The Aristophanesathon

Or: It’s Funny, Cuz It’s True

It is a truth universally acknowledged that parodies of classical tragedies are so much funnier than classical comedies themselves. Sean Graney and the Hypocrites seemingly proved that some years ago by the unsurpassed excellence of their twelve-hour epic All Our Tragic, which proved as explosively hilarious as it was, well, tragic. Now in what the cynical (“A common misspelling of ‘Logical’”) could view attempt to recapture their glory days but which I choose to see as a reverse negative of a thrilling project and a fascinating world, they have given us The Aristophanesathon, cobbled together from the eleven surviving fragments of Aristophanes’s comedies.

That is no mean feat, considering the comedies of Aristophanes have nothing to do with each other, are heavily tied to the times and places they were originally performed, and don’t make a whole lot of sense. But does that stop our intrepid players? No. Graney has instead returned us to the world he created for all our tragic, the godless, anachronistic, cruel but cute mythical Greece under the shadow of Red Mountain. It helps, but is by no means necessary to remember the timeline of All Our Tragic (so you can rejoice at the cameos of Groovy King Cadmus (Kurt Ehrmann) and Seventh Sister Theba (Tina Muñoz Pandya), not to mention Cadmasaurus) since our focus is not on the high and mighty and dumb but on Praxagora (Kate Carson-Groner), a woman of Athens, with a strong sense of justice and an indomitable spirit. In three acts we touch on three crises in a life of civil service, accompanied by her mother Myrrhine (Sasha Smith), sister Omega (Aja Wiltshire) and the noble King Theseus (Breon Arzell), in the struggle against inequality, bigotry, sexism, chthonic monsters, and a scheming blowhard politician (Ehrmann) in no way shape, form, catchphrase or tiny hand gesture based on real-life individuals.

What makes the five-hour show so moving and so funny Graney’s own style of language, the most peculiar particles of this strange land being brought to the fore, so innocently and eloquently summed up (even if there are a lot of phallus jokes and he is not above self-plagerizeation). The commitment, the absolute seriousness of business be that gingersnaps or a drunken zoology lesson an over-sexualized sausage tray, what would be just plain weird is lifted up to be natural. It also dovetails nicely into the plays Moral Character. As Praxagora seeks to make life better for her family, friends, and city we get to see some of our own pressing problems laid out before us. Does it get preachy? Yes, it does, but it’s the kind of message that bears a little holy oil to lubricate it, the originals were supposed to be moral and socially questioning in the first place, and they were treated with the same earnestness as the jokes: not something stabled on but organically fused with the story. Even the satire of America boy business genius (Arzell again).

Carson-Groner’s simple and strong and sweet portrayal of Praxagora flutters a straight flight through the story, armed with simple goodness. She is well foiled by Wiltshire's fulsome hi-jinx as Omega (and as Lysistrata, Praxagora’s activist aunt), who is having a criminally good time cursing desert names and coming up with unconventional uses for Amphora. Arzell’s energy is unflagging as he dives into wild, blustery, but always very human foibles. Ehrmann’s two finest points come in his portrayal of Cleon the Thebesaphoic politician (again not in any way based on anyone in power ever, not even down to the repeated hand gestures of syntax) as he hops and bends like one fo the noodle people outside used car lots, and then follows it with a truly lovely portrayal of mildly misogamist playwright Euripides, and his reclamation. Pandya is sterling, every role hammered out and finally filigreed, cultivating character’s that nail the quirky off the cuff air of the show, particularly with Aerope, mother of Agamemnon tuned child eater turned alcoholic bailiff. But my favorite, if that’s allowable in a critic, is Smith and her Myrrhine. Smith radiates energy and an exuberance that in other artists, “Might have prompted one to say, “Oh, what pitiful stuff,” but with Smith, you felt your heart glow.” For not only is she divinely silly she can also make that silliness seem perfectly second nature, and possess a deep compassion.

The Aristophanesathon might not have quite the same impact, humorously of emotionally, as All Our Tragic, but it is a marvelously good time of confronting our big and scary issues without rancor or hopelessness. It’s what the theater was designed to do, bring folk together to laugh and question and feel we’ve created something worthwhile together. And every joke, character foible, or nifty turn of phrase has a depth to it, it’s funny because it’s true. Or, as our Ukulele playing M.C. Sappho (Pandya) says, “People ask me, Sappho, lyric poet, did the events of the Aristophanesathon really happen? It’s the theater, of course it happened.”