Come, Spirits Of Vengeance!

Defeated, Neoptolemus stoops below the spotlighted Second Girder, sweating and panting from the effort of his final grief dance, as the twinkling final chimes of You Have The Power diffuse and settle over Greece. Set to a long stretch of groaning ambience, Persephone strides through the expectant crowds (damp cloth still in-hand) and approaches the broken soldier. With a sympathetic gaze alone that both bears the weight of an infinite lifetime of sorrows burdened, while also proving capable of soothing any multitude of anguishes, she takes his hands in hers and gently wipes them clean, before turning her attention to the ladder leading up to the Mycenae mezzanine. Neoptolemus softens with her touch and, in following her eye-line, instinctively drifts back through the crowds towards the ladder and begins to ascend it, transfixed and practically sedated.

Meanwhile upstairs, Hades mounts The Stone Table and stands stoic, watching on as Iphigenia resurrects and comforts her murdered father from the floor of The Shower. Wrapping him in a towel, and dispatching him onwards towards the direction of the black curtained-off backstage dressing area (behind her bedroom, and inaccessible to the audience), she turns to traverse the table once more (as she always does at the end of her loop) when she is stopped by Hades, who blocks her path. Their eyes meet, and with a mere stern glance from his, hers are promptly washed with acceptance, as she obediently bows her head, dismounts the platform and follows suit behind her father.

Throughout all of this, the remaining residents (bar those present for the Troy and PEEP Finales) begin to make their way to The Stone Table to participate in what is commonly referred to as ‘The Table Roll’. Upon completing their final loop, each character ascends the back staircase to Mycenae’s upper floor and makes their way towards the backstage area to undress, all the while maintaining a calm and measured pace throughout. Upon re-emerging, they are now clad in just plain, nude-coloured briefs and plimsolls, presenting their neatly folded outfit before them on open, upturned palms – this seemingly represents the individual being stripped of their ‘role’ and now reduced to just another nameless, characterless soul – a shell of a person, a mere pawn in Hades’ production.

Each individual slowly approaches via Clytemnestra’s boudoir, places their folded clothes in a pile on the table’s surface (behind Agamemnon’s skull mask), before beginning to form a line beside the length of the plinth. With arms outreached to a stiff 90° angle, they each lay themselves out flat on their stomachs, gradually rolling onto their backs and pressing their shoulder blades into the cold, firm concrete, before folding back onto their fronts once more – repeating this motion continually down the length of the table, all initially in canon, until one-by-one as more join the line they begin to roll in complete hypnotic unison towards the staircase.

Back at the girder, Persephone takes the cloth between her hands and wrings it out, sprinkling the ground with water. After a few brief moments of silence, a deep gong sounds and reverberates through the space as she drops the cloth and turns to face the staircase. The air is flooded with a new ambience, (Come, Spirits Of Vengeance! by Stephen Dobbie, from The Burnt City OST), much more overtly ominous than ever before, warbling and mumbling as the dull rumbles of a vaguely mechanical whirring hum throughout. Textured by the faint ghostly echoes of a wind once summoned to this land, and a droning tone that appears to continually pierce the soundscape with a repeatedly groaning descent, the staircase is soon streaked with bright flashes of white light in between an otherwise pitch overcast of murky shadow.

As Persephone makes her way to the foot of the staircase, the collective of lost souls emerge from the top (having completed their ‘table roll’), to creep forth from the darkness with hesitancy, as they prepare to make their descent. Patroclus leads the charge, drifting down the steps in slow-motion, arms graceful and free of tension, and yet his body still bearing the weight of his torment. He gently folds in the middle, hands grasping out ahead of him, as he begins to slide against the bannister. Close behind is Askalaphos, striding across the steps, eyes fixed to the horizon, arms spread wide, reminiscent of a crane proudly spreading its wings moments before flight – and yet despite their posturing, the tragic creature’s efforts to ascend remain fruitless. With Watchman, Oracle, Laocoön, Kronos, Zagreus, Agamemnon, Aegisthus, Artemis and Apollo all promptly following suit, forming a balletic, mesmeric cascade of flesh – hands brushing torsos, shoulders supporting heads, bodies crumpling and entwining effortlessly – as Persephone begins her ascent towards them.

Upon reaching the middle platform of the staircase, Persephone glides past the falling souls, parting them with ease, as they instinctively lean and bend out of her path. Passing her on his descent, Laocoön briefly attempts to reach out for her, pleading, yet his hands do not touch her as his body continues to be pulled the opposing direction. Iphigenia soon makes her appearance, immediately locking eyes onto Persephone, and begins to trail down towards her. Reaching her level, she slowly turns her head and watches on as Persephone proceeds, before pivoting and managing to climb back up behind her, resisting the downward flowing tide of figures. Finally Cassandra, closely followed by Neoptolemus, both begin their descent, when from between the two strides forth Clytemnestra, now draped in a weighty satin, bronze coat.

