The Drama
The roller door at the back of the stage begins to crank upwards. A yellow light slowly envelopes the bare stage floor. Now that the roller door is secure, the world-weary Poet strides into view. He greets the audience in Greek. He continues to converse with the throng as he hauls his caravan of traveling curios through the door and onto the stage.
At first the poet is reluctant to re-tell his tale of war. Yet, soon enough, he begins, with poetic verse and rhythmic cadence, to recount his story once more.
He speaks of Achilles and Aragemnon. Of Patroclus. Of Hector and King Priam. Of war. And of death. Of tragedy. And of enduring lessons.
Photo Credit – STC | David Boud
A Magnificent Performance
As much as I enjoyed An Iliad, I confess to losing track of the story early on. The fault is entirely mine. My interest in Homeric tales of war is not that high.
Yet, despite having little interest in the story being told, I was enthralled by the telling.
David Wenham, as the Poet, was simply magnificent. His performance was replete with charm and whimsy, charisma and pathos. The physicality of his performance was extraordinary.
And yet, when it was done, he took his bows with a whimsical smile and a friendly wave.
Photo Credit – STC | Davd Boud
A Worthy Accompaniment
Yet this was not a one man show.
Approximately – I’m guessing – twenty minutes into the performance, Helen Svoboda emerged from the poet’s travelling wagon of suitcases and was soon bowing and plucking a double bass to add a sonorous accompaniment to the Poet’s performance.
Photo Credit – STC | David Boud
What My Eyebrows Told Me
I will long remember An Iliad for Wenham’s performance, particularly the moment, deep into the second half of the story, when his character warns of the perils of war and proceeds to list every conflict since Homeric times, ending with “Iran, US, Israel”.
My eyebrows crinkled in a Caterpillar Arch.
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