Begin then

So, let us weave these words,
The last stray and fraying threads,
Let us weave them into a fine peplos
A dress fit for a goddess. Begin then.
- Hera, in the opening scene of Alcmaeon in Corinth


Alcmaeon in Corinth is a play about history: the fragments that remain, but also the personal histories that everyone carries, and sometimes hide. Colin Teevan wrote the play after twenty extant lines of a ‘lost’ play by Euripides. Originally performed as Cock of the North at Live Theatre Newcastle in 2004, the play has been translated into Macedonian by poet Bogomil Djuzil. A large-scale production will be presented this summer by the National Theatre of Macedonia, Bitola, with Colin directing and Nikola Kodjabashia as composer.

Offered an invitation to observe the making of this unique production, I approached Arts Council England for a grant to fund the making of this blog on the premise that theatre rehearsal processes are rarely recorded in detail. A performance may be subject to public review and some archival traces, but mostly theatre is an art that tends to leave little evidence of the collaborative process that created it. One of the consequences is that we lose much of what we know or have experienced as practitioners. The rich stories that could be told instead fade into vague anecdotes or complete obscurity.

That said, whilst part of my task is to counter this ephemerality, this rehearsal diary can never be a full history - if such a thing can exist anyway. Over the next six weeks I will offer pieces of observation, tracking the action from the early rehearsals through to the debut at the Ohrid Festival and the performance at the ancient theatre of Heraklea, Bitola.

I’ll also record perceptions of the culture of theatre-making in Macedonia, how this differs from the British traditions I’m familiar with, as well as how the personal histories and experiences of people involved in this production inform it. The night before rehearsals begin, I meet up with Colin, Sasha Damjanovski (assistant director and production translator), and Keri Nevzati (choreographer) for dinner on the lively main street of Bitola, Maršal Tito. Colin enquires after Keri’s background, and she tells us she grew up in Serbia but after training as a dancer in St Petersburg she moved Skopje during the war. “We’re all exiles here” Colin jokes. He’s Irish, Sasha’s Macedonian, I’m Australian, and all of us have expatriated to England. We’re only a few of the international flavours of this production though; it’s a truly multicultural experience.

As for the context of this production, to my antipodean perspective it’s hard to fathom the long and complex history of the Balkans. Even crossing the border from Greece to Macedonia (sorry – “FYROM”) as we did on the weekend felt tense, as the naming dispute within the region fails to relent. Evidence of the contrasting waves of influence are all around us, in the beautiful 18th and 19th century architecture of Bitola, the stern Sovietism of the massive cultural complex that houses the indoor theatres, and the magnificent Hellenic amphitheatres of Ohrid and Hereklea. Euripides himself wrote his final plays at the court of the King of Macedon, dying in exile from Athens in 406 BC.

Alcmaeon, the protagonist of the play, is himself is an outsider to his home town of Corinth, and his return is only out of necessity. He is a rock star figure: famous, charismatic and a “superlative seducer”. Yet he has been haunted by the Erinyes (Furies) since he killed his mother, and for peace he seeks to retrieve his mother’s necklace under the instruction of the oracle of Delphi. Alcmaeon’s arrival in Corinth is not without consequences for others. Sixteen year old Tisiphone and her twin brother Amphilochus (played by the same actress, Gabriela Petrusevska) are sent away by Creusa, the Queen. Alcmaeon had left them as infants, with the necklace, in her care. Whilst Creusa and Alcmaeon once had an affair, the children’s mother is another one of Alcmaeon’s former lovers, yet Creusa has raised the children as her own with King Creon. Creon, unaware of their true paternity and of the oracle that Tisiphone’s virginity is destined to be lost to her father, has begun to not-so-subtly lust after the blossoming Tisiphone. Fearing for her life should the truth be discovered on Alcmaeon’s visit, Creusa recruits the Priestess of Aphrodite, Nikarete, to take the teenagers away. Nikarete enslaves Tisiphone at the Temple/brothel, where visiting Alcmaeon ends up choosing her. I won’t give the rest away just yet, but suffice it to say that in this modern prism of Greek tragicomedy, no characters end up happy, though the Gods and the audience are thoroughly entertained.







[Images of the scaled model box of the set]

In contrast to the concealed stories and desires the characters have, the stark amphitheatres are exposed playing spaces – far more so than interior theatres, as there is no wing space or backstage. British designer Gideon Davey has answered this challenge with a set that draws inspiration from the archaeological sites themselves, and from the environmental installation art of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. In this modern, sleazy version of Corinth, large shipping containers and packing cases form the main structure of the set, complemented by tarpaulins that echo the plastic shrouding of nearby columns and mosaics. The packing cases are initially scattered downstage, filled with shoes, dresses and scrolls of paper. These are the remnants of society from which Hera, the presiding goddess, will conjure the performance.

In itself, rehearsal is a process of breaking down text and ideas: sifting through them in fine detail, eventually reconstituting the elements into what ever the performance becomes. The anticipation of this process fills me with curiosity and excitement: what will it be like to rehearse in two languages? What kind of playing style will evolve as the modern play converges with a different culture and ancient stages? Stay tuned, and I’ll report back.