Sing Goddess, sing of furious, amazing 'Women'!

"I will tell you what I see," Cassandra announces, standing like an angry angel of sex in black leather over the silhouetted bodies that cover the stage of the University Theater. And she will do more than tell us in the Dramat's production of Trojan Women: A Love Story. Under the skillful direction of Meiyin Wang, DC '02, the prophetess will show us what she sees in a bizarre, nightmarish vision of war, rape, anger, and love.

ERIN I. LEWIS/YH Fearing that Cassandra's prophecies would prove true, the smart Trojans played dead. One of them, though, decided it would be better to just barf in the tub.

An experimental production staged in the Dramat's Ex, Trojan Women: A Love Story is a surreal, multilayered ballet about men and women struggling to understand themselves and one another. Charles Mee's script, loosely based on Euripides' play of the same name, tells the story of all wars and all women, combining the characters and basic plot of the Euripides original with the parlance and issues of the modern era. Yet unlike the tales of his literary predecessors, Mee's story is less about the war than it is about unmasking human nature. The war, while gruesome and awesome in its own right, is little more than a vehicle for the display of naked human emotion and desire.

Anchored by a strong ensemble of women, the play appears in two acts. The first depicts the devastating aftermath of the war in Troy, as Queen Hecuba, played with trampled dignity by Nina Rastogi, BR '02, attempts to salvage what is left of her family and home. The scene is set against a backdrop of graffiti, and the costumes are from all periods. Some of the women are dressed like modern sex kittens, others like figures in Greek mythology. Guided by a disheveled and versatile chorus (Emily Bloom, DC '02, Molly Epstein, DC '04, and Sophie Nimmanit, SM '02), the first act witnesses the distribution of the women of Troy as spoils of war among the conquering Greek generals.

Filled with angry monologues and hysterical confessions, the act feels redundant at times, but the furious energy of the actresses propels the play forward. Emelie Gevalt, SY '03, Emily Lodish, TD '03, Laurel Pinson, DC '02, and Katie Porter, SY '02, all turn in stellar performances as Helen, Andromache, Cassandra, and Polyxena, respectively. Porter is particularly good as a surprisingly levelheaded but innocent adolescent who has just a few questions about boys before she dies. In an interesting artistic choice, each Trojan woman except Andromache gets a turn at the microphone before she is carried off to the Greeks to give her closing statement in the form of a song. And each, in some way or another, sings about love.

The play might very well have ended with the first act, the abandonment of Troy, and the promise of Aeneas's quest to find Rome. But Mee was not content to leave us with a chaotic vision of war. And so, in the second act, he creates a "woman's world" of peace and happiness, where Dido of Carthage is queen and the men who come to visit run around laughing with sweet-faced women until they forget their problems. It is against this utopian backdrop that the love story of Aeneas and Dido, the true gem of the play, unfolds. As Aeneas, Kendrick Strauch, CC '04, is wide-eyed and bashfully charming, and his lover, the confident Dido (Emily Guilmette, TD '03) is wise and wistfully beautiful. Their chemistry is captivating as they play out a romance of tenderness and regret, a stark contrast to the rape and anger of the first act. Also in contrast with the monologue-laden first act, Aeneas and Dido speak in dialogue—arguably the only true dialogue in the play, for theirs is the play's only true relationship. The rest of the show, through its allegorical characters and scenes, speaks for all relationships and all people, navigating a sea of disparate voices in which there is much talking but little conversation.

Yet even in their realness, Aeneas and Dido are doomed to a tragic end, no better than the fate of the Trojan women or the men who ravage them. Still, much of the beauty of their relationship is in its tragedy and in their torturous foreknowledge—and subsequent refusal—of it. Many audience members may feel compelled to leave after the hour-and-a-half-long first act, but the interaction between Strauch and Guilmette in the second act is well worth sticking around for.

The play leaves us with many questions, as Ex shows typically do. We question the men, who are not always rapists. We question the women, who do not always band together against their abusive husbands. And, assaulted by the play's violent, convoluted, and ultimately devastating action, we question the nature of love itself.

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