A week before the Fall 2007 Theater Department Production of “Oedipus Rex,” Director and Assistant Professor of Theater Yuriy Kordonskiy and company were hard at work. The actors were practicing with their intricate and beautiful masks, the costume workers were putting finishing touches on the Grecian gowns, and the crew was finishing up the set. Then, suddenly, Kordonskiy was seized by the kind of revelation that seems to come only to those with a flair for the dramatic or ecclesiastical. “Stop!” he cried to the bustling stagehands. As everyone halted apprehensively, he looked at the unfinished set, jean-clad actors, and visible lights, and murmured, “It’s beautiful…”

Indeed it was. Zac Bruner’s ’08 set design, in its partially constructed glory, was at once eerily stark and imposingly majestic. Appropriately, “Oedipus Rex” began with the lights creeping up, slowly letting the audience focus on the breathtaking scenery, designed to imitate ancient Greek ruins. The set, which resembled a scaffolding of cement and wood, also had a grated floor through which light shone, transforming the characters into nightmarish specters. As actors tripped and stumbled across the stage on platform shoes, those in the auditorium could viscerally feel the blindness spoken of in the text. The lamps, too, served as interesting light sources. Tall structures that resembled torches were moved freely and used by actors as props. Placed around the central area were three pools of water, used to stunning effect throughout the piece.

“I guess the thing that really struck me about it is the use of water in ritual. They made their own gesture landscape, and it ended up being incredibly moving,” said returning alum Michael James ’07, director of last year’s production of “Electra.”

From the moment the drums sounded and the chorus slithered out from behind the pillars, it was clear that the audience was in very, very good hands. Both Grisha Enikolopov ’08 and Fereed Sajan ’09 are excellent musicians who play an essential part in setting the play’s tone. The chorus of five women — Lynn Favin ’08, Leah Lucid ’10, Emmalee Riegler ’08, Alli Rock ’10, and Emma Sherr-Ziarko ’11 — worked together so seamlessly that their simulated pregnancies were almost plausible. Their feline physicality and eerie presence instantly established a classically tragic atmosphere. With meticulous attention to the tempo and tone of their words, their voices blended, separated, and then united again with perfect fluidity. The moment when their wailings joined together was the first time that I’ve ever genuinely felt catharsis during a theatrical performance.

Performances were generally strong, with different actors shining at different moments. Anthony Nikolchev ’08, a brilliant naturalistic actor (and the star of the show, as Oedipus), was not at his absolute best in this highly stylized mode of performance. He seemed aware of the quality of bravado that infuses his portrayal, using it to joke with the audience by breaking his declamatory tone to comment that it is odd that the Messenger hasn’t arrived. However, Oedipus’s tragic discovery allowed Nikolchev to come into his own. His blind and ruined Oedipus was gorgeously raw and wrenching. His every movement and vocal quaver was expressive. He even managed to find dark humor in the doom that has befallen him. It takes an extraordinary comedian to make Oedipus prophesying a life of misfortune to his daughters Antigone and Ismene funny, but he had the audience in rueful chuckles.

Moments between Oedipus and Jocasta (Emily Vallillo ’09) were also extremely strong. Even when standing in the background, Vallillo is a dominating figure. The chemistry between Jocasta and Oedipus was disturbingly hypnotic. To whoever made the blocking choice to have her cradle him from behind while stroking his arm, a pose as motherly as it is sexual: I owe you praise and you owe me therapy. Vallillo’s graceful laughter and stately presence caused audience member Patrick Armano ’08 to remark, “Let’s be honest, if my mom were that hot, I’d totally marry her.”

Edward Bauer ’08, as Creon, earned his laurels as Wesleyan’s golden boy of the theatre with an inspired interpretation of Creon. Bauer appeared to have used Creon’s statement, “I am content with a king’s luxury” as a jumping off point. Every detail of his character, from limp-wristed swaggering to golden ring to his habit of toying with his leather cowlick in moments of duress, created a portrait of a decadent accustomed to power. The subtle tilts of his head, movements of his arms, and even his swells of inhalation and exhalation depicted the character’s progressive crumble into dismay. He would do well, however, to be aware of his voice’s tendency to shoot up an octave when he is agitated. His performance is too excellent to be lost on those audience members lacking ultrasonic radar.

Adam Jacobs ’10 and Mark McCloughan ’10 both gave amusing turns as clownish bit-parts. But the standout performance belonged to Zach LeClair ’10, whose chilling portrayal of Tiresias was nothing short of show-stopping. James described his voice as “overwhelming and wonderful,” and the post-show mob gathered in the foyer buzzed with LeClair’s name. It is also worth mentioning the cameos by two adorable little children: Well done to them, particularly to the young boy in the women’s wig. Not even ten years old and already subverting gender norms! He’s made Wesleyan proud.

The play ended with a dazzling image of the women of the chorus throwing water into the air in time to the beats of a drum, so that the atmosphere seemed to glitter with a thousand diamonds. The kind of hush that can only occur in a theatre fell, and the lights melted into silence. The audience sat immobile, clutching the programs which read, “Tragedy is restful; and the reason is that hope, that foul, deceitful thing, has no part in it. There isn’t any hope. You’re trapped….Melodrama you argue and struggle in the hope of escape. That is vulgar; it’s practical. But tragedy is gratuitous. Pointless, irremediable. Fit for a king!”- Jean Anouilh. The difficult part of seeing tragedies in performance is that they are only as brilliant as they are distressing, and this piece was deeply, deeply brilliant. Fortunately, all were shaken from tragic hopelessness by the pleasant announcement of refreshments in the lobby. How consoling; there may not be hope, but at least there are juice, cookies, and the rewarding knowledge that our theatre department is talented enough to haunt you for weeks.