An Iliad by Lisa
Peterson and Denis O’Hare. Based on Homer’s Iliad and translated by Robert Fagles.
Directed by Damien Ryan. Designer: Charles Davis. Lighting
Designer: Alexander Berlage. Composer: Helen Svoboda. Sound Designer:
Brady Watkins. Associate Director: Ian Michael. Greek Language
Consultant: Deborah Galanos. Illusions & Magic Consultant: Adam
Mada. Voice & Text Director: Charmian Gradwell. Illusions &
Magic Associate: Bruce Glen. Marketing Image: Holly Ward. Cast: David
Wenham and Helen Svoboda
Wharf 1. Sydney Theatre Company. Until
June 27 2026.
Reviewed by Peter Wilkins
The clanging
sound of a chain breaks the silence in the dark. The heavy iron door rises
slowly revealing bit by bit a figure standing in the shadows. He enters the
open black stage and begins his tale. His story begins in the rich tones of the
Greek language, urgent and forceful as though it is a drama that must be told. As
the narrator David Wenham strikes a vagabond figure in a long grey coat. He
rushes to the wall and chalks in Greek letters the names of Achilles on one
side and on the other the name of Hector. This is the tale that the poet is
compelled to tell, the bitter rivalry between mythical heroes Achilles from
Greece and Hector from Troy, a rivalry doomed to death in the Trojan wars, war
that continues to echo through Time.
But writers Lisa
Peterson and Denis O’ Hare’s
An Iliad is not merely a reimagining of
Homer’s
Iliad, recounting the Trojan Wars. It is a densely textured
account of the human propensity to rage and its consequence throughout the
deadly conflicts down the ages. Peterson and O’Hare have powerfully and
revealingly intermingled the myth of Achilles and Hector with the depictions of
age- old wars and contemporary conflicts, all reflected in the inspiration of
Homer’s epic poem. Both lyrical and graphic the story is powerfully told by
Wenham who gives a performance of heroic stature, riveting in its dynamism,
plummeting the depths of human emotion and suffering, and capturing with
theatrical might the violence and futility of wars, ignited by rage and fuelled
by a fury that can only ultimately lead to destruction. To witness Wenham
inhabit Sydney Theatre Company’s Wharf 1 theatre with such superb command of
the ancient art of oral storytelling is to witness one of the country’s finest
actors transport us in mind and heart to the very core of human impulse.
Suddenly the
poet exits through the doorway and draws on a cart laden with boxes,
paraphernalia and a large double bass with bow. From beneath the pile a hand
emerges, then an arm and finally the body of musician Helen Svoboda. She is the
Muse, accompanying the poet’s story with the haunting sounds of the bow across
the strings or the heart-rending wails of grief from a slumped form upon the
floor. It is the pain borne by women who must suffer the loss of their men in
the horrors of war, and be left at home to rage against their unjust fate.
Svoboda and Wenham merge into the action supporting each other with the fluid
business of the play. Both Wenham and Svoboda immerse themselves entirely in
the telling of the tale.
Director Damien
Ryan’s weaving of the action and emotional impact of the play is meticulous.
The rhythm of the business punctuates the story. At times Wenham is caught up
in the relentless drama of his narrative, running around the stage to a state
of exhaustion. At one time he is transfixed by Achilles’ rage at the horrific
death of his lover Pantoclus. At another he stands in reverent stillness to
recount the countless conflicts through history. At another he holds aloft a
wood carved puppet of Hector’s young son and with only the text describes the
cruel murder of the young child at the hands of the Greeks. There is no need
for the violence on the stage. It is in the power of the language of Peterson
and O’Hare’s text and the brilliant performances of Wenham and Svoboda in
collaboration with Ryan’s sensitive and intelligent direction. Ryan directs with
impeccable skill, inspiring the imagination and gently guiding the changing
rhythm of the drama. Wenham and Svoboda
are unified in their connection with the story and their individual skill in
telling it. To watch them unfold the play is to watch two performers create
magic.
The poet retreats
to the doorway. He has endured the agony of the song that he had hoped he would
never have to sing, a song sung over and over through the ages. It is the song
of rage, told in the stories of endless wars. An Iliad is not an anti-war
play, although it will provoke the dismay at humanity’s endless inhumanity to
man. It is a play that will stay with you because it impels us to confront an
urge deep within our psyche. Nor is it confined to war, although war is the
ultimate expression of the rage. Dylan Thomas invokes us to “rage against the
dying of the light”. Whitlam invited his supporters to “maintain the rage” and
on Saturday mornings the ABC screens the music programme Rage. An Iliad
shows us the result of rage from Homer’s Trojan sands to the beach of Gallipoli
and the seashore of Gaza. In doing so, the Sydney Theatre Company has staged a
brilliant production that provokes us to hold An Iliad’s mirror up to
Nature and witness our image in the glass.
Photos by Daniel
Boud.
