simple and expert) and critics to deal with every performance by trying to

understand how the director of the play had interpreted it, it remains evident that,

without additions to the text, that is, without the added meanings, a masterpiece

cannot become clear, comprehensible, and enjoyable for the viewers. This

interesting contradiction is in the nature of the stage event.

At this point, the issue of the stage act, or theatricality, arises. Here, we should

remember the ideas of Roland Barthes: “Qu’est ce que la théâtralité? C’est le théâtre

moins le texte, c’est une épaisseur de signes et de sensations qui s’édifie sur la scène

à partir de l’ argument écrit, c’est cette sorte de perception œcuménique des

artifices sensuels, gestes, tons, distances, substances, lumières qui submerge le texte

sous la plénitude de son langage extérieur.”44 This, finally, is what allows the viewer

to enjoy a performance event. Briefly put, a performance, every performance,

should not be seen exclusively in light of our pre-existing knowledge of it; should

not be judged based on how it fits in with our knowledge; does not fall under the

terms of right or wrong. On the contrary, our enjoyment or condemnation of a

43 Craig 1958:143. 44 “It is theatre without the text, it is this depth of signs and feelings that emerges

from the stage emanating from a written argument, the universal acceptance and

interpretation of all the effects of the bodies, the voices, the colours, the lights, the

sounds that submerge the text.” See Barthes 2002:123.

performance begins when we leave our knowledge of a text aside, to some extent,

and try to understand what the performance and its creators are trying to show us.

There is only one necessary condition: to accept the independent existence of what

is being played out on stage as an integral work of art that relies absolutely on the

stage act. This is what we are called upon to judge, not whether the creators follow

our own reading of the text. This is always possible, provided that, as systematic

viewers (and critics are such viewers), we have in mind the dangers that lurk if we

forget that “…le fait théâtral, transcende, modifie et bouleverse ce savoir.”45

There is something more we must not forget: that which is a deadly sin for an

academic work is frequently a source of artistic inspiration.46 This does not mean, of

course, that any performance, whether faithful or arbitrary, pleasant or unpleasant,

45 Bernard Dort made the following statement at a discussion on theatre education

organised by the Gennevilliers Theatre in autumn 1983: “Le théâtre est un savoir. Il

y a un savoir du théâtre. Un savoir qu’il faut savoir. Mais en même temps le fait

théâtral, transcende, modifie et bouleverse ce savoir.” Proceedings can be found in

Théâtre/Public. 46 Stanford 1968:1–8, based on the metamorphoses of the Homeric hero, notes that

reviving Homeric characters, particularly on stage, rarely satisfies any demanding

viewer. The new adventures attributed to the traditional heroes, the new qualities

their creators imbue them with, are frequently felt to be a sort of rape of the

original. Every time we see on stage a hero from a classical myth, whether the stage

version of an ancient text, or a modern work, we are in danger of comparing the

newer work with the idea we have formed in our own mind. The more that idea is

backed up by the texts and on knowledge of the myth, the easier it is to reject the

new, altered figure, and more difficult to accept it. This is the moment when we

discover the author’s ignorance of the hero. We identify his carelessness, see his

inability to capture all the hero’s dimensions, and we accuse him of dealing with the

hero in a fragmented manner, for being incomplete and biased. We should not

forget that ignorance, misunderstanding or carelessness, and arbitrariness, which

constitute the deadly sin of any academic approach, are those elements that will

allow the creative spirit of an author to imbue new values into a traditional myth.

should not always be judged with the same critical attitude.47 The performance that

is distinguished for its timidity and hesitation, for its insecure conservatism, is no

different, as far as criticism is concerned, than the one that attempts a substantial

or arrogantly provocative approach: that is, they are judged by the result and not by

some predetermined certainty; they are judged by the internal criteria that we must

ascertain from the arguments that support any performance, and not by our own

external ones. Otherwise, we would have to judge criticism itself by similar external

criteria.

