The Gods smiled upon me tonight--literally.
So much to tell, such gracious story, with action, romance, malice, and writing that moved in a solid direction I never expected.
I saw the final performance of Tantalus Theatre Co's Ragnarok at the Holy Covenent United Methodist Church, 925 W Diversey Pkwy. I have a feeling it won't run again for at least a few years.
But by no means due to its quality--on the contrary, it was the single very best play I've ever seen, and very possibly the very best (very) I ever will see. Set in a Church, the semi-circle waiting room was a perfect place to bide my time, knowing, seconds after noticing the uniquely-burnt edges of the program in my hand, I was at home. Then I read the sell-line below the title on the program cover: "Celebrate the art of destruction." Not in a Church, but with a company performing the roles of my beloved Gods: the lead narrator granted us waiting, about 7:40, for the 8pm play to begin the story of how Asgard got its walls. The "players", actors who took the roles of the Gods throughout the night for the Gods themselves, gave us a taste (so tantilizing) of what was to come.
And then we entered--into a worship hall that felt authentically Norse. As if we were in a true Viking drinking hall, a throne at the head of a massive table, and a high ceiling in the dimly-lit stage (and the entire room, and actually somewhat beyond, was the stage). I took a seat dead-center at one of the sides of the table, dinner plates set in front of the audience, and a shirtless man hanging at the end opposite the throne. A song from the waiting room, inebrious in tone even though I couldn't catch the words, ended as the man untied himself, put a finger to his lips, and ran up the somewhat gothic balcony far against and above his end of the table--and disappeared.
The company entered, audience seated. "Loki is gone! The Lie-smith is free!" shouted a character referenced, in the program, as Odin's Voice, a lively woman in green and black with dark-red lips and scar paint (as every actor had) travelling her face down both her eyes. Quickly, the table was cleared but for drinking glasses, candles diminished, and the Gods and players alike took their places, Odin silently sitting upon his throne.
Loki emerged and at once began conniving his wicked scheme, playing to the audience, abusing everyone else. The first time his laughed echoed the hall a chill ran down my spine--this is Valhalla. These are my Gods. And the play was underway.
They told the story of Odin at the World Tree, Yggdrasil. How he bound himself as a sacrifice of himself for himself for nine days without food, water, or rest. How he fell into darkness--and how he awoke from darkness with a knowledge of all history: what was, what is, and what will come to pass. He learned all language, all poetry, all of wisdom itself before he finally came down knowing, at the last, there would be an end--he learned of Ragnarok.
Loki frowned upon Odin--he laughed that Odin might hold knowledge to win the heart of any woman. So he challenged him. If Loki could convince a member of the audience, selected by Odin, to kiss him on the cheek, Odin would have to humiliate himself and his fellow Gods. If Loki lost, he would have to apologize for being the cause of the impending Ragnarok. Odin selected a clean-shaven fellow across from me who denied Loki any love--"Best two out of three!" So Odin pointed at Seth who laughed in Loki's face.
They introduced the Gods--Freyja, Baldur, Tyr, Thor, Heimdall, and Odin and Loki.
Loki quickly displayed his disgust--especially of how they announced Baldur. He demanded we, the audience, hear of his children, and demanded he, not the players, be the one to tell us. But this was not the way of the hall, Odin noted, so there was another challenge. Loki selected a man near the end of the table from which he hung when we entered to play tests for him; Odin selected a woman next to this man. The players brought two chairs on the end of the table (our glasses were full by this point, and I began draining mine) and three tests were played--Odin's girl won the first, a Charades sort of deal, and so his voice narrated the origin of Hel. Loki's boy won the second, the "Test of Strength," an arm-wrestling challenge with arms lay on the backs of two players, and so he narrated the tale of the Midgard Serpent, Jormangund. Odin's girl won the final test, a blindfolded obstacle course from one end of the hall to the other led by their patron's voice (Loki's side made much more difficult by the players), and so Odin's voice narrated the origin of Fenrir the wolf.
They told the story of one of Loki's tricks--how he mistrusted the dwarves and had them make him tools. First, he had one family make him three tools, promising them a favor from him. Then he took those tools to another dwarven family, and challenged them to make better tools for his fellow Gods--if they preferred there tools to the first set, Loki would give them his head. Well, it turned out the second group forged for Thor his Mjolnir, the glorious hammer. However, gracing Loki as their brother God, even if he be the Trickster, they agreed the dwarves could have his head--however, they would have to leave his neck alone.
