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Al-Ahram Weekly
27-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Al-Ahram Weekly
Oedipus on the Plane: A fated choice - Reviews
As Egypt marks the fifth anniversary of Hosni Mubarak's death this February and recalls his 2011 ousting, Mohamed Salmawy's novel Oedipus on the Plane achieves an almost uncanny relevance within the current political landscape. Recent reports of Bashar Al-Assad's escape flight further amplify this profound resonance, underscoring the novel's timeless nature. 'The prophecy, which named him explicitly, had already been broadcast by local and international media, along with the announcement of his immediate transfer to the prison following the sentencing." (..) The Chief of Staff listened respectfully to Oedipus, but the king cut him off before he could speak: 'I will not leave the plane,' it reads. The juxtaposition of Oedipus with a modern aeroplane is both captivating and unsettling. Mohamed Salmawy's Oedipus occupies a psychological limbo, confined yet refusing disembarkation and escape. The scene echoes the dramatic arrival of Hosni Mubarak at Tora prison in July 2012. Sentenced to life, the ousted president wept and refused to leave his helicopter. Salmawy skillfully weaves together the threads of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, his own modern adaptation, and the historical reality of Mubarak — a reality he personally experienced as a witness to contemporary Egyptian history. Through this interpretation, the author harmonizes diverse narratives, effectively exploring fate, guilt, and free will. Salmawy's choice of the Oedipus reference effectively highlights Mubarak's succession issues. The novel clearly parallels Oedipus Rex, even though Salmawy's Oedipus has no sons. Just as Oedipus Rex's incestuous marriage to his mother Jocasta rendered his children unsuitable rulers, Mubarak's refusal to appoint a vice president and the widespread perception that he was grooming his son Gamal — deemed unfit by the public — mirrored a similar succession dilemma. Salmawy's novel creates a striking adaptation: Greek characters, bearing their original names, navigate a 21st-century world of gadgets and aircraft while speaking Arabic. He further enriches this world with characters embodying the Egyptian revolutionary spirit: Hypatia and Petro, a filmmaker documenting the Arab Spring's raw energy, mirroring real-life documentarians. Even after his imprisonment, Hypatia continues filming a revolutionary wedding — a symbol of resilience. This fusion of antiquity and contemporary history places Oedipus squarely within the Egyptian revolution. Oedipus: The illusion of choice 'It seemed like a courageous decision, but it was too late. By the time the news reached the people that Oedipus had decided to step down, the public's anger had intensified, and their resolve had strengthened … However, those demands had escalated over time, and the people had moved from demanding ... reforming the country's conditions to demanding Oedipus's abdication,' the novel says. In the original myth, the rulers of Thebes seek the oracle of Zeus to determine the cause of their city's suffering. The oracle reveals that Oedipus is the source of the curse, a truth he vehemently rejects. Sophocles' Oedipus Rex explores the tragic clash between fate and free will. In a world governed by inescapable divine prophecies, Oedipus' attempts to avert his destiny — bringing plague and misfortune upon Thebes — paradoxically lead him to fulfil it. Inspired by this ancient narrative, the novel delves into the profound conflict between predetermined fate and the illusion of free will. This conflict ultimately serves the prophecy and prompts questions about free will. His Egyptian Oedipus, driven by a desperate desire to defy fate and the people's demand to quell the unrest and save Thebes, ironically becomes the very instrument of its fulfilment, though seemingly brave and autonomous. Mubarak's seemingly deliberate choice to step down after three decades, undertaken with a conviction of self-determination, is, in fact, the very mechanism by which the revolution is enacted. Thus, his seemingly free choices are the very chains that bind him to his destiny, revealing his perceived choices as the instruments of fate. The celestial throne 'You dare suggest that? Oedipus will not flee the country like some common criminal! I abdicated to save Thebes, and I even tolerated Creon's conspiracy — because I have nothing to hide. Now, he seeks to dispose of me by banishment.' The Arab Spring's enduring legacy prompts consideration of the stark choices between exile and remaining. The aeroplane, a symbol of journey and confinement, reflects the divergent paths chosen — trial or exile. Is it a vessel of destiny, an airborne