PERFORMANCE REVIEW

production use this phrase), there were times when

this production pushed looseness to the brink of
pointlessness. It seemed as if the real heart of Dylans
message was glossed up and sugar-coated in order to make it slick and timely in the manner of a
Baz Luhrmann production. Yet Luhrmanns works
have the benefit of a solid text.
The cast proved more than adequate and included
two of the three leading actors from the original San
Diego cast. Thom Sesma played the role of Captain
Arab, a crazy ship captain from Bob Dylans 115th
Dream who dominates the other characters with
an iron fist and a nasty whip. With numbers such
as Highway 61 Revisited and Like a Rolling
Stone, Sesma sang Dylans folk-rock music in an
authentic yet clearly theatrical style. Arabs timid
son Coyote was played skillfully by Michael Arden.
His rendition of the title song emerged as one of the
more memorable moments of the evening, though
like too many of the songs, scored to end with too
much of a Broadway flourish. Caren Lyn Manuel
played Cleo, the beautiful animal trainer who is
the object of both mens lust. Effective as an actress
and dancer, Manuels vocal style seemed to work
against Dylans lyrics. Just Like a Woman was
sung in a legit (i.e., Broadway standard) fashion,
which gave the song a stiff, unapproachable quality.
The ensemble performed the athletic choreography
to near perfection, but somehow that still wasnt
enough: back-flips just didnt fit with songs like Mr.
Tambourine Man nor did a contortionist scene (
la Cirque du Soleil) in Just Like a Woman. There
were bright spots, such as Man Gave Names to All
the Animals making excellent use of the carnival
atmosphere (with dancers clad in animal costumes)
and creating a momentary world that meshed well
with this particular Dylan number. But the continuous barrage of feats and display proved more of a
distraction than an effective means of communicating the story of Bob Dylan.
The Times They Are A-Changin provided visual
and physical spectacle, but could not justify a $112
ticket price. Taken separately, Bob Dylans story lines
and Twyla Tharps choreography work as exceptional theatrical idioms; combined, the work failed
to generate an environment through which Dylans
songs could speak to a contemporary audience.
Dylans earthy lyrics, Tharps gymnastic choreography, and the surreal carnival atmosphere seemed
like three misfits, each distracting from the others.
This seemed a tremendous opportunity missed. No
one will debate the fact that Dylan is one of rocks
greatest lyricists, and his work unquestionably has
potential for conceptualization on the stage. Tharp
has proved herself a brilliant director / choreographer with numerous previous collaborations in
both dance and theatre. Yet, as indicated by poor

/ 315

reviews and low ticket sales, The Times They Are AChangin failed to materialize as a viable new musical-theatre work.

STEVE EARNEST
Coastal Carolina University

EURYDICE. By Sarah Ruhl. Directed by Les

Waters. Yale Repertory Theatre, New Haven,
Connecticut. 30 September 2006.
A letter delivered by a worm. Stones that yell
sadness not allowed. The persistent sound of
leaky faucets. These discomfiting elements make up
the mythic world of Sarah Ruhls Eurydice. Ovids
well-known tale of Orpheus, a musician who loses
his wife on their wedding day, has struck the imagination of many artists because of the characters
obsessive grief and tragedy. Orpheus descends into
the underworld to pursue his Eurydice, only to lose
her a second time. Ruhl, however, looks at the myth
from Eurydices point of view by dramatizing the
moments she spends in the underworld becoming
reacquainted with her father. She creates an Alice-inWonderland atmospheresimilar to Jean Cocteaus
surrealist treatment in his play, Orpheby placing
these figures in a nonsensical world. This intriguing attempt to mix a fantastical atmosphere with a
serious contemplation of memory, loss, and grief is
ambitious, but does not always succeed.
The retelling of a myth for the stage can involve
any number of structural changes. Ruhl expands
the character of Eurydice and introduces some
new characters to the myth. She gives Eurydice a
long-deceased father and introduces a chorus of
stones, who, according to Ovid, were so moved
by Orpheuss playing that they wept. Eurydices
character is not so much deepened as explained.
An indecisive young woman who seems uncertain
about the books she reads, she accepts Orpheuss
marriage proposal with a hesitant, Yes, I think.
Maria Dizzia, who also played Eurydice in the
West Coast premiere at Berkeley Repertory Theater, portrays her as intelligent but naive. She challenges Orpheuss self-centered preoccupation with
music, but laughs and shrugs her shoulders in an
adorably helpless way. Thus it is no surprise that
her death is her own fault. When Hades (Mark
Zeisler), disguised as a Nasty Interesting Man, lures
her away from her own wedding with the promise
of a letter from her father, she follows him to his
high-rise apartment, only to fall to her death. And
at the critical point of the myth, the unfathomable
moment when Orpheus turns backwards to look

316 / Theatre Journal

Ramiz Monsef as Big Stone, Gian-Murray Gianino as Loud Stone, and Carla Harting as Little Stone in
Eurydice. Photo: Joan Marcus.