We must not forget, however, that in order for any criticism to be valid, it must

be self-critical and must be aware of another important fact. As George Steiner put

it, even when there is a mask of apparent lightness, actions based on the written

word always have to do with power. The control exercised by the clergy, politicians,

and the law on the illiterate or semi-literate expresses this absolute, fundamental

truth. The authority underlying a text, as well as the manipulation and exclusive

use of the written word by the scholarly elite, is a manifestation of power.48

Perhaps from this point of view, we must ask not only about performances, but

about the manner in which power and the language of power express themselves—

that language that takes for granted that it can speak in the name of others, the

public or the people. Just as the production of The Birds was forbidden in 1959 by

authorities in the name of the people, so today we condemn certain productions in

the name of the people, for the people. The productions that are condemned are

those that question the correctness of our views, that upset us because they go

against the stereotypes with which authority (both good and bad) has imbued us,

47 See indicatively the sober argument made by Demaras 1981:247–264. See further

Dort 1982. 48 “Με όλους τους τρόπους, ακόμη και υπό το προσωπείο μιας φαινομενικής

ελαφρότητας, οι πράξεις που ανασύρονται από τον γραπτό λόγο, σαν να είναι

έγκλειστες μέσα σε βιβλία, αναφέρονται σε σχέσεις εξουσίας. Ο δεσποτισμός που

ασκείται από τον κλήρο, την πολιτική, το νόμο πάνω στους αναλφάβητους ή τους

ημιμαθείς εκφράζει αυτή την απόλυτη θεμελιώδη αλήθεια. Η εμπλοκή της ισχύος

στο κείμενο, η χειραγώγηση και η αποκλειστική χρήση αυτών των κειμένων από μια

αφρόκρεμα λογίων είναι ενδείξεις εξουσίας.” See Steiner 2008:14–15.

and which we in turn pass on to the youth. Other productions—the long,

unremarkable ones that present work with which we are all too familiar, those that

are timidly respectful and pseudo-intellectual, that do not offend “public opinion”—

do not bother us. At such performances we do not cry out. Rather, we sleep, we

point to the quality of the acting, and then we go to dinner. For the performances

that do not keep in mind that the Epidaurus theatre is a “popular” theatre,

regardless of whether the production is a good or bad one—that is, interesting or

not—for those that do not let us enjoy our self-satisfied image of the play, for the

performances that arouse us, make us question, and prod us, we jeer and cry and

shout and seek who is responsible for the outrage; we talk of foreign plots and

misuse of public money; we transform our inability to activate executive authority

into intellectual terrorism.49 We take the law into our own hands as the chosen of

the people. Why, when all is said and done, give the theatre the right to speak to us

however it wants to if it has no intention of flattering us? Why should it exist if it

comes into conflict with authority?

What a strange contradiction: the theatre has always developed while in conflict

with authority—all forms of authority. That is the spirit in which all innovators of

49 A small digression is necessary here. The majority of performances that offend are

those directed by noteworthy foreign directors. This is perhaps due to the fact that

foreigners generally function “making no bones about their hatred for Classical

simplicity.” (I have taken this statement from Georgousopoulos 2008b, on the set

design in Epidaurus. The reviewer suggests that sets not be used in ancient theatres,

except for the strictly necessary items (thrones, altars, etc.) and goes on to say:

“…the truth is that set designers, mainly foreign ones, cover the monument with

monsters, making no bones…”; or perhaps this view prevails: “…a modern Greek

conspiracy takes over that would have it: they’re ours (theatres, plays, etc.). If the

barbarians lay a hand, we can set them alight and burn them,” as Fais 2008 writes

after the outcries of part of the audience at Epidaurus after a performance of Medea

directed by Anatoli Vasiliev. Naturally, the issue is much more serious than can be

discussed in a footnote. For one of the many approaches to the subject of national

pride and ancient drama, and the reactions of critics and the audience, see

Mavromoustakos 2007a and, more fully, 2007b.

world theatre have expressed themselves during all periods of the theatre’s history.

In times of peace, the theatre came into conflict with intellectual authority, and in

times of trouble, it came into conflict with real authority—what we call the

establishment. And this is because there have always been those who do not wish

the theatre to speak freely, but to speak only to them. In difficult times, they invoke

the name of the “people” and “tradition,” they call upon legal arguments—

regardless of their legitimacy—they call upon those who interpret the law and the

executors of decisions. In times of calm, in a state of democracy where every voice,

even the speech of the legal experts, is monitored for its legitimacy, things are less

stormy. “Tradition” is invoked, as are the “people” and sacred cows, but fortunately

for the theatre there are no repercussions, no matter how some may continue to

shout inside the theatre and outside, in the press, on television, and in cafes.