prison, or a chance for freedom? In January 2011, Ben Ali fled to Saudi Arabia, an offer Mubarak defiantly declined a couple of weeks later: 'This is my country ... I will die on its soil.' This resonates in Salmawy's novel, where the aircraft, once a symbol of power, becomes Oedipus's stranded refuge, paralysing Thebes. Unique among leaders affected by the Arab Spring, Mubarak possessed a profound bond with aircraft, forged during his early career as a pilot and solidified through his command of the Egyptian Air Force. His orchestration of the 1973 surprise attack on Israeli forces not only secured his status as a national hero but also transformed the aircraft into an enduring symbol of his strength, a symbol meticulously cultivated through annual war commemorations. Trapped by his legacy, Oedipus becomes a pariah, his confined space mirroring the entrapment and isolation that marked Mubarak's end. Both denied their downfall, echoing Foucault's heterotopias: "other spaces" that are physical and mental counter-sites. The aeroplane's shift from a symbol of power to Oedipus's refuge exemplifies this. Like the plane, spaces are repurposed in crises, becoming sites of resistance or denial, reflecting Oedipus's turmoil. Salmawy's Oedipus on the Plane reimagines the Greek myth, building on the Egyptian tradition of Freudian "trans-adaptations" initiated by Al-Hakim (1949), Bakathir, and Salem. His earlier works, including The Chain, Salome, and Butterfly Wings (2010), demonstrate his socio-political focus. Butterfly Wings is viewed as a prophetic glimpse of the Egyptian revolution that erupted the following year. Follow us on: Facebook Instagram Whatsapp Short link:
New York Times
10-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
In ‘Festen,' a Nightmare Birthday Becomes an Opera
Mark-Anthony Turnage has a habit of provoking stuffy opera fans. The revered British composer's 1988 debut, 'Greek,' appalled some audiences by transposing Sophocles's 'Oedipus Rex' into to a cursing, brawling working-class London family. And some critics hated the pole dancers onstage in 'Anna Nicole,' his opera about the tragic life of the Playboy model Anna Nicole Smith. Now, Turnage is preparing to present 'Festen,' in which a patriarch's 60th birthday party descends into chaos after a speech exposes a family's deepest secrets. When 'Festen' premieres on Tuesday at the Royal Ballet and Opera in London, the show's dark subject matter looks set to upset traditionalists, too. Based on Thomas Vinterberg's cult Danish-language movie of the same name, 'Festen' includes descriptions of child abuse and suicide. The opera's 35-strong cast will fight, engage in simulated sex and hurl racist abuse at the show's only Black character. Yet Turnage insisted in a recent interview that he hadn't set out to challenge anyone — except himself. 'Part of me thinks, 'Why don't I just do a nice fluffy story that will be performed a lot?'' Turnage said. 'But I know if I did, it wouldn't be any good.' 'I need to be provoked,' Turnage added. 'I need an extreme or strong subject to write good music.' This 'Festen' premiere comes just over 25 years after Vinterberg's movie won the jury prize at the 1998 Cannes Film Festival. Released as 'The Celebration' in the United States, 'Festen' was created under the banner of the Dogme95 movement, which required movie directors to follow 10 strict rules. Those included only using hand-held cameras and a ban on music, unless it occurs naturally in a scene. Vinterberg said by phone that he was curious to see how the operatic adaptation would work, given that his movie was mainly about characters concealing their emotions. In opera, by contrast, 'You've got to sing out everything — there's no hiding,' Vinterberg said. Turnage said he came to 'Festen' by accident. He first watched the movie in the mid-2000s, and loved its dark humor, he said, but its operatic potential didn't occur to him straight away. Then, during a binge-watch of Vinterberg films in 2019, Turnage said he realized: 'Wow! This has got all the elements for a grand opera.' The dinner party's guests could be the opera chorus, Turnage recalled thinking, while the movie's speeches — including one in which Christian, the movie's middle-aged lead, accuses his father, Helge, of abuse — would make great arias. 'I could see the people singing onstage,' Turnage said. 'I could see music in it.' The movie also spoke to him personally, Turnage added. While his own family gatherings had none of the horrors of 'Festen,' he said he identified with Christian confronting his father. Turnage said his own father, who died last year, had spanked him as a child, and was 'quite brutal' when he did. The composer said he was still angry about that. 'I wanted my dad to say, Sorry,' Turnage said. 