The Māori Bacchae

In November 2019 I co-directed a sold-out season of Te Pakkhai, a rendition of Euripides The Bacche in Māori and English, set in a pre-European Māori world. 35% of the text was delivered in te reo Māori. (Translation by Dr Charles Ahukaramu Royal) This was not complete opera but with extended sequences of waiata (song) and haka (rhythmical chant/dance) the style was moving close to opera. Plans are in place to develop into a full operatic score.

In May 2014, Greek actor and director Yannis Simonides came to Aotearoa performing his solo show Socrates Now, a dramatic presentation of the Defense of Socrates.  I was impressed by the performance and the question and answer session that followed was engaging due to the sincerity of Yannis and his clear commitment to the theatre as a place to foment dialogue; in this instance concerning the questions within Socrates defense.

This was theatre I appreciated; direct, passionate and drawing on ancient ideas that have shaped our current understanding of justice, government, liberty, dissent, and knowing the influence that Socrates had on many Greek writers, theatre. Later that evening I met Yannis and in my capacity as Curriculum Manager of the Acting for Stage and Screen degree at Unitec I invited him to come and meet our students.

Yannis was welcomed onto Unitec Marae with a powhiri. During the subsequent master class he proclaimed whilst referencing the haka that the students had welcomed him with: “If you want to understand the true spirit of Greek tragedy, go to the roots of that”.

Later that day, after Yannis had charmed the students with stories of being a drama student with Meryl Streep and sleeping on her sofa I brought the conversation back to his words.  I explained my own admiration of the tragedies and the poetry of The Trojan Women, and Antigone, but I was often disappointed in productions I had seen as they made it seem so domestic, and I see the plays as a dialogue between humans and gods, contemplation on our divine origins and the nature of human existence.  We laughed about this modern tendency to reduce and package and make small.  “The haka is not small” I said, “maybe that’s how we should do it” was his response.

We looked at one another and there was a short silence. “Which play?” I asked.

“The Bacchae” was his instant reply.

The conversation became specific and we began to speak in earnest about how we could mount a Maori/Greek production of Euripides 5th century BC tragedy.

It’s difficult to say what exactly the play is about because it’s about many things. It’s about divinity, about women, about civil protest, its about the price that must be paid, its about revenge. There are themes of renewal vs status quo, law and order vs chaos, totalitarianism vs anarchy, and materialism vs spirituality. 

The play involves confrontation between privileged and disenfranchised; it’s about what happens when people turn away from not only the Gods, but also their own divinity. There are consequences. Such themes provide a sobering realisation that Euripides not only wrote of his times with insight, but ours as well. He wrote the play in 404 BC. He was at the time living in political exile in Macedonia. The political climate in Athens was tense, the 30-year Peloponnesian war was over and the wavering democracy was in the grip of the 30 Tyrants. The Thirty Tyrants rule only lasted eight months and this oppressive period gave rise to a renewed commitment to the new ideas of democracy. The shifting tensions within the struggling Athenian state almost certainly fuelled Euripides inspiration.

The greatest danger to democracy is a struggling population in search of easy answers.

Democracies breed demagogues. Demagogues have been a problem for democracy for 25 centuries. In 428 BCE the populist Cleon persuaded his fellow Athenians to slaughter every man in the city of Mytilene as punishment for a failed revolt. Of that particular demagogue, Aristotle wrote: “He was the first who shouted on the public platform, who used abusive language, and who spoke with his cloak girt around him, while all the others used to speak in proper dress and manner.” 

To the Athenians “demagogue” was not a term of analysis; it was an accusation you hurled at someone who spoke powerfully, but whose policies you did not like. In the Bacchae the young king Pentheus is a demagogue, obsessed by and brutal toward women, a credible loud mouth and foul mouth, yet capable of charm and humor, able to attain the feat of achieving both absolute masculinity and machismo and total pathetic and farcical ridiculousness.

I just want to sidetrack for a moment in order to consider the place of the orator in Athens, and in Māori. For the ancient Athenians there remained a strong sense that a politician was inseparable from the words he uttered and the ideal orator was a good man skilled in speaking. The two – goodness and eloquence – went inextricably together. A person’s moral and political worth was embedded in what he said. Words were the man.  In Te Ao Māori a similar conciousness exists around authority, oratory and leadership. Oratory skill is admired and valued.  A well known whakatauaki or proverb says Ko te kai a te rangatira; he korero. The food of chiefs is talk, words are a pillar of Māori society. 

I would like now to consider Greek tragedy and this play in particular; considering presentations in western settings and the challenges we are dealing with.

