By Bart Greenberg***American Thymele Theatre has presented a full cycle of the plays of Euripides—the 5th century BC classical Greek tragedian—one drama each summer, since 2009 (for a few years virtually during the global shutdown). This summer marks the completion of the project with a production of Bacchae, the playwright’s final work. Discovered by his family in his papers after his death, the initial production was done posthumously and earned him awards. This tale of a god’s revenge 
on a ruler who does not show him the proper obeisance leads to everything from female orgies in the woods to madness and grisly murder. Our modern entertainment has nothing in decadence on the ancient Greeks. This series, offered for free to the public, was certainly a noble venture even if the results were less than sterling.
The god Dionysus is unhappy because he feels that the city-state of Thebes is not paying him the proper respect. The fact that he is related to the royal family via his mother complicates matters. The clan seems to have an unhealthy habit of cohabitating with the Greek gods, and then refusing to acknowledge the circumstances of birth. This results in the current King, Pentheus, being the snobby cousin of the supernatural being, who repeatedly casts aspersions on his aunt’s character and honesty. So Dionysus arranges for his followers, a devoted flock of female groupies, to gather in the Thebian countryside and frolic and seduce the locals, including the King’s mother (and the god’s aunt) into joining them for their rituals. Very bloody tragedy ensues.
The production unfortunately veered between styles and periods, with some illogical sideroads and technical issues as well, such as music booming over and drowning out dialogue. The show was therefore less than effective. Beginning with a rather awkward translation by Emily Wilson, the audience never had a sense of exactly where and when the story was happening. Eve
n more confusing was the chorus of Bacchants, who seemed to have escaped from a revival of Hair, and who, despite constant references to them being a group of dangerous women, included two men. Relating them to the flower children of the 60s isn’t a bad idea, but they are placed against a lot of male actors playing classical tragedy for the most part.
Director Lorca Peress appeared to have no clear approach to the material: was it the tyranny of men over women, the tyranny of religion of humans, the failure of men to respect the gods, the failed rebellion of women, or something else? Without some overarching idea, it proved to be a very long 90 minutes.
Much of the cast seemed to be less than connected to the material. Stephen Diacrussi as Dionysus gave a fussy performance that didn’t quite command the stage as a god should, and his counterpart, the god in human disguise, Brody Rogers ,failed to connect his performance to the others in any way, being all bounce and coy tease. Justin Knapp, as Pentheus the King, was a stern and angry villain until he was forced into drag, where he transformed into a 
bad Bea Arthur. It was an imitation in a scene so bizarre and out of pace with the rest of the show that it seemed to be a clip from an 80s sitcom that somehow teleported itself into the production.
Amid all of this, there was one outstanding performance. Amandeep Singh as a servant of the king had a very long, detailed monologue recounting this master’s death. Somehow, in the tumbling of the words, the actor found a truth and reality that was both horrifying and moving. Despite the speech being completely narrative in nature, Singh found compelling dramatic trajectory. The show could have used far more of this. Elijah Lawrence, saddled with the other lengthy narration of the work, also rose above the verbiage to bring some drama to his recitation.
There are reasons why certain dramatic works live on for centuries. But they must be revived with energy and creative juice to make them appealing to a new audience. That was lacking in this dreary revival. Hopefully, next time will be the charm.