Open-minded Theatregoers, the Plebeians, and the Calm Audience

In one way or another, the repetition of the words “Abomination, blasphemers!”

which were at one point heard in the Argolid theatre and written about in the

Athenian press50 (after the fall of the junta, when Epidaurus ceased to be the

bailiwick of the National Theatre), are more and more frequently repeated. Over

the last few years, such shouts have been heard over the productions of foreign

directors who offend public opinion, because Greek directors no longer insult their

compatriots. Most of those who had done so in the past are now history; others have

evidently changed professions, and therefore have no cause to prick our memories

with the fact that they were “deconstructionists”; and still others were targets of

such attacks that not only did they never work in Epidaurus again as artists, they

were also punished at length and remained mere spectators, licking their wounds—

and when they returned to Epidaurus, they looked defeated.

It is generally accepted as insignificant, however, that the directors who raised

the ire of the public were only foreign directors.51 In general, the productions of

50 I am referring to Synodinou 1984, which followed the performance of Alcestes

directed by Yiannis Houvardas. 51 Let us try to forget the leading actor who once said: “The sound of performances

foreigners are regarded as “heretical,” that is, “different,” and for this reason they

cause reaction among Epidaurus audiences. Let us forget for a moment that it is

these experimental foreigners who raise the ire of audiences, and let us try to forget

how unreasonable it is today, in the twenty-first century, to react to anything

different by shouting and jeering. Let us attempt to understand why some, evidently

“Aristotelian,”52 spectators, who belong to the “plebeian public,”53 that is, “a mass

theatre that is undifferentiated as to class shout and jeer.”54 Let us simply ask

ourselves if there may be those who goad the public and reveal the arbitrariness

of the artists,55 thus imposing a point of view that stresses the importance of a

in Epidaurus must be Greek. Whenever I’ve attended the theatre and a foreign

language has been used, the sound is dissonant.” This quote by a leading man can be

found in the Paper Magazine supplement of the Athens daily, Imerisia, June 24, 2006

(“Tribute to Epidaurus”, ed. I. Blatsou). Let us even try to forget Georgousopoulos

2008b, on the set design at Epidaurus: “…the truth is that set designers, mainly

foreign ones, cover the monument with monsters, making no bones about their

hatred for Classical simplicity…,” and let us regard as slightly more credible the

writer’s more recent words: “It is a mistake to write or whisper that the audiences

hoot and jeer foreign directors” (Georgousopoulos 2009:34). 52 Georgousopoulos 2009: “The people who attend the performances in Epidaurus

agree unconsciously, but steadily, with Aristotle…” (34). 53 Georgousopoulos 2009: “Epidaurus is a theatre for ordinary people – it is not a

place for experimentation with adulterated audiences and adulterated

performances” (34). 54 “It is natural that some performances bring out catcalls at Epidaurus, because it

cannot stomach everything. Its public is a mass one that is undifferentiated as to

class,” from Lianis, Georgousopoulos, and Varveris 2009:20–21. 55 The examples of reviews written over the last few years are very many, and for

that reason I do not think it necessary to quote many. However, I believe that

theatre critics must think about their reason for existing: theatre review is not an

analysis of drama, but an attempt to understand the stage act. In other words, one

who reads a review does not read it to comprehend what the direction would have

been like if the reviewer, as the only person who truly understood the text, had

“tradition” which is almost an epic endeavour with its own myths. And let us try to

understand why there are some who put up with such people, and if the

theatregoers who are not bothered by such endeavours are really the “adulterated

audiences.”56 In a nutshell, has the time come to try to understand where we are

going, and to really think about where the blind are leading us?

Other articles may have dealt with the fact that every year in Epidaurus, Greek

theatregoers become dilettante Classics experts. We all recall, now distorted by

time, the things we learned in junior high and high school (from an educational

system that we all criticise), while our minds were on lunch period, and a hapless

language teacher was forced to teach us. We recall everything we learned by rote, so

that we could get our high school diplomas, so that we could go to some second-

class college to get a darned degree. Over drinks with friends, after attending the

theatre, full of pomposity we discuss Aristotle, analyse Aeschylus, frequently

highlighting the theological element of the work that differentiates it from

Euripidean innovations, the stature of the tragic hero, the shape and form of

classical drama and its teachings. Everyone who goes to Epidaurus at least once a

year remembers the great tradition of teachers in this field who created the so-

called golden age of the National Theatre, about whom they speak with the

certainty of an eye-witnesses;57 they bemoan the illiterate and disrespectful—to the

point of being anti-Greek—directors;58 they generalise their views and link them to