'I knew he never regretted it.' For the 'Festen' libretto, Turnage turned to Lee Hall, a lyricist best known for 'Billy Elliot.' It was a relatively easy task, Hall said, because Vinterberg's screenplay was so dramatic and concise — all he had to do was 'lift the movie gently into a new medium.' Turnage said the music features some jazzy moments, like in his recent guitar concerto 'Sco,' as well as lush strings reminiscent of old movie soundtracks. The opera's set pieces, he added, include a grotesque arrangement of 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' and a 'drunken conga' in which the dinner party guests dance tipsily across the stage. Because the music and libretto came easily, Turnage said, the hardest parts of making 'Festen' work had fallen on Richard Jones, the director, who had to choreograph dozens of singers dancing, eating and arguing their way through the troubled evening. Jones, who also directed 'Anna Nicole,' said in an interview that 10 singers, portraying chefs and waiters, will serve the birthday party's guests a real three-course banquet during the opera, and the singers would eat it onstage. The cast, led by Allan Clayton as Christian and Gerald Finley as Helge, will appear to drink continually, Jones said, and act progressively drunker. The creative team and the Royal Ballet and Opera had tried to protect the performers as they dealt with the opera's dark subject matter, Jones added. During rehearsals, Turnage and Hall replaced a song featuring racist epithets that appears in the movie after some chorus members said they were uncomfortable with singing those words. (The chorus now sings 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' instead.). The company had also employed two drama therapists to counsel singers if they found the subject of child abuse troubling, Jones added. To appreciate the broader message of 'Festen,' the audience would have to look past the abuse, Hall said, and see that 'the leitmotif of the whole project was our collective collusion in denial.' 'Festen' is a broadside against pretending that problems don't exist, rather than tackling them, he added — and that goes for subjects like climate change, as well as child abuse. To highlight that, Turnage and Hall have tinkered with the ending. In the movie, the abusive father arrives at breakfast the next day, and gives a speech of his own, in which he tells his children he loves them, even if they now hate him. But one of his sons ushers the patriarch away. In the opera, Hall said, the father's comeuppance won't be so clear. If all the evening's provocations weren't quite enough, for movie buffs, that could be a sacrilege too far. Though not for Vinterberg. The director said he couldn't remember whether Turnage had asked permission for the change. 'But, whatever,' he added. 'It's hereby granted.'
New York Times
07-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Can Movie Stars Handle Greek Classics? London Is Finding Out.
At the Old Vic theater in London, a tenebrous stage is lit now and again with deep, yellowy-orange hues; at its center is a stark solar orb. The effect is soothing, like being gently woken by an enormous sunrise alarm. The setting is a drought-stricken Thebes and the play is a reimagining of Sophocles' tragedy, 'Oedipus Rex,' first performed around 429 B.C. and relevant as ever in our era of vainglorious leaders. King Oedipus, played by the movie star Rami Malek — best known for his Oscar-winning performance in 'Bohemian Rhapsody' — wants to figure out who killed his predecessor, Laius, in hopes that solving the mystery will bring an end to the drought. In the process, he stumbles upon a series of revelations that bear out the truth of the Oracle's infamous prediction: that he is destined to kill his father and sleep with his mother. In this production, running through March 29, the story is set in a featureless, vaguely postapocalyptic landscape and told through a blend of drama and dance. (The Israeli choreographer Hofesh Shechter shares the directorial credit with the Old Vic's artistic director, Matthew Warchus.) Between scenes, a chorus throws beautifully unsettling shapes to a soundtrack of moody electronic beats and pounding drums. The dancers' twitchy, convulsive movements and supplicatory body language evoke the plight of a suffering populace, but once the truth is out and the gods appeased, the rain comes and the chorus moves with unburdened grace under a glorious drizzle. (Set design is by Rae Smith, lighting by Tom Visser.) Malek's assertive drawl and blithe, can-do rhetoric carry hints of President Trump. ('Whatever the Oracle gives us. … I can work with that!') And Indira Varma brings a suitably regal poise to the role of Jocasta, who was long ago forced by Laius to abandon her baby. That child was Oedipus himself; he was rescued, adopted and went