‘A Reverberating and Unyielding Performance of Unbreakable Will’ : Antigone Review

Antigone is on at the Corpus Playroom until the 1st of March

The play opens with the chorus (Maya Moh). We are enchantingly welcomed into the unfolding tragedy. Her voice, rich with reverence and anticipation, draws us into a story and she lets us know where we are headed. Like a guide throughout the play, she sets the tone for a journey that promises tragedy, but in that, we too, receive tranquility.

“Pembroke players deliver … a conviction that reminds us that the trivialities of human life are worth the consideration”

Jean Anouilh’s Antigone is a modern adaptation of the classic Greek tragedy, a play that takes Sophocles’ ancient tale and reinterprets it through the lens of existentialism, authority, and the weight of duty. The play follows Antigone, the daughter of Oedipus, as she defies her uncle, King Creon, by burying her disgraced brother, Polynices, despite the king’s decree forbidding it. What follows is a harrowing confrontation between integrity and the power of the state, where Antigone’s unwavering resolve meets Creon’s burdened pragmatism. In this rendition of the play, the Pembroke players deliver it with a conviction that reminds us that the trivialities of human life are worth the consideration.

Rehearsal images, photographed by Christopher Lorde

The costume design in the production remained a subtle homage to both Anouilh’s 1940’s contemporary adaptation, and Sophocles’ original tragedy.  Antigone's character stood out distinctly, wearing a simple white dress that not only set her apart from the others but also symbolically connected her to her ancient Greek roots. The contrast of her attire with more modern clothing of the other characters reinforced her timeless, tragic significance.

Performed in an intimate setting of the Corpus Playroom, the audience is drawn into the mind of Antigone (Annie Rainbow), we feel her unsatiated thirst for life, and the audience wants to see her satisfied. Rainbow’s portrayal of the steadfast princess delivered us with what the audience wanted from her: the rawness of her complex emotions in full display. The tragedy was made intensely personal through Creon (Michael Iorchir), we see and feel the burden that it is to be the monarch determined to be the heavy arm of discipline, simultaneously wishing to love.

Rehearsal, images taken by Christopher Lorde

Through the exchanges between Antigone and Creon the audience was truly immersed in the philosophical struggle at the heart of the play. Rainbow’s representation of rebellion—her voice unwavering, her presence a force of nature. We saw not just defiance but an aching commitment to something greater than herself, to an intrinsic sense of justice no decree could erase. Opposing her, Iorchir embodied a man torn by the inability to escape the role imposed upon him. As we observed Creon’s slow descent into tyranny, and even when his choices became unforgivable, the audience could not wholly condemn him. His monologues were not cold declarations of power but deeply introspective confessions, laced with exhaustion and reluctant cruelty.

The weight of the tragedy settled heavily upon the audience. There were moments when Antigone’s defiance resonated so deeply, that the audience seemed collectively aligned with her cause, understanding her unyielding need to remain true to herself. And yet, the deliveries of Ismane (Ismane Forsyth), her Nurse (Betty Blythe), and Haemon (Riad el Samad), challenged our previously established certainty in our main character. But with the impeccable casting, we could discern each member deeply understands their role and the pain that comes from loving someone we cannot comprehend.  As they interacted with Antigone, on themes of duty, love, and sisterly care, the audience couldn't help but side with those that loved her; we all needed to make Antigone see reason.

“Because if life must end in suffering, should we not, at the very least, laugh while we can?”

For all its grief, the production was not without moments of levity. The guards offered an absurd and almost comic contrast to the existential turmoil surrounding them. Their banter, their almost indifferent approach to the unfolding tragedy, provided the audience with necessary respite, reminding us of the strange absurdity of life. Their comedic timing was impeccable, punctuating the relentless sorrow with moments of lightness, moments that did not undermine the tragedy but rather emphasized its absurdity. Because if life must end in suffering, should we not, at the very least, laugh while we can?

At its core, Antigone remains an unrelenting symbol of rebellion—the unwavering belief that no human law can supersede moral integrity. And yet, this production also illuminated the terrible cost of such defiance. Antigone’s sacrifice is not just a victory, but a condemnation of a world where justice and law stand at odds more often than we seem to realize.

Creon, though victorious, pays the ultimate price, bearing the consequences not of breaking the law, but of enforcing it too rigidly. He spoke of the burden of doing what has to be done. Creon was no villain, and Antigone wasn't all that innocent either. Both were drowning in the responsibility of doing what has to be done.