Monday, May 07, 2012

Sophocles’ ‘Antigone’ Ends In Disaster

ELEANOR: (Flatly, from far away) Like any thinking person, I should like to think there was—I don’t care whose or which—some God. Not out of fear: death is a lark; it’s life that stings. But if there were some God, then I’d exist in his imagination, like Antigone in Sophocles’. I’d have no contradictions, no confusions, no waste parts or misplaced elements and then, oh, Henry, then I’d make some sense. I’d be a queen in Arcady and not an animal in chaos. How, from where we started, did we ever reach this Christmas?

HENRY: Step by step.

I have a camera and some drawing pencils
and I know the two things can coexist in peace
because Frank Frazetta enjoyed taking pictures
and certainly he could draw without allowing
the trivial reality of photographs
to impose its limitations on what he drew.

I saw Cynthia Rothrock in a magazine—
she’s doing designs for martial arts clothing now—
and I was sorry I never was successful
at selling the script Derrick and I tried to write
called “Smashing Cynthia” where she could have acted
instead of being just some tough guy’s tough girlfriend.

I don’t want to go back. I remember each step
that brought me here and I don’t want to retrace them.
Rather I want to finish this like a drawing
of a beautiful tough woman like Cynthia
before everything goes to hell like England.
I like James Goldman’s Henry better than Henry.

No comments: