Aeschylus’ ‘The Persians’ @ Undermain Theatre
Photos by Paul Semrad
—Martha Heimberg
Undermain Theatre closes its 40th-anniversary season with the oldest surviving western drama, The Persians by Aeschylus. And what a stirring, thunderous production bounces off the basement theater’s concrete pillars in this visceral adaptation by Ellen McLaughlin, depicting the terrible aftermath of the Greek victory over the invading Persian army in the Battle of Salamis in 480 BC.
First performed in Athens in 472 BC, The Persians is the only play of that ancient era written about contemporary events rather than heroes of myth. Aeschylus was a veteran of that war—that very battle, in fact—and so were many among the first audiences to see his play, who must have felt again the thrill of winning against huge odds.
Yet in Undermain’s riveting 90-minute production, directed by Kara-Lynn Vaeni with demanding physicality and the tension of a thriller, The Persians is less a heroic cheer for the victors, and more a soul-shaking evocation of the dreadful toll of war on everyone touched by the bloody conflict.
When the lights go up on the arena stage, five Persian court members (“the Trusted Ones”) speaking together as the chorus and individually as aspects of empire, wait with Queen Atossa (an electric, fate-driven Marianne Galloway) for news of her son Xerxes’ campaign to conquer Greece. They shout, bang their tall sticks loudly, and speak of the grand army that marched off to battle as the most “awesome parade of power” ever seen.
The Persian Empire had become a true superpower, uniting ancient civilizations including Mesopotamia, Egypt’s Nile Valley, and the Indus Valley under one government, accomplished when Darius the Great was King. “How could such a force vanish without a trace?” one man asks nervously as the strain begins to show. The army has been gone too long.
Atossa, costumed by Shahrzad Mazaheri in feather-light scarlet robes (later exchanged for rustling black) and carrying a jeweled dagger at the waist, has had terrible dreams of loss in her few moments of sleep. Galloway’s prescient Queen stands still and erect before her people, and tells them: “Not even Persia can escape fate.”
When the news does come, the Herald (a distraught, haunted Thomas Leverton) runs onto the stage, crying that all is lost. “Your mighty army is all gone. I am the only survivor!” He runs full gallop across Robert Winn’s deep, wide set design, built as a slightly raised topographical map incribed with the names of the nations, seas, and rivers of the Greek and Persian worlds. Crossing borders with giant bounds, the Herald tells of hunger, exhaustion, drownings and other horrors he witnessed. Here McLaughlin’s rhythmical, concrete languages is at its most compelling.
Leverton is up to the challenge, barely pausing before delivering another barrage of traumatic battle memories he as the survivor must carry. Caroline Hodge’s lighting design and David Lanza’s sound amplify the impact of the spoken words throughout the play. When the messenger stumbles and staggers recalling the sea battle, the lights flutter and all sound vanishes for a moment. The Herald is recapturing his memories—the dead sailors calling silently from the waters of the sea, killed when Greek ships descended upon them: “Never have so many died in a single day,”
He also reveals that Xerxes is alive, and had demanded the impossible of his solders, spending their lives unwisely—though they had far outnumbered the Greeks who defended their cities.
The noble Chairman (a commanding Jason Douglas) declares Persia should never have trusted the army to the arrogant, “moon-faced boy” Xerxes. All agree. The councillors’ feelings of anger, fear and vengefulness begin as speeches but play out physically, as they become writhing, rocking, falling bodies. Danny Lovelle’s Justice, Anthony L. Ramirez’ Admiral, Megan Noble’s State, and Shyama Nithiananda’s Religion demonstrate not only their agile fitness (this is whole-body acting), but also their expert command of language and emotion.
Her eyes dulled with pain, Galloway’s Atossa appeals to her late husband to rise from the underworld to advise them. Wise, brave Darius does in fact return, but as a resonant voice speaking through the mouths of shaking, entranced people in a scene both surprising and scary.
When Xerxes (a staggering, stunned Mac Welch) does show up, begging for pity after his catastrophic loss, he is rocked by the intensity of his reception. His world has turned around. Atossa’s grief and pity are clear in Galloway’s gentle embrace of Xerxes. But this is a tragedy, and the Queen—the mother—knows what she must do.
The Persians, a work of theater turning 2,496 years old this year, may not be for everyone, but it’s a powerful reminder that no matter where war is being fought, human lives are destroyed among both the dead and the living. We must always ask ourselves if our motives are worthy of such suffering.
WHEN: May 2-26, 2024
WHERE: 3200 Main Street (Deep Ellum), Dallas
WEB: undermain.org
