This is What Greek Tragedy Looks Like

My Greek Tragedy class is filled with introverts. The whole Classics Department is. Why else would someone pick a dead language to fill the bilingual graduation requirement? Well, I did it because of the confusion that accompanies time travel, but few others have access to the technology I keep in the backseat of my car. Socrates told me he'd never meet anyone else from Arkansas, but he was drunk at the time.

The problem is, in Greek Tragedy the teacher, Dr. Levine, asks us every day to act out scenes from these plays. It's painful to wait for volunteers. Each class he says, "Who wants to be Antigone?" or "Who wants to be Oedipus?" and no one raises their hands, despite those being no small parts (Oedipus is a bit of a pervert, though - I don't volunteer because I don't want to be typecast). There are maybe three of us who aren't embarrassed to act out, but after three or four consecutive starring roles, it gets tiring. All three of us automatically volunteer for the chorus, so we won't be expected to take on leading parts. The chorus sings everything in unision. There's also a bit of dancing; I told the class I was professionally trained, which is almost a true statement.

Last week we performed Philoctetes; in it, the title character has a grevious foot wound, and spends most of the play crying aloud in pain. I didn't volunteer because I didn't want the girl I sit next to to think I was a wuss. I'm still trying to translate a love poem for her. After almost a full minute of silence, Dr. Levine said, "You know what? I'll be Philoctetes. I think this part calls for my talent level." Then he took off his dress shirt and his shoes, wrapped his belt around the wounded foot, and laid down on the floor.

In the play, Odysseus and Neoptolemus, Achilles' son, have an argument over the whining Philoctetes. So while these two timid bookworms are whispering the lines to each other, faces between pages, Dr. Levine is screaming, I mean actually screaming, on the floor. And it's in Greek. He's screaming in Greek, which transliterated goes something like "aiaiaiaiaiaiaiai!" or "paipaipaipaipai!" They have to stop every few lines because Dr. Levine, still lying on the floor, has kicked a chair or lost his glasses with a new spasm. He even tried to get Neoptolemus to kiss his foot.

At the end of the scene, everyone clapped, because we had no idea what else to do. The chorus and I started to walk back to our seats, but he said, "We're not finished!" What? "The stage directions say Philoctetes was carried off stage. You must carry me offstage!" When we hesitated, he stood up (in character, with a limp) and knocked all his papers off the long metal table he uses as a desk. I'm talking about loose leaf papers - individual reports and studies on the third stasimon of Euripides' Iphigenia at Aulis were drifting to the floor like snowflakes. He then laid on the table and yelled, "Carry me!"

Four of us picked up the table and began to carry it to the door. The students who weren't paralyzed with fear of what Levine might act out next (sacrifice? appearance of a god?) cleared a path for us. Before we got to the door, he said, "Through the door!" and someone opened it for us. Then, when I was out of the classroom and the table was halfway through the doorframe, Levine sat up and calmly said, "That's how many scholars believe the last moments of Philoctetes played out." While he put on his shoes, I had to apologize to the people sitting in the hallway. They were studying for an American History test.

This was the same day I gave my thesis to Dr. Levine. I asked him to be on my committee. I need to be in a small room with that kind of insanity.