PERFORMANCE REVIEW
upon Eurydice, her immaturity and indecision are
to blame: she has called out his name. Although
she loves Orpheus, Eurydice regrets leaving her
father in the underworld and has apparently made
a choice to return to him. In short, Ruhl has rewritten Orpheuss story with an Electra motif. She shifts
the tragedy from Orpheuss loss to Eurydices divided loyalties between two men: Orpheus, acted
with grunge-band coolness by Joseph Parks, and
her father, played by Charles Shaw Robinson. As
Eurydice remarks on her wedding day: A wedding is for a father and daughter. They stop being
married to each other on that day.
The plays strength lies in its arresting aural and
visual poetry. Ruhls dialogue is imagery-rich, yet
the play belongs very much to the director (Les
Waters) and scenic designer (Scott Bradley) for their
imaginative leaps into the surreal. Carnival music
introduces Eurydices arrival in the underworld as
two glowing chandeliers rise from the floor, intricate
as wedding cakes. The elevator doors at the sets
rear, embossed with a sunburst, open up and out
floods a torrent of water. Eurydice stands within
the pouring rain, holding an umbrella and carrying her suitcase, a traveler to the watery realm of
the dead. Tiled in aquamarine, silver, and lime and
reminiscent of a subterranean pool, the set is entirely
askew. The canted walls induce vertigo, while the
water escapes across the raked stage.
The characters of the stones then enter. They stray
menacingly upon the stage in dark, Victorian clothing as if they had stepped out of a daguerreotype.
They mechanically adhere to the rules of Hades,
which prohibit emotions, relationships, and singing.
The difference between the stones and Eurydice and
her father exposes the plays central thrust: human
connection is only possible by the memories we possess of one another, but these same memories cause
the painful sensation of grief when we lose someone.
To be free of memories is to be free of pain, and thus
the dead have their memories erased as they pass
over the river Styx. The odd twist is that the father,
who managed to keep his memory by holding his
breath, proceeds to connect with his daughter upon
her arrival in Hades. Herein lies another arresting
image. The father appeases Eurydices desire for a

/ 317

personal space in Hades by creating a fragile, imaginary room with string, connecting the sides of the
cube to anchors in the floor and to the overhanging water pipes. The stones protest that there are
no rooms in Hades, yet the two sit in the house
together, allowing the string outline to denote the
intimacy of their relationship as Eurydice learns
once again how to speak, to read, and to connect
with her father through his stories of the past. (Her
fathers choosing to read aloud King Lears lines to
Cordelia furthers the Electra motif.)
For all the visual richness, however, the inconsistencies in the plot are befuddling. Characters are
unable to sleep in the land of the dead, yet when Eurydice returns to her father at the end she finds him
asleep and tragically unresponsive; he has bathed
in the river Styx to assuage his pain. Orpheus sends
Eurydice a book in Hades by dropping it down
the sewer, but has to fit his spirit through a straw
in order to descend himself. The god Hades, who
originally seduced Eurydice to her death as a creepy,
middle-aged man, appears in the underworld as a
bratty boy riding a tricycle, with no explanation
as to his transformation. Surrealism, as an artistic
style, stimulates the unconscious mind though not
the heart; the absurdities and illogicalities prevent
the audience from treating the characters grief seriously. When Eurydice leaves her father to follow
Orpheus, one senses as much regret as if she were
going to the movies without him. The audience
finds itself taking on the perspective of stones, unresponsive to human pain. This ambiguity at the
plays end is disturbing; the perception that human
relations are ultimately absurd because they cause
pain is a much darker message than Sarah Ruhl,
who wrote the play for her deceased father, could
have possibly intended.

MIRIAM M. CHIRICO
Eastern Connecticut State University
Performance Review Erratum: In the October 2006
issue of Theatre Journal (Vol. 58.3), Nisha Kuntes
name was incorrectly spelled on page 491, in the
credit line for her review of Blessing the Boats. The
editors regret the error.

Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.