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a Drama
by Sarah Ruhl

COMPANY : Alliance Theatre Company [WEBSITE]
VENUE : Hertz Stage [WEBSITE]
ID# 2745

SHOWING : March 14, 2008 - April 13, 2008



In this (almost) contemporary take on the classic myth, Eurydice is taken on her wedding day to the Underworld, where she is reunited with her father. If only she could remember who he is! And who is this Orpheus guy who wants to take her back to the land of the living? A Co-Production of the Alliance theatre and Georgia Shakespeare.

Lord of the Underworld Andrew Benator
Click to Submit Cast & Crew Info for this production


Remembering Dreams
by Dedalus
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Last night, I dreamed of Stones that laughed.

They mocked the music that fills our lives with love and joy.

They mocked because they knew, knew that our love and music were so fragile that a dip in a pool of water would make us forget husbands and fathers and words.

They mocked because they knew our myths and stories would be endlessly repeated, endlessly forgotten, endlessly gone like the wisp of half-noticed music in the back of our mind.

Last night, I dreamed an old story, a story of Eurydice, who looks and talks very much like Melinda Helfrich, if she had come of age in the 1950ís. I dreamed of her husband, Orpheus, who looks and talks like Justin Adams and her father, who looks and talks like Chris Kayser.

I dreamed of a Nasty Man who steals Eurydice on her wedding day, and delivers her to the Lord of the Underworld, a Lord with the caprice and wantonness of an undisciplined child. Both the man and the Lord look and talk like Andrew Benator.

I dreamed of a love so great, it transcends death, a love so great it inspires music that could make the very stones not-quite weep. A love so great, it is lost with an inopportune turn, forgotten with a rain from an elevator.

I dreamed of a Father's loss, a loss so great, so painful, a bath in the pool of forgetfulness is a blessing.

Last night, I dreamed of futile letters, letters to the dead, letters from the dead, letters forever unread, forever unreadable.

It was a dream, a story quickly told, long in the telling. It was a story padded with long pieces of business, the building of a room of twine to house a child who had forgotten her father, the skeining of the twine, to postpone the hurt of a child lost to life.

When the dream is really a play, an artifice, it follows the logic of a dream, but is burdened with the structure of a play, so the building, the skeining, are patiently borne, patiently watched, patiently heard like the sad wail of twelve-part harmony played on the tresses of a lost love.

When the play, the artifice, the dream was over, my thoughts went to my own lost mother, gone many years now, hoping she too has tasted the waters of forgetfulness, so the pain of parting has been erased from her mind, the pain of my own neglect and pettiness likewise erased. When the play was over, I wish I had been son enough to at least let her know the love she has hopefully forgotten.

It was that kind of play, that kind of dream. Moments to remember, to ponder, to think about more than to feel. A play, a dream, that, if quietly heard, quietly remembered, carries more reward in retrospect than in experience.

Last night I dreamed of Stones, Stones that look and talk like Neal Ghant and Courtney Patterson and Paul Hester. Stones that laugh at our devotion, that mock our love, that endure longer than our memories. Stones that forever toil to erase the futile words we have for our lost loves. Stones that can laugh, but not cry.

And the beauty of the dream was that even with loss of life and memory, we are far happier than the stones who laughed. We are happier because, even with loss of life and memory, we do have moments of love.

-- Brad Rudy (

typo by Okely Dokely
I know the Shakespeare Tavern's own Paul Hester (which I assume you meant to type instead of "Heston") is making his Alliance debut with this show. We miss him and are looking forward to him coming back, but are very happy for him that he got this gig.


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