Face awashed with serenity, Persephone approaches Clytemnestra and fixes her with her gaze – the look is indistinct, floating anywhere between disdain and sorrow – before brushing past and continuing forth towards The Stone Table (in doing so breaking Iphigenia’s spell and dismissing her to follow back down again with the others). Here Hades greets his wife with an open palm, before helping her onto the table, as the pair begin to walk the length, arm-in-arm. As they reach the far end, stepping down, they make their way towards the balcony (beside the ladder), where Hades stands and rests the crook of his arm against the railing, nonchalant, as Persephone retrieves a pomegranate from amongst the wall of pallets nearby and brings it to her husband. Although they preside over the phantasmic spectacle below and before them, the Queen and her King pay it no mind, for they are already lost in one another’s eyes, indefinitely.

The Greek Queen makes her descent through the tumbling souls trepidatiously, her brow furrowed with concern, and as she nears the foot of the staircase, she watches on as Patroclus reaches it just ahead of her and promptly slides like a dead weight off of the end of the bannister and hits the floor. Askalaphos, Watchman, Oracle, and each remaining citizen, in tow, crumples at the edge of the steps and collapses, as Clytemnestra steps ahead and turns to face them. She begins to slowly edge backwards, arms outreached in an attempt to summon, as the souls crawl and writhe beside one another at a practically narcotic rate, dragging themselves on all fours before the Queen. Led away from the stairs, they begin unfurling themselves gradually to a standing position, all the while in a seeming state of hypnosis, feet planted but bodies vaguely and unstably swaying to and fro.

Through all this, however, one soul is able to briefly break from her trance – Cassandra. As she steps foot on the middle platform, she promptly surges with energy and enters into a hysterical, ritualistic display, urgently running up and down the staircase, flinging her body wildly. Hair whipping, feet pounding and hands slapping, it certainly makes for a violent and painful sight to behold, perhaps representative of a lifetime’s worth of pent up frustration and underestimation, outpouring through her final death throes. She races towards the foot of the stairs, where Neoptolemus stands prepared to lift her from them. He does so gracefully, suspending her in the air for a few still, peaceful moments, before setting her feet on the ground with the rest of the damned.

With all souls now standing, a prominent echoing boom resonates through the soundscape, akin to a firing cannon. A few moments pass and it repeats. And it repeats. And it repeats, as the souls collectively and slowly turn on the spot, when in amongst the darkness a bright, white ring of light fades in and casts itself across No Man’s Land, between the two girders. Instinctively, Clytemnestra lures forth the clump of souls into the centre, and they follow, at first bopping on the spot as though trying to fight the urge, before relenting and shuffling to where they are called to.

The Queen slips away and back into the crowds of WMs, unnerved and uncertain as to what is to happen next, as the gathered souls gradually begin turning their backs to the crowds and face one another to form a smaller circle, arms outstretched as palms brushing one another’s shoulders, turn to the brushing of fingertips, they collectively step backwards, widening the circle. In doing so, the crowds of WMs are forced to step back too, and gather around the circumference of the light circle, to make room for this final phrase.

As the souls step back far enough to meet the edge of the light, in anticipatory, painfully slow unison, they lower their arms to their sides and turn clockwise on the spot to come face-to-face with the first WM behind them in the circle. For a moment they lock eyes in stillness when, unblinking, they each raise their left hand and begin to softly brush the shoulders, chest or neck of the WM ahead of them – be this a blessing, warning or act of disbelief is unclear, but what is certain is that these souls are very much aware of their spectators now, and perhaps now fully convinced of their true fate.

Meanwhile, lurking behind the First Girder and within the shadowy outskirts of the crowds, stand the Trojans still sweating and softly panting from their own Finale (typically consisting of Polyxena, Polydorus, Macaria, Luba and Eurydice). As the circle naturally widens, the Trojans may select an unsuspecting WM and firmly grab their shoulders from behind, marking them as theirs for a walk-out.

Drifting on to pass and brush two further people, the souls are gradually pulled into a synchronised routine, swiftly breaking eye contact, fists balled, arms stiff and wrists limp, rapping their chests, with torsos twisting in a rigid swaying motion (led by their right shoulder) as they continue circling, now with more haste, as a rhythmic deep ticking (not unlike that of a clock) filters through the intermittent booming. Synched to the incessant ticking, now with arms raised from their sides in a hailing formation, one arm, wrist flicking palm-up, whilst the others’ elbow juts skyward, alternating with every twist of their body, they throw their head down with each flourish, as though repeatedly bowing to the audience in a semi-mocking, manipulated fashion. One lap almost complete, the souls spring into a side-gallop, repeatedly bringing their left fist to their chest wherein they begin to thump along in time with the soundscape. Steady and assured at first, the pace grows in rapidity, soon reaching a collective thunderous resonance of flesh hitting flesh. The gallop reaches maximum speed, when Askalaphos breaks from the circle and leads the others spiralling inwards towards the centre, to form a tight cluster of bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, all facing the direction of the entrance to The Hinterlands with Clytemnestra now re-emerging, parting the crowds to stand before the souls.

