Theatre in Review: A Particle of Dread (Oedipus Variations) (Signature Theatre/Field Day)

	Stephen Rea. Photo: Matthew Murphy.

There's more than a particle of dread to be found late in Sam Shepard's new play, when Stephen Rea's Oedipus is at long last confronted with the truths that he has spent all evening denying. One of the oldest scenes in dramatic literature is also one of the most sure-fire, no matter how it is translated or adapted, and once again it pays off. The hysteria in Oedipus' voice, as he comes to terms with being his father's murderer and his mother's lover, feels utterly real, and it is followed by a shockingly staged scene of Jocasta's suicide, a hanging presented in silhouette behind a backlit drop. Before that, however, the action meanders -- badly. A Particle of Dread is not a long play, but it isn't until last the ten or fifteen minutes that it seems to amount to anything; otherwise, this intriguing teaming of Sophocles and Sam Shepard mostly fizzles.

You can see what drew Shepard to Oedipus; it encapsulates many of the themes that have obsessed him throughout his long career: fraught, possibly homicidal, father-son relations; incestuous passions; and the toxic effects of family secrets. But in A Particle of Dread, their voices prove to be a total mismatch: Sophocles' gravity and ritualistic narrative offer a direct, unbreakable line to the blood-soaked terrors of the play's climax. Shepard's style -- with its touches of black comedy, off-topic wordplay, and self-conscious arias -- is from another country, maybe another planet. The living playwright has surprisingly little to add to what the ancient one wrote so long ago.

In short, A Particle of Dread represents a complete mishmash of styles. The death of King Laius, Oedipus' father, takes place in the Mojave Desert, and is investigated by a pair of forensic cops. Their accents range from American West to Irish brogues. Oedipus appears in filthy, bloodstained overalls, while Jocasta (a well-spoken Brid Brennan) is dressed in an elegant, flattering purple gown, looking like she was airlifted in from a classy National Theatre revival. There is an extended discussion of the term "willy-nilly" that leads nowhere. Sometimes, the dialogue approaches a tragic power; then again, the seer Tiresias, speaking to a barren woman, says, "Have you tried it doggy style?"

When he says that line, I'm not sure to whom he is speaking; for that matter, I'm not sure if at that point the actor Lloyd Hutchinson is playing Tiresias. And now that I think of it, the body in the desert might be that of someone altogether different from Laius. That's because A Particle of Dread mixes classic tragedy with sordid modern criminality, presenting them both in such jagged, almost Cubist, fashion that it isn't always easy to tell who is who. Rea and Brennan are Oedipus and Jocasta, but they are also Otto and Jocelyn, an elderly couple (he is in a wheelchair) who are obsessed with the Mojave corpse. Antigone, daughter of Oedipus and Jocasta, is also Annalee, who is on the lam with her baby, because the child's father raped the babysitter when the little tyke was crawling around on the floor nearby. Laius is sometimes King of Thebes and sometimes a mobster -- and, of course, he is the dead body, which was run over by a car several times.

If I'm creating the impression that A Particle of Dread is possessed of a fascinatingly complex structure that binds the blood crimes of two historical eras, then I'm telling it wrong. Most of the time, it is confusing, substituting all sorts of fooling around for Sophocles' magnificently relentless storytelling. The director, Nancy Meckler, tries to make something of all this, but a unifying principle is not to be found. Rea works hard with variable material, rising to the occasion when given something to chew on, marking time when not. Brennan makes the most of her opportunities -- without changing her costume, she makes Jocelyn seem like a totally different woman -- and given a lean and lethal line ("Who told you the truth was such a good idea?"), she gives you a sense of what she would be like as Jocasta in a more straightforward revival of Oedipus. Hutchinson is more than capable of casting baleful predictions ("All I see is wreckage.") in any of the four roles assigned to him. Judith Roddy is a reasonably powerful presence as Antigone/Annalee.

The decision by the set designer, Frank Conway, to locate everything in a bloodstained room covered with white tiles -- it is suggestive of a hospital or madhouse -- isn't the freshest of ideas but at least it is solidly rendered. (One wonders if the script calls for such a setting.) Michael Chybowski's lighting mixes color temperatures of white with splashes of red, rendered in both general washes and dramatic single-source looks, all to good effect. (I regret that Oedipus' scene following Jocasta's death is played in front of the silhouette of her hanging body; it leaves the actor in darkness at the exact moment that he needs to be seen. Clearly, Chybowski is following director's orders, but it undermines the production's single gripping passage.) Lorna Marie Mugan's costumes are solidly executed if all over the place in terms of styles and periods. Jill BC Du Boff's sound design includes effects such as auto traffic; if she provided reinforcement for Neil Martin's music -- played on a cello and Dobro slide guitar -- it is thoroughly transparent.

Anyway, you know you're at a postmodern drama when Antigone/Annalee is assigned the inevitable speech wondering if there is any point to tragedy at all. This resourceful young actress is made to confront the audience, asking, "Why waste my time? Why waste yours? What's it for? Catharsis? Purging? Metaphor?" Good questions, sadly without answers in this bewildering production.--David Barbour