Last uploaded: Sunday, November 15, 1998

Script Review: "The Bacchae"

First, before I begin my review of this script, I'd like to explain a little behind why it's taken me two months to get this review online. You know by now I like to do big, meaty coverage of a script, so what's been the holdup? Well, it all started back in late September...

With two days to go until my big wedding day a package arrives at Coming Attractions. I love getting mail at CA -- getting email scoops is like a narcotic, but when someone takes the time and effort to send you a paper scoop...well, that's different. Nothing beats holding an unopened envelope sent to CA. It's like the Schodinger's Cat paradox: whatever's in that envelope exists in an unknown state until you open it. Unfortunately, whoever sent me this large envelope chose the most chaotic time of my life to do so. I opened it and took a look inside: it's a script! Titled The Bacchae, it's called "A modern mythological epic drama" in the cover letter that's been sent along -- but what really catches my interest is the line just below that: "Prospero's Books meets The Road Warrior". OK. You've got my attention...and I can't read the damn thing until after the Really Important Big Day has been successfully completed.

Skip ahead two weeks. It's almost mid-October and I'm coming back from my honeymoon to pick up the threads of my life. There it is. The Bacchae. Time to dive into it... After reading it, I try fitting in some time to get my thoughts down on paper. After that, it's only a question of finding the time to write my next Director's Cut. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), about a million scoops pour into CA -- and they're always primary in importance. But I also need some time to organize my thoughts, which means I can put it off for a couple of days, which turns into a week, which turns into...November 15th. Which brings us around to...

More than two thousand years ago a Greek storyteller by the name of Euripides wrote a play called The Bacchae. Not having read Euripides I'm placing my trust that Bradford Mays, the fellow who adapted this telling of the original work, kept it faithful to the original work. I've always had a special place in my heart for all of the Greek stories; the tales of Olympian gods and goddesses cavorting with mortals and the passions and cruelties that seemed to fall most often on those unfortunate enough to earn the wrath of the gods just appealed to me. It seems that Euripides' play is no exception to the majority of Greek fiction; indeed, of my current knowledge of the mythos and stories from that time, The Bacchae seems to be Euripides' equivalent of an R or NC-17-rated Greek tragedy. Mays' adaptation of the play is full of betrayal, sexuality, violence, corruption of spirits and souls and tragic consequences. If Euripides were alive today, my guess is that he'd be sharing writing chores on Homicide: Life on the Streets and the Playboy Channel. It's naughty, titillating and frequently dark in a lot of parts as well as tense and uncomfortable. It took me a week to finally decide if I disliked it or enjoyed it.

Make no mistake about this one, folks: this ain't the Greek gods and goddesses you know from Hercules or Xena. Although the material that accompanied the script suggested this adaptation was like Prospero's Books meets Road Warrior (and I can see how that comparison can be drawn), when I was eventually asked by someone I know who works in Hollywood how I'd boil this one down into a pitch sentence I had to really think about it. Finally, I decided that I could best explain The Bacchae by asking my friend what it would be like if Quentin Tarantino decided to adapt a classic play and Ken Russell directed it. You're either going to get the result or you won't -- I don't think there's much middle ground for this kind of material.

That said, settle back and enjoy the show.

Flash-forward. Pentheus has grown into a young man, the heir to Cadmus' city. As Pentheus accepts rule of Thebes on the verge of the new Millennium he issues his plans for reform: the Gods of Olympus are nothing but the mist of superstition and starting immediately they will no longer be worshipped. The crowd cheers Pentheus on, except for the aging old King Cadmus and Agave, his mother. Although they have no proof of the gods existence they cannot believe what Pentheus is advocating: science over superstition. As Pentheus' scientific reform is implemented, Cadmus reminds him of Semele's disintegration before their eyes -- and reminds Pentheus that if it were simply a burst of electricity, why were there no remains of the unborn child Semele was carrying?

Meanwhile the ones who believe in the existence of gods begin their rituals in the glens of Cithaeron, the place where Semele's shrine resides. A legion of women known as Maenads chant and dance through the night, calling their cries to their patron, the god of wine and ecstasy, Dionysus. Bursting forth from the earth, the god arises and stands amongst his followers (now called the Bacchae)...and begins upon his mission to bring back the old ways back to Thebes.

That's the set-up of the picture, and over the course of the next 80 or so pages the ideologies of Pentheus and Dionysus are on a collision course. Before the movie's over we'll see each side up the stakes for the other side. Pentheus will organize an army of soldiers and "mechanical beasts" -- the predecessors of motorcycles -- and rally against the chaos that Dionysus stands for. And the god of grapes will strike back by luring the women of Thebes into his glens, freeing them of the shackles the men of their society have placed on them...as well as their inhibitions. The two men have a battle of wills, neither side willing to compromise their beliefs -- and there is room for only one set of principles.

