Displaying items by tag: Jennifer Morrison

“The Penelopiad” is a zesty romp and very entertaining. With a script by a writer I adore, Margaret Atwood of “The Handmaid's Tale” fame, and based on her novella by the same name, it tells the story of Odysseus’ wife Penelope (played stunningly by Jennifer Morrison)—and how she occupied herself during the long odyssey recounted in Homer’s Greek epic poem, “The Odyssey.” I had recently finished reading a new translation so that story was fresh on my mind.

Of course, this being Atwood, it is a reset of the tale, told from the woman’s point of view. And it is very scholarly, perhaps a bit cerebral in the first half, relating in more detail than Homer’s work the origins of Penelope, and how she ended up married to Odysseus, the King of Ithaca. We also see what life was like in the palace from Penelope’s perspective, and that of her dozen maids.

Odyseus went off to fight in the Trojan War. He was gone such a long time, 20 years, that princes of his realm presumed him dead, and vied to marry his supposed widow Penelope, and claim the throne. As the years wore on, they didn’t behave nicely—living on the palace’s largess and hitting on the maids relentlessly. It was an unapologetic patriarchy, to be sure.

In Homer’s version, Penelope is celebrated for being steadfast and true. And Atwood gives us this too, but without the male gaze. Penelope constantly thwarts and outwits the obnoxious suitors, and her corps of maids switches genders and roles to show what that was like. With an all female cast, and set with frequent music and dance, “The Penelopiad” relates many of the high points of the original poem. The first act, then, is a recitation of the Odyssey revisited.

Without question, “The Penelopiad” under the direction of new artistic director Susan V. Booth gives the best ever and very understated caricature of male behavior by women actors: the boasting stance, the lack of self-awareness, the entitlement, and the varieties of ways this is displayed by classically awful male personality types. It’s a bracing and edifying experience for a man to see.

This corps of maids also plays identifiable characters (though not credited in the program): the growing Telemachus, evolving from whiny teenager critiquing his mother Penelope’s behavior, to self-empowered accomplice when his father does finally return; the oldest maid, who carps at Penelope and the sisterhood she forms with the young maids. She soon recognizes the disguised Odysseus by his scars when he returns, and selects at his request the maids who will be punished for fraternizing with the suitors.

We also see a maid as Odysseus himself, a pompous braggart at times, who certainly did not make rushing home to Penelope his priority. These transformations in gender are aided by artful breastplate costumes (costume designer Kara Harmon).

Atwood describes “The Penelopiad” as most akin to a cabaret along the lines of Kurt Weill. The music and scintillating choral singing is composed by Samuel Davis and directed by Jeremy Ramey.
While in the first half we get mostly a poetic oration in a series of scenes—Penelope being cast heartlessly into the ocean by her father, surviving and gaining stature as a demigoddess; Penelope’s first encounter with the immature Odysseus—the second half gives rise to real drama. As the years wear on, Penelope develops one final ruse to avoid the suitors: she will weave a shroud for her father-in-law, and when it is done, will select one of the group to marry. Famously she unweaves the shroud each night, and eventually the suitors catch her. 

Luckily, Odysseus is back, and the Odyssey plot grinds quickly to its well-known conclusion. Odysseus slays the suitors, and then horrifically hangs the maids as well. Penelope examines herself in Atwood’s retelling of the epic, and how she has survived only because she sacrificed the maids to the suitor’s unwanted advances. She was powerless to keep Odysseus from hanging the maids, though to her credit, Odysseus kept his intent from her. It’s a truthful and sad conclusion, set in a wholly entertaining frame of music and dance. Kudos to the dramaturg Neena Arndt for her role in bringing us this lesser known work.

”The Penelopiad” runs at Chicago’s Goodman Theatre through March 31