THEATRE REVIEW

AUGUST 2026 | Volume 266

 

Sophocles’ Antigone is truly one of the premier theatrical texts of the Western tradition. It has been adapted much more frequently in contemporary productions than its more famous theatrical relative, Oedipus Rex. Antigone may not have a complex named after her, but her dilemma dramatizes a central, ongoing issue in civilized society: the imperatives of conscience and morality vs. the laws of the state.

Antigone is a sequel to Oedipus Rex. After King Oedipus of Thebes makes the horrific discovery that he has inadvertently killed his father and married his mother, his mother/wife/queen Jocasta kills herself. Oedipus plucks out his eyes and goes into exile, leaving the kingdom to his sons, Eteocles and Polynices, who agree to take turns ruling the kingdom.

But when Eteocles refuses to cede the throne, Polynices attacks the city and both brothers are killed in the ensuing civil war. Jocasta’s brother, Creon, then becomes king and decrees that Polynices was a traitor and that his body remain unburied, to be devoured by animals. Anyone who tries to bury him will be condemned to death.

But Oedipus and Jocasta also had two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. Antigone, in the play with her nameas title,is determined to bury her brother. Ismene tries to dissuade her. Eventually, Antigone and Creon will confront one another directly, she arguing that the laws of family and the gods require the burial, he insisting that political authority and civil order take precedence. Further complicating matters, Creon’s son Haimon and Antigone are in love and plan to marry. This being a Greek tragedy, things won’t turn out well for anyone.

Adapted by the luminous Bard actress Kate Besworth and the show’s director, Ming Hudson,the Bard on the Beach production has updated some of Ismene’s and Creon’s language (“Are you fucking kidding me?” says an astonished Creon to Antigone), but the dialogue still sounds like spoken verse, and they have not otherwise modernized the production. Jessica Oostergo’sset consists of a few Doric columns and a minimally painted floor, her costumes essentially togas in muted colours with belts and scarves. The chorus wears masks. The only major interpolation is the resurrection of chronologically dead Jocasta (always wonderful Jennifer Lines) as a character here.

Morbidly stubborn Antigone (Yoshie Bancroft) is laser-focused on burying her brother—and martyring herself in the process. She half-heartedly tries to enlist flighty Ismene (Besworth) in the burial but later discourages her when Ismene comically suggests to Creon, “Let us off with a warning.” “I am fighting,” Antigone tells her sister. “You are playing.” And when Jocasta visits her in prison to offer help, Antigone won’t even take her mother’s hand: “The burden is mine!”

In the most powerful scene Antigone refuses to relent even as Creon (Paul Moniz de Sá in the show’s strongest performance) guarantees that he will execute her and that her beloved Haimon (Cameron Grant) will be destroyed by her death. Literally daring Creon to kill her, Antigone seems, indeed, more than halfway in love with death.

Sophocles ingeniously balances the argument so that Antigone and Creon both have right on their side. Creon explains to his son that the death sentence for anyone burying Polynices is his first edict as the new king. And following the bloody, wrenching civil war, restoring order to the kingdom and insisting on adherence to the law are essential to civic health. Antigone retorts that burying the family dead is a sacred duty. The imperatives driving both their behaviours brook no compromise.

At the same time the production underlines their fatal flaws of hubris. Both actors lean into the absolutism of their characters’ positions. Creon ultimately opens himself to compromise, but …You’ll have to see for yourselves who manages to survive the catastrophe.

I admired this production but Inever felt truly gripped. Even with a sterling cast and such strong material, I’m not sure thatits semi-traditional staging works for a contemporary audience. The play remains highly rhetorical, a series of arguments about laws, rights, and a dead body we never see on what is essentially a bare stage. I wonder, in fact, whether Goblin:Oedipus, sharing Bard’s small tent this summer, is intended as a comment on these very difficulties. Maybe three actors in goblin masks with multiple comic twists is a more effective way of communicating a 2500-year-old tragic tale to a 21st century Canadian audience.

 

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