Eliana Willis

“You OK?”“I mean, what even is OK anymore.”In Source Material’s “In These Uncertain Times,” two characters, Annelise and James, type messages on Zoom, and the exchange feels familiar; the pandemic has changed even small talk so that questions like “How are you?” and “You OK?” are suddenly loaded. And even a positive answer comes with qualifiers.The production, devised by Source Material for Zoom and directed by Samantha Shay, takes a uniquely postmodern approach to talking about grief and isolation in quarantine. And while the play eloquently uses disparate styles of storytelling to serve moving moments, it too often feels conceptually incomplete.Six actors (James Cowan, Miles Hartfelder, Annelise Lawson, Stephanie Regina, Raven Scott and Grace Tiso) meet for a Zoom hangout, alternatively chatting about what the loss of theater means to them, getting hammered and telling corny dad jokes. Trapped in their homes, they’re despondent to the point of self-destructive. They question their identities, thrash and drink hard liquor until one of them appears back at the screen with blood dripping down his face. In each scene there’s tension, an imminent threat of injury.With our days of seemingly endless screen time, and with theater now coming to us via laptops and tablets, productions have increasingly had to consider the question of verisimilitude. Some playwrights have written toward the pandemic, creating content that mines the present moment. And then there’s the form. Should the play’s format and structure try to re-create the models used in live theater, before lockdown — or should it completely break the mold?Shay opts for the latter. It’s a brave choice, and the right one: The show never forgets that it was born in a time when art can’t be produced or received in the same way. In fact, it takes a meta approach; in the first scene, one actor instructs another to “do the speech,” and he delivers the preshow announcement. The performers aren’t presented as fictional characters but as simply the actors themselves. So where in the production does the play end and the real world begin?There’s an underlying question about how the theater industry’s been upended by the pandemic, but the second half of the play loses the thread, which isn’t as compelling as the play’s more general musings on loss, love and grief.“Uncertain Times” takes a disjointed, almost manic, approach; it’s plotless, more intuitive in its choices, which include stretches of heightened dialogue and a rhapsodic monologue delivered with a video showing the sunset and the sea.Between scenes, we see a phone screen, scrolling through an Instagram feed littered with real posts about the state of the world — memes and videos, some funny, some sad, from celebrities and the everyday masses. One section, an audio-only bit about the relationship of grief to love, positing that the two are siblings, even symbiotic, is exquisite, especially when followed by the private Zoom chat between Annelise and James. “Do you think love will be able to exist in the new world?” James asks, and it’s the question that cracks the play open.Or at least it would have. “Uncertain Times” reads like a lyrical essay, poetic, emotive and fluid in its temperament and tone, but it’s hesitant to give itself the space it needs to expand on its most penetrating moments.In the frenzied scenes showing the characters spiraling out in different ways — one compulsively snacks, munching on Kettle Chips and Sour Patch Kids; one has a mental breakdown; more than one gets dangerously, stupidly drunk — the overall sense of these people’s disconnection is clear, but it’s used most effectively when juxtaposed with scenes that are more individual in their focus and restrained and introspective in their mood. The private chat about love, one character’s reflective soliloquy about suffering and resilience — these pieces provide necessary texture and specificity while holding true to the flexible spirit of the production.Because “Uncertain Times” resists narrative and character development, it risks using some of its performers as set pieces — unnecessary but as a way to fill out the screen. It also straddles the line between wonderfully theatrical romantic sequences and flowery Hallmark Channel sentimentality. The writing sports a dose of both, but more often than not the music charges in to overwhelm scenes that need only a subtle touch.From beginning to end, the play is shot through with a prescient sense of uncertainty. Its characters are a mess, insecure and floundering, and the production’s form itself is accordingly incohesive. I can see an extended version of this play that keeps the poetry and the variety and digs deeper into its characters’ discrete responses to this sense of disconnection and grief. After all, things may be uncertain but at least our theater shouldn’t have to be.In These Uncertain TimesAug. 1, 7 p.m. EST; Aug. 2, 2 p.m. EST; sourcematerialcollective.com. More

There is not much action, barely even a plot, in “The Persians.” People just mill about, talking (admittedly rather intensely) about events (admittedly of the tragic kind) that happened far away.Yet this National Theater of Greece production unleashes gale-force sound and fury. At its peak, the show hits like a blow to the solar plexus, taking your breath away — the impact is only slightly dulled by watching online.First produced in 472 B.C., Aeschylus’s “The Persians” is considered the oldest surviving Greek play. This Dimitris Lignadis staging was broadcast live on Saturday from the ancient amphitheater of Epidaurus; in the spirit of the theater, no recording exists online. The venue was originally conceived as part of the city’s asclepeion (a healing center) because the Greeks considered the balance between body and soul essential to good health. Let’s all wistfully ponder that philosophy.The show deals with the aftermath of Salamis, a naval battle in which the outnumbered Greeks routed the mighty Persian army 2,500 years ago. At a time when our horizons are closing in, it is downright vertigo-inducing to virtually join a live audience in watching (subtitled) live actors all the way in Greece as they perform a millenniums-old play.Aeschylus himself had fought at Salamis, but his play has a twist: This veteran of the winning side set his story among the defeated, casting a fairly sympathetic eye on his recent enemies’ distress.A chorus of Persian men, wearing long, tan-colored skirts and white button-down shirts, opens the proceedings. They are in their capital city anxiously waiting for news of their king, Xerxes, who is off duking it out with Athens.Enter Xerxes’s widowed mother, Queen Atossa (Lydia Koniordou), in a rather large black gown that appears to wear her, rather than the reverse; she is a human in an exoskeleton of fabric, both vulnerable and formidable. Koniordou, who is among Greece’s greatest stage actresses, knows the role inside out — she directed and starred in an earlier National Theater of Greece production of “The Persians” that played New York City Center in 2006 — and she anchors the proceedings without seemingly doing much at all. For the most part, she stands in the middle of the circular stage, effortlessly projecting smoldering fury and agonizing sorrow as the scope of the disaster that befell the home troops is revealed.The apprehension everybody was feeling is confirmed, in harrowing details, by a messenger (Argyris Pandazaras) returning from the front. In an absolutely incredible scene, he recounts the battle, whipping himself into a frenzy as the chorus members dance around him and Giorgos Poulios’s drone-like score swells to what must have been a deafening level.Later they are joined by Atossa’s dead husband (Nikos Karathanos), summoned from the underworld, and Xerxes (Argyris Xafis), who has somehow escaped alive from the wreckage. Pieces of string on his tunic mark blood (Eva Nathena’s exquisite costumes always contribute to the storytelling). The characters lament the lost lives and devastation together, in an act of communal mourning.Quite a bit of the classical theater we see in the United States attempts to make it more accessible in one way or another. Often this is done with relatively naturalistic line readings, in an effort to make the text less foreign, easier to digest. But Lignadis and his troupe fully embrace declamation, which may sound a little forced to modern ears but highlights the text’s rhythmic power. While technically they do not sing, for example, the four lead actors essentially deliver arias, achieving an incantatory power that feels otherworldly.We never forget, though, that the play is rooted in emotions that are all too human. More