The ticking abruptly halts, as the souls snap to attention; as do Hades and Persephone, back on the mezzanine, finally breaking their gaze from one another to look upon those below them. Heads raised, eyes fixed in the direction of Clytemnestra (although all ultimately looking above and past her), and faces pained with exhaustion, they continue to unanimously and rhythmically beat their chests, one hand cupping the other, for three continuous full counts of eight. Then with one final singular chest beat, celestial, albeit unnerving, choral voices soar through the air, sending the souls peeling out from their cluster, limbs and heads dropping loose like marionettes cut free of their strings, breaking into a full-speed sprint back round the circle.

Bolting and chasing, the souls reach out for one another in desperation, but do not slow enough to make a difference as they are swept along into yet another impossible spiralling torrent of flesh. Clytemnestra stumbles out into the centre of the circle, narrowly avoiding collision with the passing bodies. She watches them as they surround her, helpless, occasionally attempting to offer a hand, but knowing she holds no power to save them.

As the choir begins to rise slowly in pitch, the surrounding Trojans will replicate the same shoulder squeezing motion on their chosen WMs as seen in the previous Finale, as the sprinting souls one-by-one submit to their total exhaustion and fall to the floor, at the feet of their spectators; Apollo, Aegisthus, Artemis and Cassandra are the last to fall, forming a smaller ring around the Queen for one final grand flourish, swirling their bodies into the air before collapsing closer to the centre.

A large spotlight appears and looms over Clytemnestra, who remains standing amongst a wasteland of the dead, shell-shocked and visibly shaking. The choir begins to descend in both pitch and tone, the vocals drawling and droning, now drained of life, as a sudden shower of white ash pours from the heavens and rains over her. Horrified, she looks to the skies and notices Hades and Persephone leering down at her, unemotional. She raises her arms to them, distraught and reaching for any kind of salvation, but there is none to be found here, as the Goddess meets the gaze of the Queen and thoughtlessly turns her head away and back to her King. Then as one final sombre note echoes and fades out across the space, Persephone raises the pomegranate before her, and cracks it in two with Hades’ help. Plucking one seed each, they feed one another and smile sweetly, savouring the taste, as the spotlight dies over the wretched Queen, as she falls to her knees in silent anguish.

Walk-Out

The plinky opening piano keys of One More Kiss, Dear rise up through the faded final choral note, when the fallen souls begin to slowly rise to their feet, to stand before a WM from the edge of the circle (typically the one they have fallen at the feet of), wherein they each offer them a hand. In accepting the offer, the WM is then personally escorted from No Man’s Land, and all the way back to Troy. Likewise, each Trojan slowly lets go of their WM’s shoulders, and readjusts themselves to be stood in front of them, wherein they each offer them a hand, to escort them back to Troy, too. Unlike Hecuba, Clytemnestra does provide a walk-out, typically arising to stride through the crowds in search of the first person she lays her eyes on. Those who are not chosen for a walk-out, are still permitted to return to Troy, although they are filtered through the Crate Room entrance, to avoid overcrowding.

Upon reaching Troy, stewards begin to usher audiences directly through to PEEP for the post-show entertainment, however those receiving a walk-out may be lead elsewhere, from the PEEP Courtyard. Different characters tend to conduct the final segment of their walk-out in different locations; typically Eurydice and Zagreus are reserved for The White Cypress, Clytemnestra for the back-alley by the ‘Offerings’ Sign, Polymestor and other Troy Finale participants in PEEP, and all others either down the back-alley between The White Cypress and The Elysium Hotel, or the graffiti corridor. Hades and Persephone also have a personalised ‘walk-out’ experience, which you can read about in more detail on either loops’ page.

The exact contents of a walk-out can ultimately vary wildly, depending on the performer. Standard procedure involves the performer positioning the WM securely in front of them, before tentatively removing their mask and thanking them for coming. Methods of thanking have included: a simple, formal “Thank you”, a hug, a forehead/hand kiss, a slow-dance, touching foreheads. Generally this is considered the one point in the whole show in which performers can be considered ‘out-of-character’, however some still choose to deliberately perform it as ‘in-character’, too.

WMs are allowed this brief window of time to return the favour and thank their performer for the show, before being gently dispatched and pointed in the direction of PEEP, sans-mask, but likely extremely giddy from the buzz of it all.