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Ο Μεγαλεξαντρος







Let us imagine four concentric cycles.

If we were to look closer, we would find in each region, three signifiers: theatre, polis and Megalexandros itself as a creation. These cycles, as well as the spaces within them, become—through the flows that characterise them—the dramatic, political, and philosophical thesis of Angelopoulos’ film.

On the outer brim lies the Dramatic Space. In theatre, it is where objects—originating in text—morph into signifiers, representative forces integrated into microflows of meanings. Politically, this outer circle, constitutes the Institutional Space of the polis. Here, thoughts crystallise into laws and institutions. In Megalexandros, we encounter this sphere as the weight of Greece itself; the theatron materialises and the Chorus chthonicly emerges. This layer surrounds the pieces and echoes of the past; Seferis’ marble head and exhausted elbows. It is a Hellenistic palimpsest stretching out before Classical, Byzantine, Occidental, Balkan, and Oriental landscapes. Classical nakedness, the agony of Bacchic ecstasy, the severe abstraction of Byzantine iconography, El Greco’s distortive colours, Tsarouchis’ sensuality, and liturgical tradition. This circle is thespace of an emerging conflict, that has not yet tightened into the place of its expression.On a second level, we encounter the Theatric Space. It encircles the scenographic stage, its audience and their interaction. Politically, this is the private and public Polis—its citizens as well as the relationships between them. And for the film, here lies History. In Angelopoulos, mortality is viewed in tandem with a social, political and existential awareness. The Platonic alteration of political systems takes up the central space of the film’s philosophy. This cycle of political disintegration and re-development begins with an unjust oligarchy. As people gradually realise the power they hold, they revolt against the corrupt system, ushering in an era of democracy. Then charismatic demagogues will start deceiving the citizens again with a cunning rhetoric, and a new order of tyranny will be established. This is the gradual degeneration that Angelopoulos observes in the isolated mountain slopes of Macedonia. Creation is only understood within history, and history is creation, insofar as it activates the pre-existing magma of memory.Moving towards the centre, we encounter the Scenographic Space, representing all material elements found in the scene—its shapes and bodies. This is the space of Political Action, where decisions are made and the decrees of the Ecclesia are applied. In Angelopoulos’ film, this is the space of the Myth. Who is Alexander? The son of Philip who tames Bucephalas? The messianic Alexander of Byzantium, St. George the dragon slayer, or Theodoros Kolokotronis crowned in his ancient helmet? Is he Christ amongst disciples awaiting his betrayal? And amongst these myths, the ancient ones arise. Incestual Oedipus and slaughtered Agamemnon. Greek, pagan and Orthodox figures collapse upon each other revealing a bewildering web of shifting identities. While superimposed, these figures do not become muddled as a cacophony of complexities. They instead employ a process of textual recognition that only their citation can activate on screen.




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Finally, we have reached the centre of the cycle; Scenographic Place. It is here that we find the abstract sum of the scenographic signifiers (position and movement of actors, embodiment of dramatic figures, relations with lighting and acoustics etc.). For the polis, this is the Ecclesia; basis of the political structure where all authority begins and hypotheses end. Megalexandros encounters here Ontology; the transcendental extinction of personality and the emergence of praxis as self-realisation. Angelopoulos frames this battle against the self, the very centre of the polis, as the battle of life itself. Theatre—and by extension cinema— produces the symbolic space where existence becomes visible to itself. Once the gaze is turned inwards, individuality eclipses. Such a tendency towards self is to unravel history through history. True art reminds us that behind ephemeral phenomena and within ourselves, within our very bodies, lurks an abyss—one we tend to repeatedly forget. Art is therefore this slit from which we glimpse into the obscurity; its presentation, in both the theatric and chronological sense. And it is precisely the articulation of this chaos that constitutes art’s catharsis. No unshakable certainty can be established here: from the wider circle to the central there are flows of meanings, tensions, and contradictions running through the whole of our society. In its nucleus an ellipsis awaits. And it is thanks to this absence that a democracy is protected. This is because democracy itself—in line with theatre and philosophy—can only offer questions in a state of perpetual thought and pathos. Pathos for participation in a common fate and life is the springboard for tragedy, just as the demand for good and truth is the springboard for all genuine philosophy and the thread that connects all tragic figures. That is precisely why democracy is the only tragic (in the theatric sense of the term) political system; it is the only one that risks, and openly faces the possibility of its self-destruction.

Villagers clad in black robes surround Alexander. Famished Bacchae tightening into a ceremonial sphincter. In an outburst of rage they howl, devouring their failed tyrant-god. Then silence. The Chorus opens up slowly. In the middle of the square, lies Alexander’s marble head. Within the intimate silence of the tilled earth, a human voice ricochets between history and nature:

λουτρΩν

ΟΙΣ I woke with this marble head in my hands;
it exhausts my elbow and I don’t know where to put it down.
It was falling into the dream as I was coming out of the dream
so our life became one and it will be very difficult for it to separate again.

I look at the eyes: neither open nor closed
I speak to the mouth which keeps trying to speak
I hold the cheeks which have broken through the skin.
That’s all I’m able to do.

My hands disappear and come towards me
mutilated.

[ Giorgos Seferis, Mythistorema III ]

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Last Update: September 2024