I propose that the power of Greek tragedy is diminished when the performance ethos is based in a naturalistic sensibility. It can be argued that European theatre has become alienated from being able to present a credible stylistic behaviour for an actor performing epic poetry. We have a great deal of information about the production mechanisms of the tragedies; the music, the dance, masks, costumes, the ability of the story to be communicated to thousands of people, but we have little that can actually inform us directly how these plays were originally performed. The tradition fell into decline and its revival looks to images on pottery and temple porticos to get some sense of how the actors behaved.  Partly due to this lack of a sustained tradition, but more so to the modern inclination to adapt, reframe and plunder the plays are often transported to new environments and re-imagined styles. The re-appreciation of the tragedies that began in the late 19th century saw plays such as the Trojan Women, Antigone and others gain a new relevance for the political currency they afforded.  However it was not until later that The Bacchae was used as a source for interrogating contemporary concerns. So we have the famous Richard Schechner production of Dionysus in 69. Euripides themes were made use of but the style was definitely 1969. Schechner later wrote of this event..

“The transformation of an aesthetic event into a social event—or shifting the focus from art-and-illusion to the formation of a potential or actual solidarity among everyone in the theatre, performers and spectators alike.” Dionysus in 69 created an atmosphere in which participation ranged from clapping and singing to spectators stripping naked and joining in the ritual celebrations and dances.[8]

Tadashi Suzuki has done two versions of The Bacchae each time de-constructing to his own purpose and unfailingly puncturing the contemporary theatre landscape with arresting performances and deft commentary.

In Suzuki's The Bacchae Pentheus the tyrant is killed and the people rejoice. But Pentheus comes back from the dead, and the cycle repeats itself. Again and again throughout history the tyrant returns; by bringing Pentheus back, Suzuki calls egoistical individuality into question. Dionysus, on the other hand, makes organized religion and the state the villains and Pentheus becomes a victim of Dionysus. Dionysus as group and Pentheus as the individual are both deadly.

The challenge of bringing Greek tragedy to Māori, with pakeha involved as well requires patience and a preparedness for all parties to listen, to adapt hitherto assumed ways of working. It has not been easy but we remain committed, and we are still enjoying ourselves.

We have had to make decisions concerning the world of the play, and this has been a defining issue.

We want to put the play into a Māori world, Te Ao Māori. Māori language, Māori characters.

This process has raised many questions. The central character is Dionysus, son of the king of the Gods and a human mother. Should we seek within the Māori pantheon an equivalent character, in terms of attributes, tendencies, powers and functions? Or is it completely inappropriate to ask:  who is the corresponding Māori god to Dionysus?

If we were to do this we would be renaming the characters, rather than transliteration such as Dionysus to Taionaihi, and Agave to Akawhe.  Our Greek partners have replied they like the transliteration of the names as it has a resonance with the European audience who will hear the echo of the original.  The transliteration of the place names also raises questions. The city of Thebes becomes the town of Tepe. But where in Aotearoa is Tepe? And the people of Tepe, who are they, of which iwi, hapu and whanau, to which tribe do these characters belong? The opening section of the play chronicles the journey of Dionysus and the Bacchae across Asia, but we would need to transfer this to Aotearoa, so which part of Aotearoa do they travel over? Do we name the mountains and rivers they pass by? Upon whose land do we place this play?

The other question was in what time period should we place the work?

One idea is to set the play mid 19th century, a time when settler townships were being built. When these settler towns sprang up they drew to them Māori who became involved with the new religion, values, social expectations, new clothing and technologies.  In the process of turning from the old ways, the old Gods, there is a loss, and in this play a dire revenge is sought. Dionysus brings ruin upon those who have turned away from him and his godliness.

That was one idea.

We went through other possibilities including a German prisoner of war camp 1942, the beach at Otaki 1835, even at a hearing of the Waitangi tribunal 2017.

What world are the characters in? Greece? Aotearoa?

When our solution emerged it seemed obvious. Staring us in the face all along. 

The play takes place are in Kiriki, which is of course a transliteration of Greece and this transliteration has proven to be the key in answering that particular question. Dionysus and Cadmus become Taionaihi and Katamure. They are Māori characters but exist in a fictional land of Kiriki and the play happens in a fictional Māori world in the town of Tepe, a transliteration of Thebes.

