The Flies

Sartre achieves in The Flies, as he does in most of his plays, the geometric clarity which his nondramatic writing lacks. The structure he imparts to the Orestes myth is philosophic and monumental; the audience is not meant to participate in the passions of the characters, but to analyze them. Sartre uses the classic French methods of adapting ancient myths, and shapes his myth with a grandiose stylization, adding a philosophic dimension to the drama of religious mystery.

In Act I Sartre explains the situation. Orestes returns to Argos with his tutor and discovers the town still guilt ridden over the murder of his father. The town is preparing for its yearly ritual of penance. Orestes watches Electra vent her long standing hostility toward Aegistheus and Clytemnestra, and he begins his own debate with Zeus. Orestes is at this point an intellectual observer--detached, ironic, rational.

In Act II Orestes observes the rite, during which Electra defies Zeus by performing a joyous dance. Just as the town is nearly liberated from its guilt by her own freedom, Zeus makes a sign of his presence, and Electra fails. But her dance nonetheless forces Orestes to murder Aegistheus and Clytemnestra. Aegistheusis too weary of repentence to resist.

Act III is a debate between Orestes and Zeus. Zeus attempts to convince the hero to alone for his crimes, and though Electra is convinced of her guilt, Orestes resists. He silences the mob of towns-folk, tells them that he takes upon himself their sins, and, like the pied piper, leads the buzzing swarm of flies from the town.

Thus with perfect clarity, Sartre manipulates the myth to portray Orestes' struggle against the gods, his growing commitment, and his redemption of the people. However, unless I sorely misunderstand the play, the surface clarity of structure disguises a number of deep philosophic muddles. Electra assures Orestes that by committing his murders, he is merely fulfilling the curse on the House of Atreus; Orestes, on the other hand, assures Zeus that by killing the tyrant he is fulfilling himself. Certainly he never for an instant feels the remorse which Electra's interpretation of his act would make necessary--but Electra does. The play's great weakness is its Second Act, in which Orestes makes his decision, because we never know the reason for that decision. We never know why Orestes must commit these particular murders in order to achieve his freedom.

There are a number of minor issues in the play which are left vague or incoherent. When Orestes leads the flies from Argos, it is to a lonely exile. But why? Is Argos redeemed by his act? At one instant Orestes tells us in Christian language that it is; at another Christianity vanishes, and the redemption becomes inexplicable. Orestes' motivation is obscure, and his relationship with Zeus is far from clear.

The production by the Kirkland House Drama Society displayed the flaws of the play and had a few of its own. The stage divides the audience in half, so that when there are only two or three actors on stage, one stares across a gaping empty space at faces staring back. Paul Sapounakis' set tries for the monumental simplicity that the play requires, but achieves only the simplicity. Its barrenness is tedious. The grotesque dances of the townsfolk, which might have been a ballet of such grandeur as to fill the emptiness of the Second Act, were undisciplined and flaccid.

The acting, however, rescues the production. Jere Whiting is a superb Zeus; the crafty and malignant god is aware of his limited power over the free, guiltless Orestes, but exploits anyone else willing to fear him. Whiting's grace and style provide the only light touch in a production too full of screams and heavy gestures. Philip Kerr gives a solid performance as Orestes. He seems as unable as I to account for Orestes' sudden commitment, but he understands perfectly each stage in Orestes' development. Thanks largely to Kerr, the play is clear and powerful.

Myra Rubn, as Electra, possesses the same virtues. Sartre's characters express no psychological insight, but act on the basis of moral imperative. Miss Rubin makes Electra understandable at least in Sartre's terms. Anne Lilly Kerr and Philip Rhodes, as Clytemnestra and Aegistheus, were far from subtle. But their performances, again were sound and moving.

Nick Delbanco, in what I believe is his first work as director, moved his actors around the stage very badly, but displayed a coherent understanding of the play. His intelligent grasp of this difficult play makes it a prodution well worth seeing.