Oedipus Wrecks

Images from http://www.clipartlord.com/2013/10/15/free-comedy-tragedy-masks-clip-art/

I realized today that I have watched the abridged version of the 1957 Tyrone Guthrie directed Oedipus Rex over 100 times over the last 23 years. And then I got scared.

It’s not true that “everything old is new again.” Everything old is…old.  If it’s not damning enough that I have shown and studied this production with two generations of students, it’s even worse that I have a VHS copy I’m forced to show on an actual TV/VCR combo.

The play has some annoyances that grate on me like a zester on a lemon. Why are they saying “EEEE-di-pus”? Oh. They’re Canadian. That explains it. And is it “Creon” or “Crayon”? Make up your mind.

When I show the video, I explain that we are used to a naturalistic style of acting. The actors in this production are not attempting to be “real”. Aside from the exaggerated masks, gloves with elongated fingers, and bulky costumes, the actor’s delivery is arch, drawn out, and melodramatic enough to make me snicker. Favorite line in this vein? Here

On the other hand, the language of the play is beautiful. William Butler Yeats adapted it. His poetic treatment of the story is both lovely and clear enough for freshmen to understand.

While I don’t really get into literary analysis when we watch the play, the abridged version we view emphasizes the dramatic irony.  Greek audiences would have known the plot already; you don’t have to say “spoiler alert” when you mention that the boat sinks at the end of Titanic, and Greek theatergoers would have known how Oedipus’ story ended. As we watch, we know more than Oedipus and Jocasta, and the resulting irony is delicious. Near the beginning of the play, Oedipus declares his intent to find the miscreant whose hubris has brought the plague down on Thebes. Hmmm…who could that be? Later, when Jocasta is describing her husband Laius, she remarks that her late beloved’s hair had just begun to grow gray and he looked a lot like…yep, you guessed it, Oedipus.

In the end, though, it’s the performance, not the text, that makes me show this play again and again.  Modern critics have sneered at the overwrought and mannered performances; I think the approach might hint at the kind of acting an ancient Greek actor might have used. After all, a Greek actor was trying to convey story and emotion to an amphitheater full of people. Subtlety was not an option.

The enormous masks also represent the trappings of Greek theater, and the stylized movement hints at how ancient choirs might have moved.

This vintage production of an ancient Greek play enthralls my students. After so many showings, it still enthralls me.

One of the themes in Oedipus Rex is lack of vision. As a teacher, I don’t want to be someone who does the same thing year after year, blind to the changes in students and pedagogy. But I don’t want to throw something out simply because it’s been around for a while. 

We can’t ignore how so many forces, from technology to the changing personalities of the students we see in our classes, are altering education. But we also shouldn’t abandon all of the tools and materials we have at our disposal simply because they have been around for a while. There’s a metaphor there for how we sometimes treat veteran teachers who hold invaluable institutional memory even as they try to deal with shifts in policy in education.

     

Perhaps you’ve heard of this hypothetical problem in ethics.  A runaway train is racing down the track toward a group of five people tied to the tracks, unable to escape.  There is a side track, and you are standing some distance away by a lever that, once flipped, will divert the train to its other route. Unfortunately, on the detour, the train will run over a single person who is tied to the tracks and helpless to escape. What should you do?

     I’ve been thinking about this problem as I contemplate the education cuts in Oklahoma.  Those cuts are like the train and public education is being held prisoner on the tracks.  Even if there were a switch to divert the train, someone is still in its path.

     Our superintendent sent out a survey last week asking for input on how our district should handle the half million dollars in cuts that we face next year. Increase class size? Cut transportation? Cut athletics? Scale back central office, counseling, and library services? Cut fine arts offerings?  Go to a four day week? Trying to rank the possibilities from least to most onerous was difficult. If I flip the lever, the train simply runs over someone else.

When I introduce my debaters to the concept of value/criteria in Lincoln-Douglas debate, I try to explain to my students how we make decisions in life based on what we value.  For example, if we have to choose between a hamburger and a salad for lunch, we might choose one if we value taste and the other if we value our arteries. As I looked at the list of possible budget cuts, I had to think carefully about what I value.  I am a fine arts teacher, and I want our speech and drama program to continue.  However, if we go to a four day week, the least paid workers in our district are the ones who will bear the burden and it will impose another cost on families who have to find day care for their children who would normally be in school five days a week.  Students deserve a library and the chance to read good literature.  But if we prioritize the library over smaller class sizes, will students be able to practice and get feedback on the skills that make them literate, critical thinkers once teachers are overburdened?

     Former students ask me how they can help. I have no answer.  I don’t know that there is anything we can do as the train bears down on our schools. I want to think that if we can weather this round of budget cuts until the election, the electorate will choose leaders who will make more responsible decisions and help us rebuild public education.

     Is there light at the end of the tunnel for Oklahoma public education? Right now, the correct answer is either “No, because budget cuts have forced us to unscrew the lightbulb” or “Yes, but it’s the headlight on the train.”