When we began work on this design, the thing that we spoke about most clearly was that we needed to create the sense that The Poet has been summoned, finds an audience waiting for him, and begins to tell his story. When he discovers us, it should feel as if he doesn’t quite know where he is, nor perhaps how he got there, and it should feel as if he does not need anything but the muses and his suitcase to tell his story. Lisa Peterson’s very strong impulse was that The Poet should tell his story in a found space as opposed to a theatrical set.

 Empty theaters are magical places. An empty stage holds a particular expectant energy made of both the stories that have come before and the potential of the ones yet to come—in other words, an empty stage is a perfect place for this story to unfold. Of course, this production has specific scenic needs; most particularly, an upstage center entrance. When we created the design for the Seattle production, we created a very warm empty theater. We added all of the interesting things one finds stored in the corners backstage. It was a beautiful environment with lots of wonderful things to look at. Through that production, we discovered that the play might be better served if the stage felt haunted, bigger, potentially scarier, and that there should be nowhere to hide.

The Matthews stage at McCarter is one of the most beautiful empty theaters in the country. It felt almost criminal to alter it in any way, but we needed that upstage entrance, and it was too big a theater for one man to fill, even the remarkable Stephen Spinella. So, we have recreated the actual back wall of the theater, moved it downstage twelve feet and added the details that we needed. If we get it right, most folks won’t know that there is any set at all, and will wonder what in the world I have been doing with my time. We have revealed the original wooden floor of the theater to conjure the decks of the ships; the large upstage loading door that we added is meant to evoke the enormous scale of the Trojan walls; the exposed rigging of the theater (for those who can see it), the rigging of the ships; the lighting instruments stored along the upstage walls, the helmets of the hundreds of men who fought; and the loading dock itself, a haunted eerie dark little place upstage to worry about. The design is extremely subtle, but hopefully will allow the language and the remarkable performance to be front and center while quietly evoking the worlds of Troy.

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A person casually flipping through her program before the start of An Iliad at McCarter might be confused to see two bios in what they read was a solo performance. Who is this musician? Does this mean there will be singing?

Many of my own questions about this addition were cleared up the first time I had the opportunity to see Brian Ellingsen (the musician in question) in the rehearsal room. In my opinion, one of the things that makes this production so unique is Brian’s contribution to the telling of the story, and how much music adds to the theatricality of the performance. I was recently able to catch up with Brian between shows to learn more about his role in this process:

Emilia LaPenta: Can you talk about the process of collaboration in this piece? With Mark Bennet (the composer), in the rehearsal room, and during a show?

Brian Ellingsen: Well, the collaboration with Mark Bennett, the composer, has been wonderful. All of the collaborations have been wonderful—I’m really happy to be a part of it. Mark and I, we speak a similar language. Basically, [the music] comes out of Mark painting pictures of ideas in my head and I just start to improvise and see what happens. And he either says, “Cut, print, let’s keep it,” or he’ll say, “I like it, but let’s change some things” so he’s kind of the mastermind behind the bigger ideas. With Lisa [Peterson, the director], it’s been great, too. She’s incredibly smart, knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say “Ok, that’s great, but let’s do something totally different, it doesn’t work for me here.” She really has a vision, and it’s been great to be part of that vision.

EL: You and the music are really the other characters in this play, almost the scene partners for Stephen Spinella (who plays “the poet”), which I find really stimulating. Can you talk a little about how music is a character in this and what it adds to this play/performance?
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An Iliad adaptors Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare discuss their adaptation of Robert Fagles’ translation of The Iliad.

Posted by Adam Immerwahr, Associate Producer at McCarter Theatre

As An Iliad’s Poet, actor Stephen Spinella must be able to effortlessly transition between numerous performative styles. At times he is telling the story, other times he is showing us the story, and still others he IS the story. This role requires an incredible amount of precision in order to properly navigate the performative terrain.  It has been exciting watching director (and co-adaptor) Lisa Peterson and Stephen discover the “rules” of this unique form of storytelling. And one of the most important, fundamental aspects of this particular process has involved watching them grapple with when to follow (and break) the rules. For example, late in the play, the Poet tells us of Hector’s death, and of Andromache watching his body being pulled behind Achilles’ chariot from afar. He then says:

And she starts to yell at him—
“Now you go
To the House of Death, the dark depths of the earth,
And leave me here to waste away in grief, a widow
Lost in the royal halls—and the boy only a baby.

Hector, what help are you to him, now you are dead?
What help is he to you?”

As the Poet, Stephen must be able to both set-up/narrate that first initial sentence and then inhabit the character of Andromache for the following speech. And when we first worked on it, that’s exactly what he did, emphatically and angrily lashing out at Hector. But what we discovered was that, while Stephen was absolutely sincere and believable in the moment, the clarity of Andromache’s intentions was lost. At that point, Lisa asked Stephen, “What happens if you don’t yell?  I’m just curious.” And then it happened. It came alive. And what we discovered was that by doing the opposite of what was written, by harnessing the energy and putting a tighter emotional lid on the delivery (and technically bringing down the volume), we were able to finally “hear” Andromache. By not yelling, we heard her yell. Throughout this process, experimenting with doing the opposite in relation to text, movement, action, etc. has proven to be a fruitful exercise. 

And at the same time(and seemingly just as often), repeating an action specified by the Poet’s narration (”agreeing”) has shown itself to be just as viable of an option…

This (apparent) contradiction is a big part of why this process continues to be so exciting and alive for me.  Because it constantly reminds me that there are no absolutes: there are rules to discover/follow, and then there are rules to break. And there is no instruction manual. So every rehearsal is an invitation, a challenge to stay present and curious when facing that great unknown…

Posted by Garrett Ayers, Directing Intern at McCarter Theatre.

One of the challenges we all face working on An Iliad is how to best integrate sound/music with the story that the Poet is telling. When is it enhancing the story? When does it take on aspects of character? How does it impact mood/atmosphere? When does it “disappear?” How is it introduced?

One of the interesting things that director Lisa Peterson and composer Mark Bennett keep stressing is awareness of when the Poet is “inside” the story, when he is “outside” the story and when he is “in between.”  Depending on that perspective, the role and function of the music can completely change…

Posted by Garrett Ayers, Directing Intern at McCarter Theatre

That’s not a typo. This entry is about a percussion instrument called, yes, a tongue drum. What does this have to do with An Iliad, you ask? Plenty. Music plays an integral role in director/playwright Lisa Peterson’s vision for this piece and before rehearsals even started I knew we were going to be working with composer Mark Bennett and double bassist Brian Ellingson on original music for the show. The bass is still at the center of much of the soundscape, but as we’ve been working Mark has introduced another instrument into the mix. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. Here’s a quick clip…you’ll see what I mean:

Posted by Garrett Ayers, Directing Intern at McCarter Theatre

This summer, one of the first bits of research I tackled for An Iliad was reading the entire text of Homer’s epic poem. One of the most palpable impressions I was left with was the presence and power of silence throughout. It is everywhere, and it is powerful.

At a certain point, I remember deciding to keep track of every time it was referenced… I can’t explain why, it just always struck me as important, the silence. And I also remember wondering what role (if any) that silence would play in the creation of this piece. I got my answer in the first read through, and further confirmation in rehearsals this week. Silence is a character in An Iliad. And she is versatile. Silence transitions from one beat to the next, silence allows for open space, silence asks us to think, to consider, to answer. I am constantly delighted to see silence appear, only to become consumed by sound, speech or music, and then reappear later in a different form, serving a different function. She always surprises me…

Posted by Garrett Ayers, Directing Intern at McCarter Theatre.