Antigone (1986 TV Film)

 "When the state becomes one man, it ceases to be a state."

And so we come to the third and final iteration of Don Taylor's translations of Sophocles' Theban plays, made for the BBC in 1986. I was vaguely aware of Antigone by reputation, but this is the first time I've experienced the play. It packs quite a punch, to put it mildly.

The production retains the form of classical Athenian theatre, as with its predecessors, hence the slightly odd sight of the Chorus, with a number of very familiar British character actors speaking in unison. The costuming works well, evoking a dictatorship in the modern age, appropriately for the autocratic hubris of Creon who, this being classical Greek theatre, awaits his certain nemesis.

As with other plays, the visually dramatic moments (especially the deaths) happen offstage, with most of the drama consisting of an utterly enthralling dialogue of ideas. The premise is well-known- Antigone insists on giving her brother a proper burial despite Creon's newly enacted law making this a capital offence. And Creon is allowed to make some valid points- Antigone's brother was not only fighting against Thebes but wanted to destroy it and enslave its inhabitants, so Creon is entitled to feel aggrieved.

Yet his arrogance, his sheer insistence on his absolute power, is devastating and way over the top: at one point he tells the soldier who reports the illicit burial to either find the culprit or be tortured to death, which is a bit harsh! And the way he speaks to his son again shows such tyrannical hubris.

 In the cosmology in play here, the laws of the gods may not be overridden by the laws of men (yes, men- the dialogue makes the inevitable misogyny very, very clear!), and the arrogant Creon is doomed. His final downfall is almost as terrible as that of Oedipus.

The staging is, yes, a little flat, but that's the nature of the beast. Above all, the play is carried by extraordinary performances from Juliet Stevenson and John Shrapnel, who truly excel in a production that is devastatingly effective.

Oedipus at Colonus (1986 TV Film)

 "Only the gods escape the penalties of age and death. Time undermines everything. Nothing can stop the inevitable process of decay."

Blimey, is Sophocles always this bleak?

This is my second taste of his writing, and yet again in the form of a BBC televised play from 1986, translated and directed by Don Taylor. The production really works, with a strong cast (many well-known faces in the chorus!) and a very misty setting, stage-like yet using the medium of television to bring out mood. Anthony Quayle and Juliet Stevenson, in particular, excel as Oedipus and Antigone.

The contrast with Oedipus the King is marked. This play is far less overtly dramatic, far more talky and philosophical... and clearly the writing of a very old man, whose body is failing and who knows, as Oedipus does, that the end is far away. Indeed, he may well have been over 90 when he wrote this play, a rare happening for all of literature, let alone the Athens of the 5th century BC. Yet there's a constant emphasis on the inevitability of decay, entropy, decline: all things end, and always with sadness.

Yes, Oedipus dies painlessly, seemingly blessed by the gods, and able to bless Athens, the city that gave sanctuary to this refugee, and wisely so. We need more of Theseus in this world, and far less Nigel Farage.

Yet there is tragedy. His daughters are left bereft.... although, at least, Theseus offers her safe passage back to Thebes, where Antigone has promised a proper burial for her brother. I'm sure that will go fine. And Oedipus is now in the underworld, living the half existence of the dead. So yes, there is some catharsis, some closure. But only some. Suffering can be relieved, but only so much.

This is extraordinary. But oh, it's bleak!

The Lady in the Van (2015)

 "You wouldn't get Harold Pinter pushing a van down the street."

I remember reading, some decades ago, some mention of the tragic and eccentric Miss Mary Sheppard, as she certainly wasn't called, in the memoirs of Alan Bennett. rather more recently, we lost the superlative Maggie Smith. So it's high time that I saw, and blogged, this film.

Much though Alex Jennings is magnificent in totally inhabiting Alan Bennett while also giving us not merely an impression but an actual performance, Maggie Smith is indeed utterly incredible here, in a role that perfectly fits her talents- a humorous figure, yes, but one who will, by the film, come to evoke such pathos. Not exactly likeable- but endearing, nonetheless.

Yes, as befitting a script by Alan Bennett, this film is about so much. The very English timidity that can lead one to reluctantly allow an imperiously haughty homeless old lady to live in a van on one's property. How easily one can become a carer without really intending to, or realising it. That very English issue of class- Miss Sheppard is from loftier origins than the nevertheless Oxford educated Alan Bennett, son of a Leeds butcher, yet he is now a feted playwright living in fashionable Camden whereas she is homeless- plays out in all its nuances, most deliciously as Bennett's mother avoids contact with her son's unwanted guest because "With her being educated, I wouldn't know what to say."

This isn't a film for those who like action- very little, I suppose, happens, and even the mystery of Miss Sheppard's past is not over-emphasised. This is a quietly philosophical, meditative film that is, above all, about the ethics of using real peoples' lives for one's writing, and I for one found it most enjoyable.