directed the work, but to try to understand what the creator was trying to say to the

audience. 56 Georgousopoulos 2009 n23. 57 According to this point of view, only the National Theatre had a tradition that

linked it to the theatre at Epidaurus. See Lianis, Georgousopoulos, and Varveris

2009. In any case, the so-called Golden Age fell during the period between 1955 and

the fall of democracy in 1967, a fact that allows us to ask ourselves how many of

today’s theatregoers have memories of it. 58 Out of the many names by which not just one director, but many, have been

called, we could make up the following formulation: A historically/theatrically

illiterate director, an idiot, a destroyer, a carpetbagger, a dullard, who hates, mocks,

vulgarizes, violates, defecates on the texts, with a contemptible translation.

the broader social situation on a national and international level, and finally reveal

the constant underhanded attacks of all the enemies of Hellenism, from

Fallmerayer to Kissinger to Almunia, from the Pope and the Uniates to masonry and

international Zionism—that is, all those dangers that the Greek-Christian ideal has

survived throughout the ages.59

One reaches the inescapable conclusion that it is not permitted to “twist” texts

when plays are performed in Epidaurus.60 If, of course, the plays are performed

elsewhere, in any other theatre, it is open to discussion, but “not in Epidaurus.”61

Not because the place is sacred—that is a false assertion that post-modern and naive

59 We do not only hear such views in bars and cafes—such views are aired in readers’

letters to newspapers and in articles with a byline, in publications where one does

not expect to see them. I wonder what the following statement means, and to what

ideological position it points: “Classical Greek antiquity is subject to maniacal

attacks from all over the world; it’s not just two or three sculptures, but Hellenism

as a whole. And the attacks are at the roots of Hellenism,” and further down: “The

coupling of Hellenism and Christianity which followed was the greatest revolution

in human history, that which shaped modern European culture.” See Diamantis

2009, where the examples come from articles that followed Dimiter Gotscheff’s

production of The Persians. Anyone wishing to go further back in time can read

similar viewpoints in many other publications, some of quality, others more

marginal. (See, for example: Michaelides 1997 and Katsibardis 2005; in the letters to

the editor page of Kathimerini, the views of theatregoers echo the views of the critics

in the Athens dailies and in magazines). 60 As to the accusations of twisting, debasing, ruining the text, and all other similar

accusations, there is no need for specific quotes. 61 “…Messrs Gotscheff, Vasiliev, Stuhrua e tutti quanti, artists who are admirable for

all their knowledge and all they have managed to achieve, can do what they wish

with classical drama wherever they want. But not with the National Theatre as an

accomplice, and, naturally, not in Epidaurus.” See the letter to the editor in

Kathemerini, August 3, 2009. After reminiscing about the glorious period of Aemilios

Hourmouzios, the writer obliquely posits another issue: the matter of citizens

having the right to demand that the National Theatre respect the taxpayer’s money.

theoreticians have constructed, and they have fallen into a trap: in Epidaurus, plays

must avoid experimentation, that is, they must “respect the laws of the site, as

Epidaurus is the natural place for which tragedies were written.” Thus, and given

that the site is not sacred, but “sacred is the art practised there,”62 one must seek

that ritual element which is a necessary part of the performance. There is no doubt

that the ritual element is “compatible” with the religious: “for anyone who has an

elementary knowledge of antiquity and has read even two lines of Vernant,

Nietzsche, or Renan, the following is familiar: for ancient Greeks, society and

religion were inextricably linked. Therefore, the thymele [altar] to Dionysus at

Epidaurus was like the altar in our own churches.”63 This justifies the vehement

reactions of certain members of the audience, who, seeing the actors in Gotscheff’s

production of The Persians step on the altar and perform their roles from there,

shouted for the actors to move from that spot64 and disobey the instructions issued

by the “Hainer-Mülleresque idiosyncrasy of the German-Bulgarian director.”65

62 See the two quotes from Lianis, Georgousopoulos, and Varveris 2009. 63 Yet again from Diamantis (2009), for whom reading two lines of these authors

evidently constitutes proof of the highest level of education. I would add that that

the link between society and religion is an element in contemporary Greece; that is,

according to Diamantis, one could conclude that the modern relationship between

church and state is linked to the long history of Hellenism as it was bequeathed to

us by our ancient ancestors (and I begin to suspect that Diamantis is writing to

amuse his readers). 64 See the reviews from the performance of Saturday, August 8, 2009. I will here need

to remind the reader of a Greek director’s rhetorical question: “Do you stand on the

grave of your ancestors? Do you stand on the Holy Altar? How then do you stand on

the thymele?” which was quoted in a tribute to Epidaurus in Imerisia, June 24, 2006.

