Long ago, in ancient Greece, the evil Lykaon of Athens was writing abominations of Old Comedy which permanently scarred the reputation of the Dionysian Festival. But then, one fine spring day, while walking in the marketplace in Athens, he stopped and thought.
"Wait a minute!" he said. "I could do so much more in settings outside Athens and Greece than those damned tragedians ever did!" So off the evil Lykaon of Athens went to write Macedonian Nights, the only surviving work of his, but only on account of the fact that, despite being in a thousand fragments, it stands out as the most terrible Ancient Greek comedy ever performed, and his most evil abomination back then. Now, in this farcical production at Hampstead Theatre, all the awfulness of the original comedy has been restored, and, despite the fragments, discovered by the mad archaeologist Wilson Ford in 1983, we can fully work out the plot.
It centres on a trio of young men living in Macedon and their farcical misadventures; farting, having sex and generally being a pain in the neck to everyone else. But these young men, Lycius, Antipotmos and Zithos, do their stupidity in style, so much so that the gods take notice of their drunken antics and decide to punish them in equally stupid ways. The fun gets out of control, when Zithos has sex with the priestess of Zeus, which serves as the fatal catalyst for all the horrible punishments that result.
Now, I love Ancient Greek comedy as much as the next man, but this is the absolute worst. It’s filled with nothing but bum jokes, sex jokes, horse jokes, murder jokes, and defilement of horse jokes. Things like, what, sixteen-year-olds making fun of middle-aged men’s weight are considered by Lykaon to be humorous. The scene where they accidentally kidnap a baby seems forced and heartless. "You kidnapped my baby," cries the angry nurse. "What do we bloody care?" cry the young men. The comedic raping of Zeus' priestess is interesting, especially because it predates the infamous rape scene in A Clockwork Orange by two-thousand years but also has Antipotmos sing a song during it called "Singing on a Wheel", which, due to the melody being lost, is set to the tune of "Singin' in the Rain" in order to amp up the humour.
And don’t me started on the stupid ending. You know the endings of animated films where everyone starts dancing at the end? Well, imagine that but where everyone is having sex with everyone else, and you get the dumbest, most idiotic ending that Ancient Greek comedy has ever produced. However, the saving grace is that, unlike The Hangover, our three protagonists at least realise their faults and are repentant about them.
Yet, for all its faults, Macedonian Nights was a play ahead of its time. It was the first Greek play to feature a balance between onstage action and dialogue, rather than having the action scenes happen offstage, as, indeed, was the custom for Ancient Greek theatre. It was also the first not to have a distinctive skene, as noted in the chapter of Aristotle's Poetics which states, "Our distinguished colleague Lykaon, whose works bear the bridle of rustic moronity, has introduced several new techniques into his dramatic work, such as the absence of a distinct set of houses next door to each other. In his words, it has to be nowhere so it can instantly be anywhere." Indeed, this balance of action and dialogue works very well in this performance, thanks to the efforts of the Greeks, Romans and monks among which it had a cult following for so many years. Now, with the advancements of theatre to include action and dialogue, Macedonian Nights can have a better reception than it did back in Ancient Greece.
Archaeologists and professors have considered Lykaon "the Adam Sandler of his day" and it shows in this production. After two-thousand years of waiting, it has been performed again, in front of an audience of around 2,000 people and, let me tell you, it is not even funny.
