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A review by nadinemahgoub
Antigone by Jean Anouilh
5.0
"That's the convenient thing about tragedy. You only need the smallest flick of a finger to get it started, almost nothing: a look for one second at a girl tossing her hair as she passes you on the street; a desire for respect, when you wake up one beautiful morning, like something you might have for breakfast; one question too many that you ask one evening...
That's all. After that, all you have to do is sit back and watch. It's relaxing. It runs by itself. It's finely crafted, a well oiled machine as old as time. Death, treason, despair all stand ready and the outbursts, and the storms, and the silences, all the silences: the silence at the end when the executioner's arm rises; the silence at the beginning when the two lovers stand naked, facing each other for the first time, not daring to move quite yet, in the darkened room; the silence when the roar of the crowd bursts out around the victor – like a film with a broken soundtrack, silent shouting from all those open mouths, all the clamor is only an image, and the victor, already vanquished, alone in the middle of his silence..
Tragedy is clean. It's restful, it's certain... In melodrama -with its traitors and fanatic villains, with its persecuted innocence, its avengers, its heroic Saint Bernards, its glimmers of hope; death becomes horrible, like an accident. The hero might have saved himself, the nice young man might have arrived in time with the police.
Tragedy is relaxing. For one thing, everyone is among friends, since everyone is innocent, after all. It doesn't matter that someone kills and someone else is killed. That's just how the roles were assigned.
And then, most importantly, tragedy is peaceful, because you know that there's no hope, no filthy hope; that you're caught, like a rat in a trap, the sky has fallen on your back, and the only thing left to do is to shout – not to whine, no, not to complain – to shout at the top of your voice whatever you have to say, things you've never said and, maybe, didn't even know were in you. And for no reason: to hear yourself say them, to learn them for yourself. In melodrama, you struggle because you're hoping to escape. That's demeaning, it's practical. Here, it's gratuitous. It's kingly. And, in the end, there's nothing more you can do"
That's all. After that, all you have to do is sit back and watch. It's relaxing. It runs by itself. It's finely crafted, a well oiled machine as old as time. Death, treason, despair all stand ready and the outbursts, and the storms, and the silences, all the silences: the silence at the end when the executioner's arm rises; the silence at the beginning when the two lovers stand naked, facing each other for the first time, not daring to move quite yet, in the darkened room; the silence when the roar of the crowd bursts out around the victor – like a film with a broken soundtrack, silent shouting from all those open mouths, all the clamor is only an image, and the victor, already vanquished, alone in the middle of his silence..
Tragedy is clean. It's restful, it's certain... In melodrama -with its traitors and fanatic villains, with its persecuted innocence, its avengers, its heroic Saint Bernards, its glimmers of hope; death becomes horrible, like an accident. The hero might have saved himself, the nice young man might have arrived in time with the police.
Tragedy is relaxing. For one thing, everyone is among friends, since everyone is innocent, after all. It doesn't matter that someone kills and someone else is killed. That's just how the roles were assigned.
And then, most importantly, tragedy is peaceful, because you know that there's no hope, no filthy hope; that you're caught, like a rat in a trap, the sky has fallen on your back, and the only thing left to do is to shout – not to whine, no, not to complain – to shout at the top of your voice whatever you have to say, things you've never said and, maybe, didn't even know were in you. And for no reason: to hear yourself say them, to learn them for yourself. In melodrama, you struggle because you're hoping to escape. That's demeaning, it's practical. Here, it's gratuitous. It's kingly. And, in the end, there's nothing more you can do"