THE TRAGEDY’S THE THING

A few baffling choices can’t
derail the explosive clash
at the heart of Anouilh’s classic

There are a number of missteps in this production of Anouilh’s Antigone, presented by the Promethean ensemble at The Den Theatre. Fortunately for the show, they’re almost entirely confined to the relatively unimportant parts. Jean Anouilh’s French adaptation of the Sophocles tragedy is considered a landmark in classical theatre; it was first performed in France in 1944, during the Nazi occupation—with permission from the censors—and was subsequently lauded for coding its two leads so subtly that either one of them could be considered the hero, depending on your political bent. Two years later, an English adaptation by Lewis Galantiere—the same adaptation is used here—premiered in Washington, DC, eventually making its way to the Old Vic and into the libraries of drama students everywhere.

Scenic designer Trevor Dotson‘s set is rather bare-bones: a formal desk and chair sit at one end of the stage. Elevated platforms at the other end are bordered with balcony railings. Behind the desk is a translucent screen. That’s about it.

First performed about 2,500 years ago, Antigone is one of Sophocles’ oldest plays. Following the death of Oedipus Rex—yes, that Oedipus—his sons Eteocles and Polynices are embroiled in a civil war with the rulership of Thebes at stake. During a battle they kill one another, and their uncle Creon (Jared Dennis) ascends to the throne. Hoping to bring some sort of closure to the events, Creon decrees that Eteocles be venerated as a hero and noble warrior while Polynices be branded as a traitor to the kingdom. The punishment for his treachery is to leave his body to rot and be food for carrion because without sanctification or holy rites, and subsequent burial, Polynices will be doomed to wander the afterlife as a shade. Outraged by the defilement of her brother’s corpse, Antigone (Heather Dennis) sneaks out in the middle of the night to bury her brother. When the burial is discovered, Creon orders that the body be uncovered again. Undeterred, Antigone makes another attempt to bury Polynices, only this time she is caught by the guards and brought before Creon. Her punishment for defying the edict: death.

Director Elaine Carlson is quite faithful to the Galantiere adaptation, at least from what I can remember of it. I understand the desire not to futz with a revered—rightly or not—text, but nothing should be held that sacred. The first scene of the play proper is a long conversation between Antigone and her childhood nurse (marssie Mencotti). It is sweet and beautifully acted—Mencotti is rather wonderful. It is also utterly pointless. It was so in the text and it will be so in future productions. On its own, it could have skated, but following the interminable Greek chorus it means that the first ten minutes or so of a ninety-minute play are stultifying.

I don’t even know what to make of the Greek chorus—performed by a single actor, Christina Renee Jones. Nothing about this take on the chorus makes sense. Jones seems to be channeling the comic actress Kristen Schaal vocally as well as with her expressions, but to what purpose I couldn’t tell. It starts out moderately amusing but by the time she’s worked her way through half of the players—the show opens with a beautiful tableau of all the characters in the story arrayed across the stage, frozen in place while they are introduced—I was squirming in my seat, longing for it to be over and done with. And it isn’t even consistent across the play, abandoning the detached sardonicism when it’s convenient in the latter portions of the story.

It isn’t the only perplexing directorial decision. There’s some mishegas with passers-by with cell phones filming the climactic action—as far as I can tell it’s the only reason that translucent screen is on stage—that seems to want to say something about the indifference of society, but the more you think about it the less sense it makes. Even worse, Eurydice (Alex George), the wife of Creon, who has maybe five lines in the entire play, has her one good scene taken away from her. Mostly ornamental on stage, in the final portion of the play, a messenger informs her that her son Haemon is dead. Eurydice receives the news in stunned silence and walks offstage to kill herself. Not so in this production, where the messenger runs behind that infernal screen and runs back out almost immediately; a few minutes later Creon is informed that his wife is dead. It’s hard not to feel that Alex George has been robbed of the character’s most meaningful moment.

So why is this still a recommended production? It’s because once Creon and Antigone are alone together—the conversation takes up a little more than half the length of the play—this is phenomenal theatre. The brilliance of Sophocles and Antigone is that the arguments the two throw at each other are so beautifully and precisely constructed that it’s just as easy to come down on one side as it is the other. Antigone has the tempestuousness and self-righteousness of youth. She is only concerned with what is right and just, consequences be damned, while Creon is concerned with practicality and the complexities of the situation. But this is more than just a battle of wits; for Antigone, it’s a battle for her very soul.

Jared and Heather Dennis—spouses in real life—are absolutely phenomenal in the parts. His smooth and assured condescension gives way to frustration and fury as this callow teenager fights him at every turn. And if Jared Dennis’ Creon is the model of self-control and pragmatism, Heather Dennis’ Antigone is all raw nerves and quivering sinews: her grief and anger commingling until she cannot separate the one from the other. It’s an astonishing livewire of a performance—a scene when she explodes in Creon’s face almost brought me to my feet in admiration. And when she is finally defeated, her brokenness is devastating.

Ultimately, the pleasure of watching Jared and Heather Dennis go at each other using Sophocles’ sophisticated arguments overcomes any other issues in the production. The irritations will be forgotten soon enough; these two performances will not.

Antigone and Creon are completely and utterly convinced that they alone occupy the moral high ground. Which one of them you agree with will tell you more about yourself than you might want to know.

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photos by Steven Townshend, Distant Era

Antigone
Promethean Theatre Ensemble
The Den Theatre, 1331 N. Milwaukee Ave. in Chicago
Thu–Sat at 8; Sun at 3; additional Sat matinees June 13 & 20 at 3
ends on June 27, 2026
for tickets ($25–$35), call 773.697.3830 or visit Promethean

for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago

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