Another question we must consider is dramaturgical structure of the play. Should it be altered; this is Euripides after all, but once again if this is to be the Māori Baachae then we need to understand Māori dramaturgical structures and how they might influence and shape our approach to the telling of this story. One idea has been to treat the play as if it were a kapa haka set; a suite of songs and dances dovetailing one into the other to make a coherent whole. The opening with the entrance of Dionysus and the Bacchae could well be set as a  whakaeke.

The play will be told from a Māori perspective, thus empowering participants and placing kaupapa Māori as the central reference point of the play. Therefore the opening as it is would never be seen as authentically Māori. Whilst it is appropriate for a figure of Dionysus authority to introduce himself he would as a Māori do so quite differently that Euripides does. In the original he simply starts by stating

“I am Dionysus”.  A Māori would never do this. A Maori starts an introduction by saying where they are from, the names of rivers, mountains, land, ancestors and forebears are all mentioned before the individual identifies himself or herself. Thus we must adjust the opening to tikanga Māori, Māori custom. It doesn’t alter meaning or story, but reflects the culture in which this production is set.

The ethics of intercultural work are complex, subtle and can only be conducted if there is genuine good will from all parties. Issues of tokenism and cultural appropriation have been openly discussed and we have committed to an open dialogue conducted under a mantle of kaupapa Māori. Our Māori partners and the cast (all Māori) conduct the processes based on a kawa (protocol) relevant to this interaction.

I maintain that research into these specific languages, Greek and Māori, and their storytelling paradigms have never before been undertaken. A number of Shakespeare’s plays have been translated into te reo, but never a Greek tragedy.

The matching of Greek tragedy with classical stylised Māori performance -Kapa Haka, creates an opportunity for experimentation and discovery. The Greek and Maori parties involved repeatedly discover the synthesis between the two cultures. We also discover discrepancies. Dionysus is god of wine. Traditional Maori had no wine. The tragedy of Agave dismembering her own son does not have an easily found parallel in Maori tradition. The ease of godly presence and reverence for the god does. The idea that Dionysus has come to revenge himself upon disbelievers also has resonance for Maori.

These parallels and discrepancies will continue to appear but I believe our fundamental assumption is sound and will lead us to a thrilling artistic outcome.

This is the notion that the power and subtly of stylised Maori performance will reveal the majestic poetry and themes from within Euripides text.

Our discussions repeatedly turn to Euripides warning about the nature of tyranny and totalitarianism.

I believe what Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Chris Hedges calls totalitarian capitalism is gradually overtaking us. 

This means that the face of our governance is democratic but the real power resides elsewhere and elections don’t change this.

And there are some things, which must change.

·     28% of New Zealand children live in poverty. 

·     Māori are 13% of our population but constitute 51% of our prison population.

·     10% of New Zealanders own 60% of the wealth.

·     Our natural environment is being plundered and poisoned. I can no longer swim at my neighbourhood beach, our rivers are polluted, the land is stripped of its resources, and for what? Power is what, corporate power.

The moral and ethical issues that should define education have been set aside and industry ready has become the goal of higher education. Humanities studies are under threat as universities fall under the control of corporations only interested in their need for system managers and drone like data processors.

Advertisers and the manufacturers of consumerist junk flood the airwaves with lies on behalf of corporate sponsors.

Remember when radical meant vision, courage, and willingness to challenge the status quo? Now radical is demonised by the press, feared by the electorate, marginalised by the law.

Māori radical, some of us here will remember that phrase? 

Liberalism has lost its bite, lost its courage to speak truth to power. We are taught to tolerate the intolerable, and liberal has come to mean acceptance, mildness.

The ultimate upshot of this is what are now seeing in the United States where a reality TV star who has never held elected office has through deceit and manipulation of corporate systems captured the oval office.

Our version of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World is perhaps mild, but the American situation is in full putrid bloom.

I want to do this play because Euripides, from his cave in Macedonia over 2000 years ago is able to speak directly to all of this.

And finally my personal reasons for doing this work.

In a simple profound way I experience joy, struggle and a deeper understanding of myself through being engaged in an artistic endeavour of this nature.

The reward of the deep friendships that are forged;

the balm and inspiration of poetry, the spiritual fulfilment that art facilitates simultaneously feeds me and keeps me searching.

I’ll give the final words to Euripides………

 Unbridled tongues and lawless folly
come to end only in disaster.                                                                            
A peaceful life of wisdom maintains tranquillity.
It keeps the home united.
Though gods live in the sky,
from far away in heaven
they gaze upon the deeds of men.
But being clever isn’t wisdom.
         
 Our life is brief—that’s why the man who chases greatness fails to grasp what’s near at hand.
That’s what madmen do, men who’ve lost their wits.
That’s what I believe. 

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