Timon of Athens (Seattle Shakespeare Company 2018)

A palatable addition to a completionist's checklist, this Timon of Athens offers some fun reminders that even Shakespeare's rarely-done plays have fresh human foibles in them. However, it also sheds some light on why this play isn't often done. Ultimately, I'm glad I saw it and saw it here. But I wouldn't seek out Timon again unless I'm balancing it with something else, or a sharp new perspective, for a more coherent meditation on "Altruism: Isn't It A Tragedy".

The best thing about this production was its breezy, interesting design. The movable set kept things moving... literally and in fun, creating different Greek homes and vibrant settings. The bright, simple and clear costumes allowed for easy understanding, and the lighting worked to bring things together into an enjoyable, entertaining evening for discovering an obscure play.

In a strong hint, hint to the company's perspective on theme, the lead actor gave a short meta monologue to elaborate on power. The politicians, wealthy aristocrats, lowly servants, soldiers and hermits are well-situated to play out interesting developments of this theme. But these threads seemed to get dropped a bit too often, which may be no fault of the company grappling with a historically difficult, experimental script.

It ended up puzzling me most what to make of this Timon's take on power. Early on, she's played as hedonistic, if apparently straightforward in her bankruptcy-inducing generosity. It's difficult to place how this person has ever existed in this world. She's framed as well-established and unsustainable; hedonistic and somehow selfless; a native among the aristocrats yet also shocked by them; capable of deadly cynicism and yet completely guileless. Maybe this contrast is the point, but confusion over her motives made it hard to sympathize. Is she reveling in the power of wealth? Why, then, is she so different from every other wealthy elite in the same boat? Maybe if we saw Timon as an outsider in personality, background, origins, experience, or even values, it would shed light on this character. Otherwise the proceedings seem absurd, or at least Greek tragedy-level in their melodramatic mood swings. When King Lear trusts his daughters in old age, we get it. I wish I got Timon.

Even the very talented cast at Seattle Shakespeare Company, with delightful moments of humor and drama, struggled to strike a balance between that grand tragedy feel and the naturalistic, nuanced language the Bard is more famous for. Characters aren't exactly one-note, but when they get on a note in this script, they sure do sing it loud and long. The human moments shine, but are too far between in what amounts to, admittedly, a Lear testing-ground.

Take a look out of curiosity. This is a fun, fast production, if not as redeeming of an obscure play as I'd like (as the wonderful Pericles was last summer). If you find a version that sets off a lightbulb over your head, please let me know.

the way the world is, the way I wish it would be

the news has been terrible lately, with an awful mass shooting and much depressing politics. you know what I want to do at times like these? I want to tell stories.

not to escape. the opposite. the arts allow us to go to a dark place and sit with the feeling of it. I want to imagine how hard it is to face the worst, real and possible and impossible. I want to put myself in other's shoes and put people in mine. I want to come through the other side and sometimes not. I want to explore the universal and the particular, the understandable and the baffling, the parts where we stay strong and the parts where we break down, the times when we learn and the times when we don't.

I want to tell stories about the way the world is and the way I wish it would be, the way I fear it could be, the way it never will be. I tell them to others and I tell them to myself.

I tell them whether I want to or not.

Because we are telling stories, but these times can feel like listening to each other having nightmares, crying out in the dark. when you're caught up in moments of pain you can forget there's a before and after. there's not just this terrible moment, not just me alone. but the stories we tell ourselves whether we think about them or not teach us who we are, what direction we're going. we all have this hand in shaping that, consciously and deliberately or unconsciously. I want to do more than stumble in the dark. I want to live my life guided by more than crying out in my sleep.