Liz Lauren
James DeVita acts out the conflict from all perspectives; his movements are fluid and precise.
The Poet is back. He is at American Players Theatre in An Iliad through Aug. 15, and he is not to be missed. Tapping into the emotional truth of an ancient war, the play not only penetrates the mind and heart, but seizes our imagination through a masterful storyteller who alternately fascinates and horrifies us. He tells the tale of a historical event, but more importantly, he paints a picture of human slaughter from plagues, from misplaced loyalties, from the evil whims of the gods, and most of all from succumbing to our own worst impulse: unbridled rage.
It’s been six years since APT Core Company member James DeVita took to the stage in the indoor Touchstone Theatre as the narrator of An Iliad. This encore is an imaginative retelling of Homer’s epic, adapted by Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare, featuring a man who is destined — or perhaps doomed — to wander the world sharing the story of one of the world’s most notorious struggles; the 10-year siege of Troy. Although the exceptional production is back with the same cast and director John Langs reprising their roles, the harrowing story of war and its cost is told through a decidedly different lens this time around. It feels more jaded and weary, which is only appropriate for our post-pandemic present.
When we previously saw The Poet, he was a dashing historian, lecturing to the audience from a college classroom circa 1950. He approached his task of unflinchingly illustrating the horrors of war with equal parts confidence and gravity. In An Iliad 2021, the charismatic lecturer who lured us into his story so easily is gone.
Instead we see an older and meeker Poet onstage when the lights come up, amidst a scene of vandalism. The familiar set pieces of blackboards, books, a biology class skeleton, and the overhead projector have been defiled. Graffiti is spray-painted across the room and red paint is splattered across the map that hangs on the back wall. Books have been burned, their charred edges and ash still evident where they fell to the floor. A set of scales has been tossed aside, shoved into a sink. Furniture is overturned. And like a gross prank from a school bully, the poor skeleton pokes its bony fingers into its own hollow eye sockets. Unlike the last production, this one portrays a world where science, literature and history are under attack.
So The Poet must sort out the frightening chaos that has invaded the space while beginning his speech. He lists the names of the Iliad’s main characters and their homelands in ancient Greece, as he timidly sets the classroom to rights. Tentative at first, DeVita is a meek professor who is afraid that his message is falling on deaf ears. Almost reluctantly he asks the gods for help in his task, imbuing the story of soldiers, battles, gods, mortals, prizes, and loss with contemporary meaning.
It is not long before The Poet hits his stride. Acting out the conflict from all perspectives, DeVita’s movements are fluid and precise, embodying each warrior as if he is shape-shifting or practicing an ancient martial art. With exceptional physical control, DeVita morphs seamlessly from a sultry spoiled Helen to the cowardly playboy Paris to the noble and doomed Patroclus. As the story progresses he becomes the half-god Achilles waging war on Hector, and then transforms into Hector’s entire family, including his wife, his 90-year-old father, and his infant son.
This is DeVita at his most visceral. As he becomes consumed by his story, he sheds pieces of clothing — his tweed jacket, his tie, his white oxford shirt. Sweat gathers on his forehead, and the muscles in his arms strain in battle against dozens of adversaries. Showing us the decade-long battle in such horrific detail, DeVita skillfully does not take sides. There are momentary victors and those who are vanquished, there are measured actions and rash reactions, but there are no winners. And the most frightening foe portrayed in the play is not a vengeful god or a soldier descending from the Trojan horse. It is animalistic rage. The fury that can well up in all of us. The uncontrollable urge to kill, to destroy.
Another awe-inspiring moment comes late in the piece, when The Poet recites a list of conflicts throughout the ages. It is a relentless through line of human history which is overwhelming in its scale and an impressive feat for the actor.
In this production DeVita once again collaborates with a striking and immensely talented Muse, cellist Alicia Storin. But her role is markedly different now — she is no longer The Poet’s adversary or a mouthpiece of the gods. Instead she is a mohawk-wearing war veteran in a fatigue jacket, adorned with playful patches. A wordless partner to the storytelling, her music underlines significant passages and amplifies moments of conflict. The score, composed by Josh Schmidt, is an eerie and powerful counterpoint for this piece, punctuated with the sounds of a heartbeat, then a drumbeat, then the footfalls of soldiers on the march. In its simplicity, it illustrates the relentless, consistent theme of An Iliad — generations of combatants meeting to hasten each others’ ends.
While I found both of APT’s productions deeply moving, my initial reaction in 2015 was one of overwhelming sadness. Six years later, I sit in the partially populated theater, left with a sense of exhaustion and futility. I am horrified by the primal rage personified by DeVita — it is a force that I recognize now, rather than recoil from — consistently on display in the nightly news.
There is a reason that this story has been told for generations. Please go. And listen carefully.