As I stated earlier, I found myself uncertain if I enjoyed The Bacchae after I had finished it. The first five pages -- the death of Seleme in the glen -- did a great job of 'drawing' me in, but it was in the next thirty or so pages that followed where I found myself really smitten with the story. The dialog was crisp and unsettling; it always hinted of some unspoken emotion that runs under the surface of humans that we allow to surface only in the most feral of moments. That alone made me enjoy the script.

But halfway through some doorway or gate inside of me started feeling a little more uncomfortable. I don't believe it was the frankness of the subject matter but it was definitely hard to pinpoint what indeed was making me start to have doubts about the script. Yes, there were moments in particular scenes where I found myself asking if that choice of words were in style twenty-six hundreds years ago; in one instance Pentheus uses the word 'fuck' and it did nothing except bring my mind crashing back to modern life. I don't know if it's the fact that I don't equate the word with a historical setting (Kate Winslet flipping the bird in Titanic made me roll my eyes as well) even though I have been told it could date back to ancient times. Also, upon my initial reading of the script I felt the incorporation of the fantastical element of Pentheus' mechanical steeds fractured the illusion of the setting. By the time I had finished the script (and believe me, it ends on a dark note), I was left somewhat confused. I didn't for one moment get lost in Mays' prose, or did I feel the story was ever bogged down. For the first time in quite a long time, I didn't know how I felt about a script -- and I was both surprised and upset at myself for not being able to nail this sucker down.

I'm telling you this to illustrate my next point -- namely, that I did come to a conclusion as to how I felt about The Bacchae as I came to realize what Mays' script did to me (and as most of you by now probably have already imagined): it left me unsettled.

Originally I wanted to start off this review by mentioning 1980's Caligula, to get readers into the frame of mind where I felt The Bacchae was most like. But even at the time Caligula was considered racy and unsettlingly violent (both of which I feel the The Bacchae script utilizes), Bacchae deals with some matters that seem to get under my white male skin. Now before you get the wrong impression of me, I think I'm a pretty open and tolerant person: I abhor anything that takes away from another person's rights. The Bacchae script uses the ideas of sexuality and freedom against the tableau of two different schools of thought. On one hand you have Pentheus' iron-clad rule of Thebes by scientific rationalism...as well as the strong division of males and females in his society. On the other hand is Dionysus and his followers: free of society's constraints, each woman is an equal -- but there are no restraints. I don't think Mays (or perhaps Euripides, I'm not sure) is saying either side is completely and totally correct in their viewpoints -- and maybe that's what disturbed me. Faced with two diametrically opposed views (both of which have beliefs that make then 'good' from my own point-of-view) they cannot co-exist. One way of life must be destroyed for the other to exist, but as soon as one side triumphs over the other their shortcomings will be illuminated. I don't think it's right for the women of Thebes to be considered below the standing of men in their society, so is Pentheus the evil one? Or is Dionysus a cruel and wicked god, allowing the women of Thebes to partake in orgies and fight against their men in his name? Which side does the most harm??

The Bacchae is disturbing to me because it raises unsettling questions that have no real easy to find answers. Dionysus uses sexuality to address the imprisonment of women in their society and that matters of the heart and spirit should takes precedence over society's laws. Pentheus sees that his rule must not be ururped, and that anything that threatens his belief in hard facts cannot be allowed to gain support. It's not an easy script to read because you're left at the end wondering who you were rooting for; that itself can be dangerous thinking for most filmmakers who have to deliver the premise for their film in ten words or less.

I'm very interested to see how Mays tackles this. It's one thing writing a script that deals with complex ideas; it's another thing to set it in the distant past, have supernatural beings as characters and a troop of naked women standing against a young fascist's army. But it's exactly that type of unconventional storytelling that'll keep one of my eyes out on this project. Mays (the screenwriter and director) has the task of bringing all this complexity -- as well as delivering the storyline itself! -- into a cohesive focus so viewers won't get lost. I can definitely see some of the many pitfalls he could stumble upon -- the story matter, losing the historical focus, making sure your actors deliver each line with sincerity and conviction. If that happens, this picture can become hopelessly lost in its own storytelling. In a lot of ways it may be harder to pull this one off than being the director of a summer tentpole film and having the expectations of the studio on your shoulders. But if Bradford Mays can do it, he'll have crafted a tale that'll work on your psyche. I give the script a B.

We'll be writing a page for The Bacchae this week listing the latest casting and production news. From the communications I've had with the show's producers, they've assembled most of the cast already and are well on the way to lensing. I direct you to two other pages on the 'net if you want to learn more about the film's storyline: Greg Dean Schmitz's Upcoming Movies Page on The Bacchae and Internet Movie Database's summary of the film -- but be advised there's SPOILERS about the ending on both sites.

Next up, as far away from this review's subject matter as you can get -- my review of A Bug's Life.

Patrick Sauriol
Creator, Chief Content Writer & Director
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