Antigone is often adapted in times of war, its story of the destruction wrought by the clash of opposing beliefs mapped on to the conflict at hand. It has proved particularly useful to contemporary writers including Tom Paulin, Brendan Kennelly and Aidan Carl Matthews, who have used its story of conscience clashing with law in an Irish context. That writer/director Conall Morrison has set the conflict in today's Middle East and invites us to view the character of Antigone as a suicide bomber represents an impressive, and risky, leap.
The analogy doesn't completely work - Antigone's suicide is part of a pattern of corruption and destruction, and results in a predictable series of deaths, not the random devastation of terrorism. But by emphasising the roots of kinship in the opposing sides, and through a brilliantly produced staging, Morrison brings this tragedy into an immediate and accessible frame.
Four of the nine-member cast are always visible on stage, performing Conor Linehan's excellent eastern-influenced score on cello, keyboards, saxophone, and percussion when they are not stepping into the action. Having the chorus played by just one person, and speaking as one of the community rather than as a distant commentator, is one of Morrison's many insightful strokes, but the intensity of Simon O'Gorman's delivery adds to a sense of one-note relentlessness that causes the action to bog down in places. Under-casting is a problem throughout.
Overall, however, the production skilfully and provocatively layers images of beauty and horror. Projected photographs depict bombed buildings and women so overwhelmed with grief that they seem to have accessed the sublime. Bracing language ("Fate fucks you in the end") is juxtaposed with heart-rending conflicts (Robert O'Mahony and Dylan Tighe's father-and-son standoff as Creon and Haemon is a moving example.)
The final 15 minutes are a tour de force: Eurydice, near-silent in the original, sings a mournful torch ballad; a montage of increasingly violent images is accompanied by deafening feedback sounds; the final plea for wisdom and tolerance is played directly to the audience with the house lights up. The passion and seriousness of purpose behind this production outweigh its flaws.
· At Cork Opera House (00 353 21 427 4308) until Saturday. Then tours.