Disgraced by this, Loki demanded a darker story be given of Odin's kin, and so demanded we hear the story of the death of Baldur. He proposed another challenge--he would select a random audience member and, if they thought themselves a hero, throw his dagger at him or her and see if he or she lived. He selected his target and the Gods winced, "No!" and they agreed to recount the tale of Baldur's death. Baldur was plagued by nightmares--so plagued that the Gods took the images Baldur had of his own death seriously. Then Frigg, the Mother Goddess, set out to exact assurance from everything in the Nine Worlds that none would harm Baldur. They had his brothers test this--first, they threw dull axes. Then, sharper swords. Nothing harmed Baldur--he seemed invincible. Loki quickly set about conniving, and dressed as an old woman and went to Frigg. He asked of how she asked everything in the Nine Worlds to promise not to harm her son, and from his long questioning discovered she forgot to ask one thing: a mistletoe bush. So Loki found it, and found Hod, Baldur's blind brother, who was left out of the festivities of trying to harm his invincible brother. Promising to help him take aim, Loki armed Hod with the mistletoe branch, and it struck Baldur and killed him. The Gods went to Hel, and asked her to release Baldur from her realm. She agreed upon one condition: that they have everything in the Nine Worlds grieve for Baldur. It almost looked as if it would work as the player of Freyja sang a dark song. But then Frigg approached Loki, and asked if he, too, would grieve Baldur's passing. With malice, he slowly moved--as if to drive a fear into Frigg's heart. "No," he said.
And the Gods were silent. The lights were dimmed, and the candles placed beside Baldur's pyre. One by one, they lit a candle, and took a place, kneeling in front of their dead brother or son. Last to kneel was Nana, Baldur's beautiful wife, who then collapsed of her grief and fell dead on her husband, and last to light a candle was Odin, and the players took the corpse out of the room. The gods sat with us at the table in lamentation. Loki finally lost it--he jumped back on the table and began yelling at everyone, demanding why they weren't celebrating, and, eventually, the story continued after Odin forced Loki into his seat. A player acted as Loki, the story told that he entered the Gods' hall after Baldur's death and asked for drink--for none shall be turned away, promised Odin. The real Loki couldn't stand this woman actor, and finally pushed her off the table-stage.
And the tone changed again. Loki displayed a madness I have not seen in front of me but in film. Soon, the finale began--the war song that would lead to Ragnarok. Loki challenged his fellow Gods until Odin finally caught him--and regrettably could not find forgiveness for him. And the battle was had, swords and spears and axes drawn, and the audience was led to Odin's throne. A white screen was placed in front of us and clashing metal filled the hall and the battle went on until we saw Odin's shadow grow in a run forward--and then silence. The screen was taken down, and there was still silence. The room, aside from audience, was empty.
It was the greatest play I have ever seen. And Elon gave it up to take an eleven hour walk downtown with Isaac and Sheila--their loss. Frigo didn't make it as he had other plans in the city. And I didn't find way of reaching Corey until just an hour ago. So I hope, greatly, whether it is in 1 year or 10 years, or even 50 years, that this or another theatre company produce this great play again. And again--and make it a famous modern play, of wonderous, interactive storytelling, with live steel and free drinks (I suppose covered with the $10 admission).
Afterwards, I joined Ben Pollack and a crew of his at the Century Theatre, a 10 minute walk away, to see 90% of Steamboy. It was an entertaining film, better than I expected, though reviews were right to criticize the film for not having much of a plot, and Ragnarok was far, far greater an experience. But it worked to enhance an already glorious night.
A night that cost only $20--we parked in a Walgreens/KFC parking lot and weren't ticketed.
Yesterday was good, too--rather very good, aside from some video transfer plans not going exactly right. Worms at night, meeting Elon at least one night of his break afterwards, and visiting Mr. Brame and Mr. Hurtig as well as seeing this year's DHS Ethnocenter at the highschool in the morning. Just a little bit of homework inbetween, and trying to plan seeing Ragnarok for more people.
I proclaim to the world that Ragnarok has made my life better, that it is a good day to die (though, always, only in battle). I only wish I might see it again, and with a larger company, and perhaps an uninitiated significant other to welcome to my most beloved religious world of Norse faith.
I once again believe fully in Odin, in Thor, in Loki and Freyja and Tyr and Heimdall, and all their power.