Yiannis Varveris (Lianis, Georgousopoulos, and Varveris 2009) was clearer on the

subject: he used as examples of respect to the thymele both Demetris Ronteres and

Karolos Koun, indicating that a respect for traditions has nothing to do with taking

a fresher look at ancient drama. See also the ironic comment on these reactions in

Sarigiannis 2009. Now, why the audience didn’t jeer actors who stood on the thymele

in the past, we do not know. It is fortunate though, as even Alexis Minotis placed the

All of the names and views that have been used up to now, in the form of quotes,

have come from articles published in established Athenian dailies in the short time

that followed the National Theatre’s appearance at Epidaurus, that is, between

August 2 and August 20, 2009. Therefore, we must believe that they are responsible

opinions; that is, they are signed by authors who take responsibility for their words

and are aware of their ideological weight, gravity, aware of the responsibility they

have in shaping contemporary Greek attitudes.

This leads one to wonder what hasn’t made it to the serious newspapers; that is,

what has been written in the marginal or local press, what has been written on

websites, and, naturally, what has been said in cafes and bars. In other words, one

must wonder to what extent all these extreme statements, which bring to mind the

chauvinism of extreme right-wing organisations, are written to bring readers to

accept and adopt such views, or if they are written without their authors being

aware of what their words mean ideologically or politically, or, even worse, if they

are truly expressing the views of modern Greeks—if they truly express the real

views of the chance so-called “average Greek spectator.” One must wonder if these

views express the indeterminate, unknown group of people who are

“undifferentiated as to class,” the group of people who attend the theatre but whose

views are not heard, even though they are the majority. Perhaps this is why those

who regard themselves as representatives of the “ordinary spectator,” critics or

journalists writing in the name of the “simple people,” undertake to present the

arguments of this large group of disenfranchised citizens. Or are they merely those

who utter the first cries against the sacrilegious, and then are followed by the

“people?” Who knows—those who are following may be as blind as those who are

leading.

There are, of course, other spectators: those who do not become disturbed by

disrespectful productions, who do not react vehemently, but applaud coolly, or

warmly, or not at all. Their attitude to the texts of the plays is in line with

olive tree of Colonus, by which blind Oedipus stood, on the thymele. 65 In any case, in a mark of so-called “respect,” the audience applauded the actors

and their work enthusiastically at both performances, but catcalls were delivered to

the director. See the relevant newspaper articles.

contemporary ideas—that is, whether and how the plays can be suitable for a

theatrical production, or even whether there is a greater danger in making these

plays museum pieces by sticking rigidly to “tradition” than in treating them in

novel ways as an attempt to approach the ancients.66 These are the spectators who

do not regard choosing a work to produce as being self-evident, but seek the

internal logic, the hidden reasons behind a production, what moves a production’s

creators to present it. These are the members of the audience who wonder about

the repetitious, stereotypical productions, about the truth of things, about whether

the dissemination of stereotypes contributes to a process of ossification, where logic

bows to hyperbole, where an argument is so incoherent that it no longer has any

basis in reality.67 These are the theatregoers who see the theatre as a place in which

dialogue can take place, and as a place of tolerance; they go to the theatre to try to

challenge their certainties, to listen and to learn, to do what has always been the

task of an audience. They constitute the “calm audience” which during a

performance may change its views, which, even if it does not shout, nevertheless

realizes that a performance does not come to an end in the actual building, but out

there somewhere, in society.68 These are the theatregoers who like texts that have

been tinkered with, productions that have been altered in some way: they are the

open-minded theatregoers.69 They stand in stark contrast to those who “agree

unconsciously with Aristotle,” and believe that, three thousand years after the

ancient Greeks, there have been others to come up with ideas. They believe that not

all of these ideas necessarily belong in the rubbish heap. And they do not care if the

ideas they encounter were those of their ancestors, or even whose ancestors’ ideas

they were.

66 On this subject, see Lehmann 1999. 67 On this subject, see indicatively Politis 2000. 68 See Benjamin 1978. 69 All those whose historical and intellectual roots lay in forms of degenerate art

(Entartete Kunst), such as, for example, the works of Brecht, Klee, and many others.

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