Alcestis is not one of the better known of the Greek tragedies. One of Euripides’ now lesser produced works, it tells the story of King Admetus, who is fated to die young. But the god Apollo intercedes on his behalf, and convinces the Fates to allow Admetus to live – if someone agrees to die in his place.

The only person willing to do so is his wife, Alcestis. Eventually, Heracles, who has come to stay as Admetus’ guest en route to complete one of his labors, retrieves her from the underworld to bring her back to the land of the living. Admetus is overjoyed, though Alcestis must stay silent for three days in recognition of the promise owed to the gods of the underworld.

It’s clear to see why this is a tricky one for modern audiences in some ways. For the whole play we see Admetus mourning his wife, praising her, grieving her so strongly he declares he doesn’t know how to continue without her and longs for death. And yet the whole story takes place because he is trying to avoid his own death to the point he is willing to trade another life for his. Alcestis dies because he agrees to it in order to save himself. His own father, Pheres, calls him out on this when after Admetus calls him selfish and cowardly for not dying in place of his only son, despite being old (an ageist argument Pheres also counters by explaining he still loves life too). He points out that Admetus is hypocritical for calling someone a coward for not wanting to die. That’s the charge laid on the central character of this play that we’re meant to feel an extreme amount of sympathy for. Our victim as much as if not more than his wife. We aren’t given much about Alcestis beyond the fact that she is a loyal wife either, and she’s denied the chance to respond verbally to the end of events at the end of the play. All we know about her really is that she is a noblewoman who loved her husband so much she was willing to cut her own life short to give him more time, though that one act speaks volumes.

The purpose of this review, of course, isn’t to do a deep literary analysis of the play, but it is worth thinking about how the story would present itself at the time it was written compared to today when considering modern productions like the one at the American Theater of Actors. It shows what anyone mounting the show has to go up against.

Largely, director John DeBenedetto and the cast handle the material deftly. The biggest struggle of Greek tragedies is they often make it hard to create much variation in tone or pacing from scene to scene, large parts are of course rhythmic choruses (here greatly represented by Paul Maurizio’s Citizen), and this production neither escapes that nor fully embraces it. Probably the least successful choice it makes is having Alcestis and Admetus speak to, seemingly directly, their two non-present children. But it does do a fantastic job displaying the grief and pain of those who knew
Alcestis. Maurizio, and Lucas Connor and Martin Riofrio as servants of the palace, show the hurt of losing someone you care about, someone you consider a truly good person who did not deserve their fate. And as Admetus, Sam Hardy show’s the king’s grief as deep anguish and deep anger – which pushes away any way of taking any responsibility. Connor also does a commendable job opening the play as Apollo, showing the God as working to control and contain his emotions about these mortals he has come to know and become invested in.

Playing Alcestis herself is Cameron Park-Miller, and the script has given her an interesting challenge beyond not having any dialogue to help share her emotions at the end. Euripides writes moments describing Alcestis as fairly stoic and strong in her choice, and she has a moment talking with her husband laying out her last wishes for him and their children while doubling down on how much she would not want to continue without him. And yet at the same time a lot of speeches are regrets about how hard the journey will be for her, the things she will miss. Park-Miller leans into this fear of dying, and it’s a choice that makes a lot of sense. And yet it takes away from seeing a
woman acting as if she is completely sure of her choice, even for the sake of the husband watching her die. A husband she presumably wants to spare as much pain as possible.

Many of the Greek tragedies survive for us because they speak to things that are universal. Alcestis does have some themes that speak to Greek society of the time but also universal experiences regarding fear of death and grief. But it doesn’t translate to modernity as smoothly as some others. In spite of that, the team at ATA has mounted a production that seems to take on the story admirably in a style befitting a Greek tragedy.