Jocasta: A Motherf**king Tragedy
Reviewed by Iris Mann
Ghost Road Theatre Company
Through February 10
The myth of Oedipus was first told in dramatic form by Sophocles around 429 B.C. This updated version — conceived by Brian Weir and developed in workshop with the Ghost Road Theatre Company — presents the story from the standpoint of Jocasta, the woman who was both the mother of this tragic hero and his wife.
Sophocles’ storyline was straightforward, its central theme being that we are all subject to the immutability of fate. Weir’s version tackles additional themes, perhaps too many. It includes a feminist perspective on the victimization of women: they are “damned if they do, damned if they don’t.” Jocasta (Jen Kays), a total innocent who unknowingly commits incest, is doomed to suffer whether she gives in to her passion and stays with Oedipus (Max Faugno) or leaves him out of guilt. Weir also explores the possibility of freeing oneself from destiny and taking control of one’s own life. As a result of incorporating so many themes, the play is overwritten. Furthermore, the issues tend to be stated rather than explored.
The setting is contemporary, but some of its elements hearken back to ancient lore, including the Fates (Christine Breihan, Adam Dlugolecki, Katharine Noon), the Sphinx (Noon) and the prophet Cassandra (Kimberly Glann). The mix doesn’t work, so the play becomes neither fish nor fowl.
As the scenario unfolds, Jocasta and Oedipus are shown to have a lusty, erotic marriage — until Jocasta discovers that her child, whom she thought dead, had survived. A subsequent series of encounters with the Sphinx, the legendary Medea (Breihan) and Oedipus himself brings Jocasta to the realization that it was Oedipus who’d killed her former husband (and his own father) in a car accident — and that he was, indeed, her son. But Oedipus refuses to believe this and wants to continue their ardent relationship. A rape scene and further violence ensue; needless to say, it doesn’t end well.
The violent episodes (fight director Ronnie Clark) are actually the most impressively staged elements of the play, and are underscored by lighting designer Brandon Baruch’s captivating effects.
However, Weir’s direction of what is billed as a dark comedy is more buffoonery than bite; his comedic characters need more edge. As is, his approach trivializes the work’s weighty ideas. As Cassandra, Glann comes across as a frivolous adolescent, without the authoritative demeanor of a soothsayer. Kays fails to project; one has to strain to hear what she is saying. Even more significant is the absence of steamy sexual desire in Kays’ performance, one of the pillars on which the play rests.
Conversely, Faugno, who fares the best in this production, displays palpable passion for his lover. The actor commits fully to a range of emotions and holds the audience’s attention throughout the evening. As Chrys, a pedophilia victim who now swims endlessly in his late molester’s pool, Dlugolecki also acquits himself admirably, while Breihan does as well as she can with an ill-conceived role.
On the whole, though, this production is a misguided exercise.
The Broadwater Main Stage, 6322 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun. 7 p.m.; through Feb. 10. (310) 281-8341 or www.ghostroad.org. Running time: 75 minutes with no intermission.
