When I first read Sophocles’ version of Antigone, at that ungodly hour of two a o’clock in the morning I was completely apathetic to her. Of course James, Brett, and Jason would never let us get away with something as easy as that. As we delved deeper into Antigone’s character, to the motivations behind her actions I found to my amazement that I really detested her. I found that as a fellow adolescent girl I had almost no patience with her at all—I found her overdramatic. Confused, and to use the favourite term of all teenagers angsty as all hell. Antigone is incapable of showing any affection towards any other living person. She easily makes flowery speeches about her deep familial bonds with her father, her mother, and her brother—but is incapable of showing affection when it might actually be returned. After that you almost have to pity her. You begin to see her ‘noble death’ as simple cop-out. She may be broken up over her brother's death but she still manipulates circumstances so that she can die her martyred death. She never considers however what death truly means, the end of everything. The realization seems to catch up with her in the scene you will see next. It is perhaps some of the only lines that give Antigone any kind of human bent whatsoever. Yet, in the context of the play they seem to fit a bit oddly. This has led to some scholars, including Goethe, to delete some of the passages altogether. Believing that these are not in fact Sophocles’ original lines but added in by a later actor who actually had to play her. Evidence cited is the contrasting nature of Antigone’s discourse on her ‘divine’ inspiration. For this reason we picked out passages ourselves that seemed to allude to a second side of Antigone. However, instead of cutting the passages we gave the lines to a second actor. This way we can portray the duality of Antigone’s character without losing her strength as a martyr . So don’t worry that you have double vision. Taking a breather from all that and heading back to Antigone herself…like I said I really didn’t like her, which I felt slightly guilty about. Antigone belongs to a certain genre of characters, those whose convictions are so intense and who are so determined they’ll most likely die before the end of the second act. Also in this group are characters like Neil in DPS, Alan Strang in Equus, and Finny in A Separate Peace. What made me feel guilty was the fact that I did like these other tragic figures. Thankfully the answer came to me some time in the third week. As the 28th approached we began to start working on scenes, memorizing lines and all the wonderful grunt work that goes into putting up a play. I think I was about half way through a scene in which I played Antigone opposite Creon when I realized with shock. I do not hate this. And I do not hate her.

Odd. However I realized what I had missed while pouring over the play was that Antigone is in fact a play. You can analyze it all you want. But you still aren’t going to get the real meaning or feeling behind the words until you actually play it. Antigone is not like Finny in a Separate Peace with three hundred odd pages of exposition to help him out. She’s not like Neil in DPS who has all benefits that the cinematic experience can bring. Once I actually recognized Antigone not as a vessel for a moral or a lesson but actually as an actual living breathing person I found I could deal with her much more easily. Here is a person whose father blinded himself with his wife's jewelry, whose mother committed suicide, and whose two brothers both committed fratricide. She comes, quite literally, from a broken home.

Here is a person you can sympathize with. Sympathize, yes, but not pity. Never pity. Antigone is not a character who wants, deserves, or needs pity. During the play she is the one character who remains static, the only one who never bends her convictions or changes her mind. We agree with Goethe that 'questionable' lines can detract from her stronger character, but they aren't a sign of weakness. But of humanity.