Review: 'Antigone' invokes a theatrical netherworld

The timing is excellent. After the Fringe Festival stretched our theatrical awareness in disparate ways, the Wilma Theater now unveils a production of Antigone that brings together many modern theater techniques at the service of ancient, elemental storytelling in a pungent, fluid, possibly life-changing mixture. It's not for everybody, but theater representing such an uncompromising stance rarely is.

The original Sophocles tale of a woman who refuses to let her disgraced, deceased brother go without a proper burial is a grid that can be placed upon countless avenues of modern life, and this production, directed by Theodoros Terzopoulos, is at least covertly inspired by the Boston Marathon bombing. The tragedy isn't referenced explicitly; this production is about blood feuds.

While directors such as Ivo van Hove (in a recent production with Juliette Binoche) have portrayed the title character as a model of narcissistic martyrdom, the more detached observance of Terzopoulos, a veteran of Bertolt Brecht's Berliner Ensemble, doesn't necessarily explain why characters do what they do, but shows how rigid application of rules and morals causes ultimate chaos instead of the order they're meant to impose.

The anything-but-representational production unfolded in a series of spacious, initially static stage pictures as meticulously composed and lighted as anything by Robert Wilson. The adapted English translation by Marianne McDonald relies heavily on narration at first - beautifully handled by Ed Swidey - though short crucial passages of dialogue do come into play when the plot demands interpersonal heat.

Antigone is intriguingly fashioned by Jennifer Kidwell as having the physique of a warrior and the gender-blurring crew cut of a shaman. The cast's Philadelphia contingent was mixed in with actors from Terzopoulos' own theater in Greece, most notably Antonis Miriagos as Creon, one of the plot's prime motors, whose high-tension portrayal suggested steely convictions, then horrified awareness of the destruction they cause.

Most distinctive is the chorus - a troupe of men, often shirtless, who speak, move, and even crawl with a style suggesting modern dance. They tap the power of the words (spoken both in English and ancient Greek with surtitles), and one constantly hears their breathing, as if the play is an organism. The electronic music score by Panayiotis Velianitis is mostly abstract sounds that intuitively added subtle color to every scene.

Where I seriously parted company with the production was in the abrupt incursion of the George Gershwin song "Summertime." What is that doing there? Such an undiluted cultural object from an alien genre was glaring and pointless.

Still, this is a production at which you could wear earplugs and still be enthralled by the theatrical netherworld on the Wilma stage.

dstearns@phillynews.com

Wilma Theater, 265 S. Broad St., through Nov. 8. Tickets: $25. Information: 215-546-7824 or wilmatheater.org.