The Bacchae

By Euripides

Directed by Eric Oleson

Presented by Harvard-Radcliffe

Summer Theatre

At the Loeb Drama Center through August 1

This is the summer of sexual perversity for Harvard-Radcliffe Summer Theatre. First, they gave us some from David Mamet, Chicago-style. Now, Eric Oleson and the rest of the HRST troupe are presenting Euripides' tale of madness, divine vengeance and sexual abandon. Titillation, at least, seems guaranteed.

Unfortunately, the current production of The Bacchae is less provocative than your average Greek salad. Not that we want Caligula, but The Bacchaesorely lacks sustained dramatic interest.

Euripides' tragedy, taken here at a wickedly fast pace, follows the fierce, vengeful exploits of the god Dionysus (Peter Becker). Disguised as a man, he has come to the ancient city of Thebes to humble and destroy those who have scorned the power of his father Zeus.

His first step is to transform the impious into raving maniacs. The Theban women have already become blood-thirsty maenads at the start of the play; Pentheus (John Claflin), the proud young king of Thebes, is gradually given a taste for women's clothing as well as for self-destruction.

The Bacchae is nearly 2400 years old, but it contains all of the grimness and gore of a modern-day shoot-em-up. The trouble for player and audience alike is that all of the action-violent, sexual and otherwise-occurs off-stage, and director Oleson has few ideas on how to make the play's lengthy, demanding speeches very affecting. Too often, the actors race through their tirades in effort to convey passion and fury; they end up losing their audience instead.

Only Lisa Lindley, as Pentheus' mother Agave, conveys a compelling sense of this worldgone-bad. As leader of the maenads, she is a portrait of frenzy. Blood-splattered and hysterical with glee from killing a wild animal with her bare hands, Lindley's Agave touches upon the horror of Euripide's play.

In his scenes with her, Linus Gelber, as Cadmos, the father of Agave and the founder of Thebes, has his most convincing moments. Indeed, these final moments of anguish do much to resurrect the drama as a whole.

The difficulties of staging The Bacchae are compounded by some casting restraints. For instance, the chorus of scantily dressed Asian Bacchae, usually made up of at least five players, here had to be reduced to two, Heather Gunn and Nicole Galland. Working overtime, they can't quite convey the sensual grace and exoticism of their roles. Furthermore, they are left with little to do but look engaged as the parade of Thebans passes by.

But in the end, nothing seems quite as perverse and inexplicable as the set itself. On one side, the stage has a large chain-linked fence; on the other is a floor grate that lets off steam or wind-swept orange rags meant to represent fire. In the middle stands a wall that seems to be covered with aluminum foil.

At one point, the words of an off-stage Dionysus come pounding forth from loud speakers, the top of this wall cracks, the stage lights go wild, and the fire from the grate starts up. All of this is meant to represent lighting.

Pretty neat, as special efforts go, but the language and action of Euripides' drama could sure have used the attention this gimmickry must have demanded.