Theater: Olympus on the Thames

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All Greek tragedies move through pitch points of passion, moments when men look into the abyss of self-revelation. In Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis, which begins this cycle, there are three pitch points. The first comes as Agamemnon reasons with his daughter about the need for her death. Shrapnel sensitively conveys the deep inner anguish of a man torn between duty to his country and love for his child. As Clytemnestra, Suzman moves through a parabola of feelings, marking her again as one of the finest actresses on the English-speaking stage. And as Buxton reaches the heartbreaking conclusion that the one life she has to give for Hellas is the noblest life to have lived, she radiates a great and unforgettable purity of spirit. The final scene in this segment is a visual stunner. The rising wind whips the garment about Clytemnestra's knees. Alone, burnt-eyed, she raises an arm as she watches the Greek fleet under full sail, a Botticelli Venus transformed into the mater dolorosa.

For chronological reasons, Barton had to supply the second play in "The War" himself. He has culled it from Homer and called it Achilles. Considering the audacity of the work, the result is exemplary.

Achilles is played with sullen vanity by Gwilym, and as his mother Thetis, Annie Lambert manages to suggest both a divine sea nymph and a contemporary cocktail-party hostess who, when asked about her mating with a mortal, Peleus, remembers the moment as "brief, hot and sandy."

When the wily Odysseus (Church), he whom Homer called "the man of many devices," thinks up the ruse of the Trojan horse, Troy falls. In Trojan Women by Euripides, the women are to be parceled out among the victors. Queen Hecuba (Eliza Ward) leads the women in a keening catalogue of I woe: she has lost her husband Priam, her son Hector, and will eventually lose all of her children.

At this point, it is worth noting the three basic speech patterns of Greek tragedy. Hecuba embarks on a lamentation that might be called the first language of the Middle East, stretching around the Mediterranean crescent from the Wailing Wall of Jerusalem to the melancholy, snakelike flutes of the Casbah. The second mode is anathema, the curse absolute. The third is the speech of self-absolution. Protagonists in Greek plays never blame themselves for their actions. Either the gods made them do it, or their enemies are culpable or they are the victims of tyche: luck or blind chance.

As Hecuba plays the blame game, Helen, "the whore of Troy," is responsible for everything. Helen (Suzman) appears, as haughty as an international star. She seems to regard the Trojan War as her biggest hit ever. Menelaus is ready to butcher her for adultery, but he is so afraid of Helen's siren sway that he does not look at her. Silkily, she makes her excuse. She was in the power of Aphrodite—her will was not her own. Menelaus' meat-cleaver hand drops, Helen sashays away, whistling in sultry triumph.