Single Carrot's Must-See EURYDICE

In the Greek myth that inspired Sarah Ruhl’s play Eurydice, the brilliant musician Orpheus travels to the underworld to reclaim his bride, Eurydice, who was bitten by a snake and died on their wedding day. Orpheus sings so beautifully he moves the very stones to tears, and the gloomy Lord of the Dead relents—on one condition. Eurydice may follow Orpheus back to life, but he must keep his eyes straight ahead—the moment he turns to look at her, she will vanish into shadows forever.

As with all enduring myths, there are as many ways to interpret the story as there are people to hear it. Ruhl emphasizes the fragility of love and the fleetingness of memory, and she gives Eurydice a much more active role in her fate. Still, the play achieves a timeless quality, notwithstanding such concessions to modernity as telephones and trains.

In Single Carrot Theatre’s entrancing new production, director J. Buck Jabaily further updates the setting. Much of the music that weaves its way through the show comes from a pair of turntables in the back of the theater, which Orpheus (Aldo Pantoja) spins like a contemporary DJ, and he and his Eurydice (Giti Jabaily) dance at their wedding to hip-hop beats.

For the most part, though, this Eurydice unfolds in some charmed space both of and beyond ancient Greece and Baltimore. Ruhl writes that the underworld should be more “Alice in Wonderland” than Hades, and director Jabaily and his design team get this curious note just about right. (I did feel the production could have used a bit more color. Joey Bromfield’s incredibly versatile set—complete with elevator, loft, and a stunning Lake of Forgetfulness poured into the floor—is almost entirely black, white, and brown, and Heather C. Jackson’s costumes are similarly earth-toned.)

As Ruhl’s description suggests, Eurydice is equal parts comedy, fantasy, and tragedy, and the actors dance nimbly from one mood to the next. Pantoja and Giti Jabaily share a wondrously convincing love scene to open the play—never an easy task. Their connection is both erotic and tender, yet we sense in their pauses the uncertainties and slight missteps of two people who fear they may not be perfect together after all.

In fact, the most touching relationship is between Eurydice and her dead father (Brendan Ragan). Much of the play is structured as a series of episodes in which father and daughter reminisce as Orpheus pours his grief into love letters. (Some of the letters are gorgeous pieces of music—credit Pantoja for an inspired sound design—whereas others are made of ink and paper and, in one of Ruhl’s most poignant touches, delivered by worms.)

Though this structure gradually became redundant, the scenes between Ragan and Jabaily are so delicately shaped I found myself leaning a bit closer each time. When Ragan, accompanied by Pachelbel’s ubiquitous Canon in D (why do I never grow tired of this piece?), escorts Jabaily to her waiting husband, the anticipation is so sharp one aches to remember the myth does not end happily … and naively hopes that this time things will be different.

Other aspects of the play prove more vexing. Kaveh Haerian plays “a nasty interesting man”—Ruhl’s equivalent of the myth’s fatal snake—as a grotesque lothario, and what is initially quite creepy becomes through repetition merely cartoonish (though I think this is more Ruhl’s fault than Haerian’s). Haerian turns in a more interesting performance—perhaps because it is briefer, and so less repetitive—as a tricycle-riding Lord of the Underworld, who grows downward “like a turnip” and “can do chin-ups inside your bones.” A chorus of stones—played with remarkable physicality by Christopher Ashworth, Natalie Ware, and Richard Goldberg—likewise has some very funny moments, only Ruhl gives them little to do but hiss warnings and threats we learn to ignore.

Indeed, the several worlds of the play are closer in spirit to poetry than to drama—that is, they are constructed from images more than actions—and so in spite of Ruhl’s great facility with language, and the cast’s equal skill at giving voice to her words, I found myself growing restless. For much the same reason I’ve never been a big fan of Alice in Wonderland, whether as book, animated film, or adapted play—the scenes in themselves are fantastic, but invariably I find my attention wandering, as too much effort seems expended on being merely fanciful or clever.

To be sure, Eurydice has a sturdier spine and a climax worthy of Sophocles, and those with different sensibilities than mine may be riveted throughout. Either way, Single Carrot has given us yet another must-see production of a provocative play.

Eurydice is playing at Single Carrot Theatre, located at 120 W. North Avenue in Baltimore, on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 7:30 PM, and Sundays at 2:30 PM, through October 18^th. For more information, visit www.singlecarrot.com or call 443-844-9253.