on to marry Jocasta. But Ella Hickson's script, adapted freely from Sophocles's original, is thin and occasionally clunky, and Malek struggles to breathe life into it. His anguish simply doesn't convince. When he learns that the mother of his children is actually his own mother, he summons only the rueful demeanor of someone who narrowly missed a subway train. This 'Oedipus' is visually arresting, but weak theater. In a scheduling oddity worthy of London's uneven bus service, The Old Vic's production was the second 'Oedipus' running in the city in the last few weeks. Robert Icke's adaptation, which recently closed at Wyndham's Theater, had originally been scheduled to run in 2020, but was postponed because of the pandemic. In contrast to Hickson's staging, Icke situated Sophocles' tale in a recognizably contemporary political milieu: It's election night, and the title character (Mark Strong) is anticipating a landslide victory. The action unfolds in a campaign room strewed with pizza boxes and placards; in the foreground, a large digital clock ticks an ominous countdown. (The set is by Hildegard Bechtler.) This Oedipus is a picture of sensitive, evolved masculinity. But his commitment to the truth undoes him when he becomes the subject of a birtherist smear. Rather than sweep it under the rug, he insists on clearing things up — with devastating consequences. Strong's statuesque aspect and plaintive bearing befit the tragic hero. With his tall, lean frame and shaven head, he is more silhouette than man. Lesley Manville's Jocasta dotes aggressively, suggesting a sublimated maternal impulse, or perhaps even unconscious knowledge of the terrible truth. In a risqué scene in which Oedipus performs cunnilingus on Jocasta under her skirt, her moans of pleasure — 'oh baby, baby, baby' — are an exquisitely ironic touch. Conceived in the wake of President Trump's 2016 election victory, Icke's 'Oedipus' doubles as a maudlin comment on the travails of center-left parties. As of 2025, it hasn't exactly dated. But the show is best enjoyed as pure theater. The protagonist's sheer obliviousness, and apparent decency, accentuate the pathos: 'Nobody slips anything past me,' Oedipus brags to his son — but the audience knows his whole existence has been a lie. Tension builds as the clock counts down and the pieces of back story slot into place like some cruel game of Tetris. While Malek toils as Oedipus at the Old Vic, another big-screen celebrity is making her West End debut in a lesser-spotted Sophocles play. Brie Larson, of 'Room' fame and, more recently, Disney's 'The Marvels,' plays the title character in 'Elektra,' plotting revenge after her mother, Clytemnestra (Stockard Channing), murders her father, Agamemnon. This production, in a new translation by Anne Carson, runs at the Duke of York's Theater through April 12. In it, a crew-cut Larson stalks the stage in a Bikini Kill vest and ripped jeans, declaiming into a hand-held mic, and a six-strong chorus moves the story along in bursts of harmonious song Whenever Larson has to say the word 'no,' she sings it, rather than speaking — a motif that emphasizes Elektra's implacable defiance. Her refusal to accept her mother's lover Aegisthus (Greg Hicks), out of respect for her father's memory, has resulted in her being ostracized from the family: In contrast to Elektra's punky get-up, the other members of the household appear in opulent fur coats. (The costumes are by Doey Lüthi.) Aside from the denouement — in which Elektra's long-lost brother Orestes (Patrick Vaill) returns to deliver Aegisthus's comeuppance — the play is largely uneventful. To offset this, the show's director, Daniel Fish — whose 'Oklahoma' was a hit on and Off Broadway before a favorable London transfer — gives the audience a mishmash of embellishments to puzzle over. A blimp hangs above the revolving stage. A gun on a tripod douses the performers with spray paint. Incongruous snatches of news audio play during a pivotal scene. Why? Channing's glibly nonchalant Clytemnestra feels apposite, and the verbal sparring between mother and daughter provides a welcome sprinkling of mirth. But the abstracted, bloodless deliveries of the other actors are less than engaging. Larson, for all her energy, has a weirdly perfunctory, one-note intensity. Larson hadn't trodden the boards in over a decade before taking on this role; Malek, similarly, hasn't been onstage since early in his career. Reflecting on this, alongside the recent disappointment of Sigourney Weaver's London 'Tempest,' we might draw the following conclusions: first, that theater acting and screen acting are not the same thing, and that someone might excel at one but not the other; and second, that something is amiss when producers are routinely enticing theatergoers with stardust, only to shortchange them.
