The Bacchae

Seeing "The Bacchae" performed at the Delcorte Theater in Central Park was satisfyingly cathartic. The play contains perhaps the best surviving description of the ancient worship of Dionysus, or Bacchus, but its appeal is hardly limited to scholars. Both worshipers and detractors falling victim to the wrath of this strange god, inventor of wine, lord of ectasy and dance -- an insight that resonates deeply with modern audiences.

Jonathan Groff, playing Dionysus, channeled the Sixties rock star Jim Morrisson, very appropriately. The Philip Glass score was surprisingly effective; I had become accustomed to thinking of Glass more as a maker of musical wallpaper than as a composer, and I was impressed with the beauty of his post-postmodern tonality. The dramatic effects and timing were sharply executed. The one thing lacking was dance; director Joanne Akalaites could have used a talented choreographer rather than limiting the female Bacchantes to waving their arms and prancing around the stage.

Thanks to the brilliant acting, it struck me for the first time that the heart of the play comes not at the very end but amid the unfolding terror of the denouement, in which the king who sought to outlaw Dionysus is torn limb from limb by Bacchantes including his own mother, who screams with horror when she comes to her senses. The message is delivered by the seer Teiresias in subdued, humbled tones: "It is best to fear God and live a simple life."

The thing about Bacchus is that wine may be the only thing that eases grief, but it also causes grief -- tearing of limb from limb, banishment, horror, collapse of kingdoms and what have you.

The Playbill, for once, contained some excellent background material on the play, including recommended reading. First on the list was one of my favorite books in the world, Roberto Calasso's "The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony" -- a brilliant exploration of Greek myths.